Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (21 page)

“And what is that?”

“I say this only to spare you the same fate as I. Do not trust the Warden. He is a creature without remorse, without conscience. In a word, he is … evil.”

Kelor snorted and rolled over. “You get what you deserve. We all do,” said the panther as he tried to suppress the memory of his mother, his brothers, and the fire monster that haunted his sleeping dreams and his waking mind.

****

A semblance of silence escorted death to the village dressed in a composite of muffled sounds. They did not echo throughout the forest, but hung close to the ground in intimacy and solemnity. They were the moans and groans of the dying, the crackle and creaks of ebbing fires, and the sobs and lamentations of women and children.

“Adolphus!” shouted the chief of the village as he limped among the village buildings. “Where is my son? He should have returned from the forest by now.”

Magnus heard none of this, his unconscious mind and ears shielded him from the carnage as he lay nestled in the forest grasses.

Thayne hobbled toward the village gate, scanning every niche in search for his boy’s face. “Have you seen him?” he asked one of the wolves. “Did Magnus take him back to Thornmount?” he asked another. “Where is my son?”

The wolves said nothing. They lowered noses to the ground and looked into the forest, along the fence line. One by one they backed away from the barbarian, revealing a path that led directly to the leader of the pack.

Ataris sat as tall as he could. His right leg was badly mangled, and he held it off the ground, curled against his body. His uninjured leg steadied his weight. The alpha wolf looked to Thayne and then over to a small object near the wooden barrier.

The chief ran as fast as his ruined limbs allowed. Even before he was close to Adolphus, he recognized the fur-covered jacket and leggings of his boy. The giant man collapsed at the feet of his fallen son. “No! Not him!” he wailed as he scooped up his son with his one good arm.

The father’s wails shook Magnus from his dreamless state. He sat up, shaking his head. The wolf remembered the ugly, scarred Ghast coming upon them. He remembered the beast’s body crashing down on him, and his head slamming against the ground. And then darkness.

“Adolphus!” yelled Magnus as foreboding ripped through his foggy mind.

Bruised and sore from the confrontation with the gorilla, Magnus labored to his feet. He had no serious injuries, though his legs felt weak as his body and brain adjusted to consciousness.

Magnus turned his head to search for his friend.

Sensing his confusion, a wolf nudged Magnus with his nose and then pointed to fence line.

The young wolf watched as Thayne struggled to his feet. The proud father stood tall, his head held high. He walked back to the entrance of the village, holding the lifeless cargo in his thick arms. Each step brought pain, but he clenched his jaw in a noble effort to mask his feelings of physical pain and emotional heartbreak. None of that mattered right now.

No one spoke or moved except Ataris, and he followed Draghone, limping but intent on staying close to the human. The rest of the Shade Wolves, including Magnus, fell in line behind their leader and the solemn procession continued the silent march through the gates.

“We did it, Magnus. We did it!” said Dain as he trotted up, oblivious to what was happening or the sacred feeling of the moment.

Magnus shot his brother a glance of contempt and then gestured to the head of the group and to the chief.

“What?” asked Dain. “What’s happening?”

Villagers and wolves alike filed in, keeping their distance and their silence. They all looked at Thayne as he limped through the center of the compound. Adolphus’ limp arms and legs swayed with each labored step of his father.

Thayne carefully laid his son’s body on a table near the middle of the village. He folded the boy’s arms across his chest and straightened his legs. The father tore a piece of his fur-covered vest and rubbed the dirt and blood from the child’s face.

Once the stains were removed from the young barbarian’s face, an expression of serenity was left. His father, however, felt anything but peace. But the mantle of leadership rested on his shoulders, and he was not the only who had suffered a loss on this terrible day. He was the chief. Pain and loss would not take that responsibility from him. Only his death could do that.

Thayne turned to Ataris. “Thank you, my friend. You and your pack saved many lives…” he said as he fought his emotions. “If you had not come, many more would have perished.”

He hobbled over to Ataris and was about to kneel in front of the alpha wolf but the pack leader stopped him. “Please. That is not necessary. I grieve with you, my friend. We both lost offspring on this day. My second born, Asher, travels with your boy to the afterlife.”

Dain interrupted. “They did not perish in vain. The Ghast are defeated and will not dare cross the river again.”

Ataris looked at Dain and then continued. “Well said, Son. They are…”

The young wolf ignored his father’s attempt to console the Draghone chief. “My brother gave his life on the Northern Shore defending his territory. Adolphus fell defending his village; they should be celebrated, not mourned.”

“Dain, that’s enough. We grieve in our own way, as do the people of Draghone…”

It took a moment for Dain’s words to register with Thayne. “What did you say? Asher died on the Northern Shore? Is that not what you told us?” he asked.

Events had transpired so quickly Ataris did not have the opportunity to explain to the chief the happenings of the past few days, let alone the tragedy of the morning. He had sent scouts to warn the village, but the Ghast had arrived first. When he finally entered the village, battle raged, and Thayne’s people were losing. It was a moment for fighting, not words, but the unspoken words shouted in Ataris’ mind… and his soul.

“You knew the Ghast were coming?” asked Thayne. “And gave no warning?”

Dain cut back in. “They were poaching on our shores. We ended one of them, but there were more.

“You!” shouted Draghone as he stood up. “You brought this destruction upon us!”

Ataris closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“We sent scouts, but it was too late,” argued Dain.

“You did nothing! You stirred the Ghast to anger, and then abandoned us like corgans to slaughter. You did this!” Thayne shouted as he pointed to the body of his boy lying on the wooden table.

The villagers gathered, circling the group of wolves. One by one they again picked up their weapons of war. Shouts rained from all around as the mob reacted to the revelation. Grief gave way to anger.

“For ages we have fought by your side. Protected the wolves… and this is how you repay us? I demand blood,” the chief thundered as he looked to his people and then to the wolves.

“Please, my friend. I was unaware they would attack your people first,” Ataris pleaded, but his voice was drowned out by the shouts of the barbarians.

“Ataris,” declared the chief as he pointed to the leader of the wolves. “You and yours betrayed our loyalty. You broke our sacred trust. As I have lost my eldest son, so I demand the life of your first born!”

“No!” shouted Magnus, but the roar of the village crowd drowned his cry.

Logic and reason vanished from Thayne’s enraged mind. Vengeful justice drove his actions.

The wolves began barking as they huddled together. The pack grew nervous and assumed defensive postures. They growled and bared their teeth.

Chaos returned. Once allies, now the humans gathered together, and the wolves closed their ranks.

“How dare you blame us?” shouted Dain. “We came to your aid. Many wolves perished with your people… defending your territory, your village, not our den!”

“Refuse my demand, and our alliance is at an end, Ataris. I swear I will spend the rest of my days hunting your kind until every barbarian wears the fur of a Shade Wolf!” said Chief Draghone.

It was a nightmare the alpha wolf never anticipated. Ages of peace and safety were crumbling in the smoldering fires of the village. A new inferno erupted in its place, one with hatred and anger towards their allies.

Ataris said nothing as he looked into the faces of the humans.
Such rage, such anger, such despair. How did it come to this?

The arguments, the shouts, and the growls continued, reaching fever pitch. Either the demands of the chief would be met or another battle would ensue.

Dain is a fool, but I am the leader of this pack. I will not let this day be the end of my kind,
thought Ataris.
I will do what a true alpha must.

Ataris stepped forward, still favoring his wounded leg. The crowd settled down and the wolves eased their posture. All wanted to hear and witness what happened next.

“No words or deed can bring back the life of your son,” he said as he looked only at Thayne. “If it is blood you require, than you shall have it. I forfeit my life.”

A cheer from the barbarians joined the barks and complaints from the wolves.

“Father, no!” said Dain.

“Don’t do this,” said Magnus.

The chief motioned to his people to quiet down. “A noble act… of a noble leader. I, too, would give my life for my son, without question, without hesitation. But this is too easy. You must suffer as I do. Blood for blood. Your son or we are at war!”

Another roar erupted from the barbarian throng.

Ataris turned and looked to Dain.

The young wolf could feel the eyes of every human and wolf looking in his direction. His tried to swallow, but his constricting throat would not allow it. Dain backed up a step, but Barun blocked his path. There was no escape. It was his death or war with the barbarians and the deaths of many more wolves. Those were the only two options.

“It’s my fault,” shouted Magnus as he moved to the head of his pack to be near his father. “Your son died because of me, Chief Draghone.”

“That’s not true,” Ataris said.

“Yes it is, Father. I swore to Adolphus I would protect him. I failed. I was the one who brought him to the village in the first place. I brought him here. No one else.”

“You did what you could,” argued Ataris.

“The chief trusted me with the life of his son. He asked me to take him to safety. I failed again. If anyone’s life should be forfeit, it should be mine,” said Magnus.

The barbarian crowd cheered again.

“Yes! It was Magnus’s fault. He’s the one you want!” shouted Dain from within the group of wolves. His was the only canine voice among the humans’. Disgusted, the rest of the pack stared at the young wolf.

Ataris turned to his youngest son. “Why are you doing this?”

“You are the alpha and Dain is the first born. Without you the pack is lost,” Magnus whispered back. “And I am at fault, Father.”

Magnus walked to Thayne Draghone as the chief motioned for the crowd to quiet again.

“He was my friend. If my life will heal your heart, it is yours. For the good of your people and my pack, please accept,” said Magnus as he looked up at the barbarian leader.

There was a hush while all waited for the chief’s decision. After a thoughtful pause, the chief said nothing… but nodded his head.

The mob erupted into chants, shouts, cheers and jeers. Some cried, others laughed, while a few nearly broke into a fist fight. It was as if a dam of human emotion had broken through and passions spilled into the village with nothing to hold back the torrent.

The leader of the pack had been ready to give his life for his son. He was emotionally prepared for it. Somehow his youngest son provided an act that was far more heroic than his own.

Profound sadness over the loss of so many lives, and sensations of loneliness associated with Asher … and now Magnus … created a surrealistic air for the wolf. But through the mist, Ataris also felt immense pride in his youngest. His son showed bravery, courage, and accountability, even if the punishment was far too harsh.

You will never be forgotten, Magnus,
he thought.
Magnus, the bold one.

A number of the crowd rushed in to take the wolf, but before they took Magnus away, Ataris uttered one last comment.

“Run with purpose, my son,” he said as a hundred hands snatched his son away.

The barbarian mob pulled and tugged at Magnus, some coming away with handfuls of fur. Others punched and kicked him. The wolf had become the target of their frustration, their grief, and their aggression.

The rest of the crowd looked on, unsure of what to say or do. There had already been so much loss that this felt… excessive. Many had reason for vengeance, but this act was hollow. It could have been stopped, but after so much fighting, it was just easier to look away.

Ataris led his pack from the village, looking over his shoulder only once to catch a glimpse of Magnus in the middle of the hoard. His son never made a sound, but how the wolf wished for another image to replace this one now seared into his mind and memory.

CHAPTER 17