Mist upon the Marsh: The Story of Nessa and Cassie (2 page)

“And while we must certainly look to this day with great anticipation,” continued Morachi, “there are other matters, pressing matters, still at hand. In the past year, twelve of our own have been injured by the Ziruk! They have not yet managed murder; but mark my words, they have not ended their attempts! Our numbers in this land, my brothers and sisters, lie already far below those which dwell in Europe; in the South; and in the East. But this is our home! This is the world we know! Will we give it over, for fear of these beasts? I think not!”

There was a smattering of passionate shouting from the party.

“That’s right, my friends!” said Morachi. “Who are these fell creatures, to try and take our families from us? To take our land away? They are nothing! They are an abomination of this proud people – and we will see them exterminated!”

The shouting in the hall grew louder, and louder, till Morachi’s voice could scarcely be heard above the din. Finally, however, he raised his hand; and the hall fell silent in an instant.

“This race is an ancient one,” he said quietly. “This race existed, I maintain, before humans came even to walk upon the earth! And today – today, my friends! Today we are a perfect people, having come through the long years to gain control of our power! We are na Endai: morc’tanen al nyelen!”

“Na Endai!” chorused the hall.

“Wolf-people of the ages!” shouted a group in translation.

Morachi’s face took on a black expression; and he stomped his foot in anger. “The Ziruk are filthy, evil beasts!” he cried. “They have taken what we are, a strong and proud people, and created a breed of monsters! May Heaven bless those of our brothers and sisters, whom they snatched directly out from under our noses – and whom they used, to torture and to deform, and to propagate this atrocity of a species! Our power, my people, is in the strength and majesty of the wolf. We were not meant to become creatures eight feet tall, who walk on our hind legs in wolfen form! We were not meant to be ugly, and grizzled, and warped beyond recognition! We were not meant to ripple with unspeakable muscle, and to tower over the human race with an unaccountable and unstoppable strength! The humans, too, are our brothers and sisters. They should not die by our hand! The Ziruk must be
stopped!”

The hall resumed its strain of shouting. This time, though, Morachi did not call for silence. He only smiled upon his people, and waited patiently for the noise to die away. When finally it had, he said, “We are all that is left of our kind, in all this vast country. We have contacted our brethren in England, and in France; in Russia and in
China, and in all places which lie between. None will aid us in this fight! King Nevin advises us to flee. King Gundor offers us sanctuary in Sweden. But what does this solve? Should we abandon this place, and leave the Ziruk to spread themselves whither they would?”

He slammed his fist down atop the table, and paused for a moment of heavy breathing, wherein his dark eyes glinted dangerously. But finally Queen Belda put her hand upon his arm, and suggested he take his seat; which advice he took with gladness and a smile. Yet his eyes shone still with a murderous light, and none in the hall dared to speak, till they were assured that he had done.

“I shall put it to each head of house,” said he, “whether there has been any progress in this matter, since we last came together.” He turned his head to the third table, and said: “What of it, Fendon? Have you anything to report?”

Morachi repeated this process, with the head sire of each of the five houses. He came last to Dahro; but of course, he had nothing more to say than had any of the others.

“I am afraid not,” said Dahro, with a shake of his head. “Only the night before last, four of my house were on the trail of the Ziruk named Gormov. Unfortunately, he eluded them.”

There was a collective intake of breath all through the hall. Eyes shifted from Morachi to Dahro; and a river of whispers began to flow.

“The great Gormov?” said Morachi with a laugh. “I would think it beneath him, to expose himself in such a manner. Does he not, after all, boast the supreme protection of Arol? What a stupid beast!”

Dahro only nodded solemnly. “My son came once in contact with him,” he said. “Gave him a nasty wound on his left heel, at that.”

There went a hearty round of clapping through the hall. All looked to Caramon, and raised their hands to him.

“Good man, Caramon!” said Morachi. “You do me proud, brother.”

~

After the conclusion of this business, the servants returned to the hall. (Here we should note, in light of the recent explanation given, that these servants were members of the Ziruk: captured by the Endai, and offered by Morachi, on account of their turning traitors against the Ziruk in some way, lifelong servitude in exchange for death).
             

Several rounds of spirits went all up and down the tables. People rose to greet one another, and to talk with friends whom they had not seen in some time. The last feast had taken place in February; and presently it was June.

The house of Dahro remained some time in the hall. When finally Dahro returned from a private conversation with Morachi, the twelve took leave of their friends, and were, as ever, the last to arrive, and the first to depart.

“Here we are, my darlings,” said Dahro, placing his hands on the shoulders of Nessa and Caramon. “Return your raiment. It is time to go home.”

Once in wolfen shape, the twelve retraced their footsteps down the corridor, up the stairs, and out into the warmth of the summer night.

When the pack arrived at Dog’s Hill, they entered into the West-hand entrance, which they had left standing slightly ajar. Through the tunnels they padded slowly, till
they came to the doorway at which Ceir had left standing many buckets of water, and piles of towels. They all rinsed themselves off as best they could; but Ceir insisted on going round to all of them, and checking the soles of their feet.

“I just cleaned the carpets, you know,” said she.

Chapter III:

Leyra

T
he days which followed the feast were of a quiet sort. The four runners went each night to prowl for a while round the woods, in case of the presence of any stray Ziruk. Yet they returned each morning having seen nothing at all.

This group of runners only ever included those four members of the house. None of the elder men and women could keep pace with the step of the younger; and though Ayo came close, with a swiftness already noted, even he tired easily. Leyra never was much good at the chase, having been cursed with an ability for tracking which was not much better than a squirrel’s. Faevin, on the other hand, had a tendency to temper and impatience that was even worse than Nessa’s; and for that reason, he only ever accompanied the runners in times of great need.

On a certain evening, upon which Dahro and the other elders were gone to the house of Huro, the house was in an even quieter state than usual. Orin and Faevin, partial to meetings of import among the previous generation of Endai, went along as well. Caramon and Dechtire invited Nessa on a midnight run; but this night she declined, and they went on alone.

Nessa sat solitary for some time in the parlour, reading in an armchair by the window. She looked out occasionally at the moon, which was growing round; but finally threw her book aside and ventured into the kitchen, where Leyra was preparing a meal for the others’ return.

“What are you making?” asked Nessa, stealing a bit of some sweet-tasting batter with the tip of her finger.

“You leave that alone,” said Leyra, swatting her hand. “It’s not for you.”

“And why not?”

“There’s a meatloaf left over from supper. Eat that if you’re hungry.”

“But I want some of that cake.”

“It’s not even baked yet!”

“Then I am allowed a piece,
after
it’s baked?”

Leyra waved a hand, and returned to her work. “That’s beside the point.”

“Oh, just forget it, then,” said Nessa, moving up behind Leyra to snake her arms about her waist.

“Stop that, Nessa.”

“There’s no one at home!”

“That’s beside the point.”

Nessa laughed, and kissed Leyra’s cheek. “If you’ve a change of heart,” she said, “I shall be in the parlour.”

True to her word, Nessa returned to her armchair, and took up her book. She listened to the little sounds that echoed through the house, as Leyra went on with her cake, and no doubt began with the cooking of something else. It was a full five-and-forty minutes later, when finally she appeared in the doorway of the parlour.

“And have you had that change of heart?” asked Nessa.

“I’m not altogether certain,” said Leyra. “Caramon and Dechtire have been gone for some time.”

“They shan’t return for hours, Leyra. No doubt they are chasing each other this moment, all up and down the Devil’s Crag!”

“All right, then. Come on with you – and hurry along!”

~

When Nessa woke, the house was silent; and she was alone. She looked to the left side of the bed, and brought her hand forcefully down upon the spot where still an impression of a lying body could be seen. A low growl escaped her throat.

An hour later, there could be heard the sounds of people entering the house. Too angry to allow for sleep, Nessa fled from her room, and went down to sit for a while with the others, and to listen to their news of Huro’s house. They all took their places at table, and shared an early breakfast – and, as Leyra had prepared it herself, she did serve it herself. She went about with a perfect smile upon her face, bantering lightly with a voice of absolute calm and contentment. What filled Nessa with perhaps the most fury, as Leyra dared even to turn that smile upon
her,
was the knowledge that that smile, and that contentment, were wholly genuine.

After breakfast, all of the house took its sleep. Nessa went, until all had closed their own doors, into her bedroom; but afterwards crept silently into the corridor, down the stairs, and out of the house.

Considering that it was broad daylight, and that she felt not much like running anyway, she went to the barn that stood about a quarter mile from the house, and which contained two vehicles. The first was a rather rough-looking pickup truck, painted half-green and half-grey. The second was a relatively new, cobalt blue Mustang belonging to Baer – for which, if anyone did dare to lay a finger upon it, Baer would turn wolfen in an instant, and gnaw relentlessly at the perpetrator’s hand.              

Nessa got into the truck, and after several false starts at the ignition, rolled slowly out of the barn. She bumped along across the wide field, wishing not for the first time for a narrow road which connected with the main.

She drove for a good long while (seeing as, in that unfortunate vehicle, she could not travel much above thirty-five miles per hour) before she reached her destination. But when finally she did, a wide smile spread across her face; and she nearly forgot, in her excitement, to put the truck into park; and so nearly lost the thing, down a rather steep embankment of gravel.

After assuring herself of the security of the truck, she bolted directly across the soft beach, and down to the waves of the shore. She fell down upon the sand, and sat long looking out into the Gulf of Mexico.

When she had had her fill of the waves, she travelled several miles down the shore, where the soft sand gave way to a rocky cove. Here there stood a great red lighthouse.

She fished in her pocket for a key, which had been given her some years ago by the old lighthouse-keeper, whom she had befriended. But when he died two years before, there came no keeper to replace him; so Nessa retained possession of the key, and visited frequently the Bellman’s Cove.

Presently, she unlocked the small door at the base of the lighthouse, and began the ascent of two hundred steps to the Keeper’s Room. Here, the walls were made of glass; and there could be seen nothing but the beautiful crashing of the sea.

The great lantern in the centre of the room no longer worked properly. Yet it was no matter, really; for when the moon came to call, shining white and round in the night sky, it made rather a perfect picture of the dark waves.

Nessa slept the last of the hours of the day away, huddled upon the thin mattress which lay across the floor. When she woke, she found that dusk had already begun to settle. So she waited on the darkness, and the moon.

She looked for a long while through the streaked and dirty glass, out across the great expanse of the gulf. She felt, all this time, a certain lightness of heart; but after a lengthy spell, she uttered a great sigh of defeat; and her heart was heavy again.

When she returned home, she found everyone awake, and employed in their usual nocturnal habits. Ceir, who had worried over her absence, drowned her with many kisses before leaving her to herself. Her father bade her sit down, and talk with him a while. So they did talk, for rather more than a while; but finally she rose, and upon ascertaining that her brother and the others had already started upon their nightly rounds, left the house once again.

Behind the hill, she changed her shape, and set off into the forest.