Joyleaf sat back in against the heavy fur cushions, moaning softly in pain. Her chest and right shoulder were tightly wrapped in rabbit fur and woven bandages. Rain had cut away her trouser-leg so he could bind her cut thigh as well. The longtooth’s fangs had sunk deeply into her shoulder, and its claws had gashed her thigh. Only Redmark’s – no, Redlance’s – courageous actions had saved the chieftess from certain death.
“You must rest now, as must I,” Rain said. “The wounds are deep. They will take many days, even moons, to heal fully.”
“What luck,” Joyleaf moaned. “Ah well... I have often felt I needed a little more rest.” She looked up at her daughter, now almost two-eights-and-one old. “You will keep me company, I hope.”
“Of course, Mother,” Swift smiled.
Nightfall, Redlance, Rain and Skywise filed out of the den, leaving mother and daughter alone. Swift took Joyleaf’s hand in hers and pressed it to her cheek. “I was terrified, Mother. I thought I might lose you.”
“Don’t worry, cubling. I am not ready to leave this world just yet. Now... how shall we pass the time, hmm? Have you and Nightfall and Scouter and Dewshine thought up any new games?”
“Not lately. Hey, I have a thought. Teach me the human’s tongue.”
Joyleaf blinked. “But the humans haven’t troubled us since they returned here four years past. Why would you want to learn their language?”
“Well... we thought that the humans were gone forever when they left last time. But they’re back now. And maybe they’ll come looking for us again. So... shouldn’t I learn how to speak the human tongue too?”
Joyleaf grinned. “You are my cub, aren’t you? You even catch me with reason from time to time... just as I used to catch... your sire.”
Swift bit her lip. Mother and daughter so seldom spoke of Bearclaw. Swift preferred it that way. She and Joyleaf were so close, so perfectly attuned to one another, that Bearclaw shadowy existence as her sire seemed... entirely unnecessary.
Joyleaf saw Swift’s brooding expression. “You know... Bearclaw was a very... rare sort of elf.”
“I know all about him. Grayling told me. So did Pike, and Moonsbreath and the others.”
Joyleaf said nothing. What could she say to Swift? How could she begin to explain the strange mixture of utter hatred and... some strange yearning that she did not want to feel?
“The human tongue...” Joyleaf said instead. “Very well. Lock-send with me, and I will teach you.”
“Shaman!” the men of the hunting party shouted as they dragged the carcass of the longtooth into the camp. “See what we found!”
The aging shaman hastened to the beast. A delicate arrow and a spear, both tipped with this strange shiny sort of rock, were lodged in the creature’s hide. “What is it, shaman?” the younger men asked.
“Demon weapons! I know their work. And Gotara willing, the longtooth’s fangs are smeared with demon blood! How cunningly they have hidden from us since our return. But now we know they are still here!”
“What shall we do, oh mighty spirit man?” his protégé, Tabak asked. A cruel glimmer lit up his eyes. He knew well what the shaman wanted.
The old man got to his feet and raised his fist to the sky. “Let the Sacred War begin!”
Midsummer came to the forest, and with it, new life. The cubling’s cries softly echoed through the bowers of Father Tree. Moonshade rested under a heavy bearskin – Joyleaf’s own blanket, which she had lent to the new mother – while Strongbow held his son in his arms.
Joyleaf, now fully healed from her near-fatal injuries, smiled proudly at the newest addition to the tribe. An explosion in Recognitions since Swift’s birth had swelled the tribe to three-eights strong, and even now, Rainsong was one year away from giving birth as well.
Two years after Swift’s birth came little Nightfall, now a plump and voluptuous child of fifteen, already with a devoted lovemate. Then Treestump had at last Recognized his beloved Rillfisher, and Dewshine followed two years later. Rain’s attempts at forcing a second Recognition between One-Eye and Clearbrook at last succeeded – or had it been a spontaneous Recognition? No one really knew – and Scouter joined the tribe nine summers ago. And now Strongbow and Moonshade had a cub to take the place of sweet Crescent, who had been so cruelly taken from them thirty years ago.
The tribe had faced lost as well, Joyleaf thought sadly. Rillfisher had been killed by a falling tree branch five years ago, just before the humans returned to the forest. Poor Dewshine had been only seven – far too young to lose her mother.
Strongbow smiled down at his son while Grayling edged close for a look at his new nephew. The son of Bearclaw and Trueflight had never shared more than a shaky bond with his elder half-brother, but Joyleaf hoped that the birth of the new cub would bind Strongbow and Grayling closer than ever.
“Hah, he has a bit of red to that hair, I think,” Grayling grinned at the fuzz on the baby’s hair.
“What is his name?” Rainsong asked, as her hand strayed to her own swollen belly.
Moonshade and Strongbow shared a quick glance, then Moonshade looked up at Joyleaf. “You have united the tribe as never before, chieftess, and you have given us a safe Holt in which to raise our children, despite the return of the humans. We would be honoured if you would choose a tribe name for our cub.”
Joyleaf’s eyes lit up. Strongbow and Moonshade had always been the strongest hold-outs to her new reign, always secretly hoping that Bearclaw would return to take back his chief’s lock. With tears sparkling in her eyes, Joyleaf took the baby from Strongbow and examined him carefully.
“He is his father’s son. May his arrows one day fly as true as Strongbow’s. We will call him Dart. May he run with us always.”
**Dart...** Strongbow looked down at his son proudly.
“Here,” Joyleaf handed the baby back to his father. “Let us show our newest packmate to the tribe.”
Rainsong stayed with Moonshade as Joyleaf, Strongbow and Grayling slipped out to the waiting pack. Just then the baby inside Rainsong’s womb kicked, and she held Moonshade’s hand to her stomach to feel it.
“Do you hear the wardrums?” Swift whispered in the darkness. “The humans are up to something.”
“I know,” Joyleaf fretted. Mother Moon had gone through but one phase since little Dart’s birth. “I remember those sounds. They are preparing for some sort of battle. We must be on guard. Everyone must be.”
“Let me go on lookout, Mother,” Swift said. “I can go through the trees – no human will see me.”
“You’re too young, Swift.”
“Mother... are you sure we couldn’t talk to the humans? Maybe... we could work out some sort of peace–”
“Peace!” Pike laughed. “That’s a good one, cub.”
Swift glared at him. “I’m not a cub, Pike. And well you know it.”
Pike blushed deeply.
**There’s no talking to ‘em,** Strongbow sent. **They only understand blood!**
“If that’s so then why didn’t you ever wage your own battle on the humans? You could have probably wiped them out late at night. But you didn’t. So... why not try to talk to them? Otherwise what – we just sit here and watch them forever.”
“That’s enough, Swift,” Joyleaf said gently.
Swift slumped against the tree-branch. “It just seems silly. Either we ought to drive them out of the forest, or we ought to find some way for all of us to share the forest. Or...”
“Or what, cub?” Treestump asked.
“Or we ought to leave – and find a new forest – one without humans.”
**Leave the forest?** Strongbow sent. **Leave our home – our Father Tree? Are you mad, cub?**
“We Wolfriders travelled in the past. We didn’t always live here. Isn’t that right, Longbranch?”
“Yes... that’s true. My... father Owl lived in the same of great wanderings. And I... I.. remember... many many turns ago – when all these trees were not even sapling – we Wolfriders lived in a different forest – the Everwood. It was not until Goodtree – your great-grandmother, Swift – that we came here. But Swift, we have lived here ever since. None by I can remember the time before then – and even I see it through haze. We cannot just... abandon our Holt.”
“But we cannot make peace with the humans?”
“I don’t think they have it in them to reason,” Longbranch said. “They are... halfwits. They only understand pain and violence and... and this brutality that cannot be explained.”
“Hmph....” Swift climbed down from the branch.
“Where are you going, Swift?” Joyleaf called.
“I’m going for a walk.”
“Don’t leave the Holt’s boundaries.”
“You know me better than that, Mother. Nightrunner. Let’s go.”
The gray wolf rushed to her side, and Swift mounted him without breaking her stride. The two disappeared into the darkness.
She has his brooding fits... Joyleaf thought.
Swift and Nightrunner patrolled the outer edge of the Holt’s boundaries, listening to the distant drumbeats from the human camp. “Bah.. cursed humans...” Swift growled. “Come on, Nightrunner, let’s get a little closer, hey? We’ll go out towards the briar patch.”
Nightrunner hesitated.
“Come on, trembly legs,” Swift dug her heels into the wolf’s ribs. “We’re still inside the Holt’s territory.”
Nightrunner loped ahead. A cold wind came up from the north, and Swift shivered. The wing made it hard to scent the dangers that could lurk nearby. Swift dug her fingers into the wolf’s fur to keep them warm.
Little Dart now born to the tribe, and Rainsong’s baby due sometime next autumn...
It wasn’t right to raise such cubs so close to an enemy.
But what could they do? If the elders were right and no humans could be reasoned with... if it went against the way leave the Holt and start anew... then the only other option was a battle to the death.
And that was no option. Bearclaw had tried that. And it had driven him insane.
She thought of Joyleaf’s attempts to convince her that Bearclaw had been an elf worthy of respect once. She didn’t believe it. She had heard too many stories from Pike and Grayling and the others. Especially Grayling. Bearclaw had alternately held his son to impossibly high standards or forgotten about him entirely. Grayling hadn’t been the son Bearclaw wanted, certainly not the Blood of Chiefs Bearclaw wanted. He was too gentle, too fond of green growing things, not fond enough of blood and hunts.
Grayling was a throwback to a different time, Longbranch once said. He was much more like his great-great-grandfather Tanner than like Bearclaw.
Bearclaw had never tolerated – let alone respected – differences. His Way was unbending. And because he could not bend, he snapped. Swift knew that for a fact. Why should Joyleaf try to convince her otherwise? Swift knew how her mother loathed the creature Bearclaw had become. She knew that the Recognition that had given her life had been a secret torment to Joyleaf.
Nightrunner whined anxiously. Swift bit her lip. Surely they had not strayed outside the Holt’s boundaries. Nightrunner would not let her. But... there was something in the air – something that smelled like vaguely burned grass. The wind whistled through the scraggly tree branches. Swift looked up – why were there never any leaves on these trees?
Nightrunner scratched the ground with his paw. “All right, trembles,” Swift whispered. “Let’s turn around and head home.”
The wolf turned and began to pace back towards the Holt. Suddenly he stopped, and began to growl furiously. His ears flattered against his skull, and his hackles rose.
“What is it, Nightrunner?”
And then, with a change in the wild, Swift smelled something on the breeze. An elf – but one she had never scented before.
**Who’s out there?** she asked. **I know you’re out there. Show yourself.**
A shadowy figure slowly became visible under the gnarled tree branches. Swift reached for her dagger. “Who are you?” Swift barked. “You’re no human!”
The figure neared, and finally became visible in the fleeting moonlight that pierced the clouds. Swift drew in a breath. It was an elf, a scarred, wiry, rag-clad elf with wild brown hair and a silver pendant hanging against his chest.
A wolfhead pendant.
“Bearclaw?” Swift whispered.
The elf blinked. “Daughter..”
Swift dismounted. “No. You cannot call me that. You haven’t the right.”
“I am your sire.”
“And your task was completed nineteen turns ago.”
“Has it been so long already?”
“We all thought you had died by now. What are doing here? You’re inside the Holt’s boundaries.”
“No one ever told me I could not cross the borderline.”
“I am telling you. I don’t want you here.”
Bearclaw chuckled. He scratched his scraggly beard. “And who are you, cub?”
“I am the Blood of Chiefs.”
“My blood...” Bearclaw turned wistful again.
“Joyleaf’s blood.”
“Tam–”
Swift cried out in pain. Her legs buckled, and her hands rose to cover her ears.
Bearclaw raced towards her, fatherly concern on his features. But Swift’s head snapped up. “NO! No closer. Stay away.”
Bearclaw opened his mouth, and she cut him off. “Don’t say it! By all the High Ones, don’t you ever say it again!”
“I did not think it would wound you.”
“It does!”
“But it is your name. I have known it since the moment you came into being that midsummer.”
“You haven’t the right. It is my soulname. Mine alone! Never speak it again!”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then go away. Leave me be.”
“I have been watching you... you have become such a beautiful lass.”
Revulsion crossed Swift’s face. “Don’t look at me like that! How dare you spy on me? Have you been watching Joyleaf too? Do you know how she still hurts when your name is mentioned?”
“Swift–”
“No! Go away. You’re not welcome here.”
Bearclaw growled low in his throat. “You’re still just a cub, Swift.”
“This cub has a bite.” She withdrew her dagger from its sheath. “Don’t challenge me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he sneered.
“Then go!”
Bearclaw turned and faded back into the darkness. But his voice called out from the shadows. “You are my blood, Swift, whether you will admit it or not.”
“I may be your blood. But you are not my father!” she shouted back.
A distant rumble of thunder was the only answer.
Swift remounted Nightrunner and urged him on with a nudge to the ribs. The wolf had taken no more than five paces back towards the Holt when a blazing sending star pierced Swift’s mind.
**SWIFT! Daughter – where are you?**
**Mother? I’m fine. I’m near the briar patch.**
**Come back to the Holt immediately! The humans have struck again – Foxfur and Brownberry barely escaped with their lives. Hurry back! I don’t know how many more hunting parties there may be.**
“Go, Nightrunner!” Swift urged, and Nightrunner began to race.
Swift heard a mournful howl behind her, and she ignored it.
Bearclaw heard Joyleaf’s open sending in his mind, and his blood ran cold. The humans were once again hunting elves – after twenty-four years without incident. And his foolish cub had been out by herself, near the edge of the Holt’s borders.
Something had to be done.
A dark black shadow silently drifted to his side. Bearclaw scratched Blackfell’s ear. His jet-coloured mount had kept him safe and sound through twenty-four years of exile. He would have died many winters ago if not for this ghostly, primal beast. Indeed, he might have let himself starve to death following the lost challenge had Blackfell not appeared out of the underbrush, already bearing a ravvit for his destined elf-friend.
“We hunt for humans tonight, Blackfell,” he said.
Rain was healing Foxfur’s gashed arm as Swift tore into camp and dismounted her wolf. Joyleaf ran up and hugged her close. **Don’t ever stray so far, cubling,** she sent. **The humans could have easily chose a different trail to follow and taken you instead.**
“But we were – hssss – we were nowhere near the human camp,” Foxfur gasped. “We were only gathering eggs near the forked tree.”
“Why would they come in so far from their usual territory?” Brownberry asked.
“That’s plain enough, she-cub,” Treestump brooded. “They’re hunting something other than their usual game.”
**We should strike first,** Strongbow sent. **Raid ‘em and finish ‘em off! They’re meat to be wasted.**
“No,” Joyleaf said. “No battles. No more deaths. We will just have to hold first. They have never found our Holt, after all. The humans have forgotten about us before – they will do it again.”
Nightfall sat down next to her mother, Brownberry. “I hate the humans. I wish... I wish we could go somewhere where there aren’t any.”
“Ohhh, sweet cubling,” Brownberry kissed her forehead.
**Mother...** Swift sent. **I saw him...**
**Who, daughter?**
**Him. Bearclaw. He’s still alive.**
Joyleaf drew in a sharp breath. She hustled Swift away from the others. “Did you speak to him?”
“Yes.”
“Such anger, daughter. What happened?”
“Nothing. I told him to go away.”
Joyleaf gazed into Swift’s eyes. **There was more. I can tell. What happened?**
**He called me “Tam.” He used my soulname. It hurt so much!**
**Oh, Swift... it shouldn’t have.**
**It did! I feel sick – even now.**
Joyleaf hugged her daughter. **He was not always so. Once... he was a fine elf. And had... had his nature not led him astray... he would have been a loving father to you.**
Swift turned away. “I told him to go away. I said I never wanted to see him again.”
Joyleaf hugged her again. Part of her wanted to correct Swift, tell her it was wrong to bear such contempt for one’s father. But another part rejoiced that it had been Swift who had faced the Beast, not Joyleaf herself.
I am a coward. But... oh, I could not see him again. Not now.
Grenn...
She shuddered. And then she and Swift walked back to the assembled Wolfriders.
Again the thunder rumbled far in the distance.
The storm that hung over the mountains for two days rolled down over the forest, souring the late afternoon into darkness. “You hear, Tabak?” the shaman said. “Gotara grumbles from the sky! He is angry with us for our failure.”
“I have failed you, my shaman. Bind me to the Pillar of Sacrifice, strip my skull of flesh.”
“No, Tabak. One does not spend many moons chipping out a fine blackstone blade only to snap it in two and cast it aside.” The shaman looked at the Pillar of Sacrifice, at the two skulls hung from it. One had been recovered from the forest years earlier, when he had been a young boy. The other had been a pretty little demon female he had killed in his youth. But despite years of hunting, there were no more skulls to hang on the pillar. And now, Tabak and his men had lost two females and their wolf-spirits.
“We should not have failed,” Tabak raged. “It was the swift demon-wolves. If not for them, we’d have slain their female riders.”
“YOU WANT DEMONS, ROUND EARS?” a voice called from the shadows. They turned and saw the old demon-chief himself, dressed in tattered leather, standing insolently at the edge of camp. “Then come for me!” he dared, and turned back into the forest.
“Haiie!” Tabak shouted. “After him!” The hunters raced off into the brewing storm, chasing the vulnerable, wolf less elf. But the shaman remember how his mentor had died, and he sensed a trap. “Wait! No, Tabak! Wait – it is a trick!”
But Tabak and his agemates did not hear. They raced into the darkness, spears at the ready. Helpless, and feeling his age,| the shaman ran after them, screaming for Tabak to heed him and return.
A huge black wolf, one he had never seen before, sprang out of the underbrush, jaws agape. The shaman screamed in horror and began to sprint as fast as his aching legs would carry him. Such a black wolf must be a high servant of the demon-chief. “Gotara, save me!” the shaman cried. And Gotara answered with angry rumbles in the sky from his wardrum. But no sky-fire struck the shadow-beast, and the wolf drove the shaman deep into the forest, far from the humans’ usual hunting territory. More than one the shaman tripped, and thought his life was about to end. But each time Gotara willed him more strength, and he ran on. Finally the trees fell away and he stood in a dark clearing, ringed with briars and gnarled hardwoods. The shadow-beast had fallen silent behind him, and now simply guarded the way out. Because before the shaman stood the demon-chief, his arms spread wide.
“Human chief. It is time we talk.”
“I want no words with a demon-chief.”
“I am chief no longer. My...” Bearclaw struggled to find the right words, “my woman took my place many turns ago. I am... a lone spirit. But I watch my tribe. I see how you torment my children. Enough. The forest is wide and game is plentiful. There is enough for both our tribes. We must find a way to live together in peace.”
“Never! You have no place here, demon! We will cleanse the forest of you.”
Blackfell drifted to the side to sniff a strange substance on the ground. It smelled and felt like slick, stagnant water, yet it was dry and barely visible.
“This is our forest, by the blessing of Gotara who sent us the sacred bear!” the shaman continued.
“Why do you believe such things?” Bearclaw asked. “A bear is a bear is a bear. And I killed that one. You should thank me for letting you keep it.”
Thunder rolled overhead.
“Lies! Demon lies! You are an evil monster!”
“You and your kind are the monsters! You cost me my wolf-friend, my lifemate, my tribe!”
“You killed my elder, my shaman-teacher who was a father to me!”
“You’ve killed my friends, my tribe’s children! You denied me the chance to know my daughter!”
“Your daughter? Hah! We will burn your daughter – burn her in the fire and strip her skull of flesh!”
Bearclaw reached for his side reflexively, only to find that New Moon was gone.
Of course it was gone. He had not held it for twenty-seven years.
Instead he pulled a fire-sharpened wooden stake from his belt. “I should have known this was hopeless. Joyleaf was wrong! You cannot be reasoned with, you cannot be ignored. You are meat to be wasted!”
Blackfell began to whine nervously.
“You die now, demon!” the shaman raged.
Blackfell watched as the ancient residue began to reach out with dark tendrils.
Bearclaw lunged at the shaman with his stake. The shaman brandished his hardened staff and sprang forward. The magic tentacles shot out to embrace them. The storm broke overhead.
A bolt of lightning slammed into the briar patch, striking the ground between the two enemies, knocking them back senseless. A smoking crater lay between them, hissing softly as the charged magic thrashed, energized by the electricity.
Blackfell caught Bearclaw’s hair and pulled the stunned outcast away from the grasping tendrils. The shaman struggled to his feet and limped away, his hair standing on end from the lightning blast. Thwarted, the magic called out, yearning for more.
Blackfell dragged Bearclaw deep into the forest, then licked his face until he recovered. The shaman staggered back to his camp. And as the storm continued to rage, the lightning and thunder drove a longtooth cat and a long forest-viper from their dens, into the cursed clearing.
Swift listened to the lightning and thunder rage outside her den, and she shivered. At her side her mother slept peacefully, well accustomed to the seasonal thunderstorms.
But this was no simple thunderstorm. Swift felt something on the air, a dark charge to the ozone as the first raindrops began to pelt Father Tree.
A cold wind blew the storms out over the great oceans, and the full orb of Mother Moon once again took over the sky. Deep in the forest near the lightning-burned briar patch, small screams of small game could be heard echoing through the undergrowth. But since the attack on Foxfur and Brownberry, none of the Wolfrider dared travel for far from Father Tree, and none heard the sounds of the massacre.
Bearclaw nursed the lightning burns to his shoulders and hair with cool water at the small stream where he often camped. Blackfell licked his wounds, whining piteously.
“Shh, Blackfell. I’m fine...” he murmured. “Fine...”
He sensed something nearby. Perhaps he should have moved farther from the briar patch.
Grenn... the cold wind seemed to whisper.
Bearclaw winced at the sound. He growled under his breath. Blackfell turned and dropped into a defensive crouch, his hackles raised.
Grenn.... Grenn... come to me...
**Who’s there?** the bewildered elf asked.
**Grenn... come to me...**
It was a sending like no other, a twisted, garbled voice.
He swore he heard his own voice on the wind, and the human shaman's.
**Grenn... come to me... I hunger... hunger... Grenn...**
Bearclaw staggered to his feet. He groped for his long wooden pike. His lips curled back in a sneer.
**I hear you...** he called back.
**Grenn...** the voice seemed to purr. **Yesss... come to me...**
Bearclaw struggled to shake off the painful mind touch as he strode through the forest, his wolf-friend following cautiously. The woods were unnaturally quiet – not even a bird or a baby mouse stirred the silence. An angry hum built in his head, and Bearclaw stumbled into the clearing.
He stared in horror at the creature perched on the rock. A huge, dark green scaly monster, with the head of a reptilian longtooth and a long snake’s tail which it coiled around its body lovingly. The tip of the tail twitched in excitement as it saw Bearclaw emerge from the greenery.
As Bearclaw beheld the monster, a wave of overwhelming, nauseating hatred washed over him. Rage, fear, primal fury... all directed at Bearclaw in one deadly sending star.
The Wolf growled at Bearclaw. It lashed out at his soul with claws and fangs, forcing its will against his.
Bearclaw’s legs gave way. He collapsed, vomiting bile. The sending tore at his insides, until he felt as though his entire piece would be twisted inside-out.
More anger. More resentment. The Hunt roared. Rage and bloodlust and blood and fire. The fire burned him, threatened to extinguish him.
The pain, the burning supernatural hatred... it was somehow familiar.
** This is all the world will ever understand! This is the Now!**
Bearclaw screamed. New images assaulted his mind. He saw himself face off the human shaman. He saw the lightning stir the pool of stagnant magic that his own hatred had given life.
**Grenn... I am you... come to me...**
He heard his own soul screaming at him across the void.
“NOOOO!” Bearclaw howled.
Madcoil unfurled its long tail and slithered toward the elf, like a monstrous stalking cat.
**Grenn... come to me... I hunger for more...**
Bearclaw groped for his spear. But he could not reach it.
Madcoil’s jaws closed over its creator, almost lovingly.
The Wolf sprang at him. The nightmare enveloped him. Blood and fire and wardrums.
And a screaming child...
And then silence.
Swift sat bolt upright in bed. Something had cried out in the night – cried out for her.
Blackfell entered the clearing. He saw the blood and carnage before him, and whined submissively, tucking his tail between his legs.
Madcoil looked up from its feast. And it licked its blood-stained fangs with delight.
The wolf backed away.
The creature struck.
“The wardrums had started again,” Joyleaf said. She and Swift sat astride their wolves, watching the glow of bonfire rising up from the human camp.
“What does it mean, Mother?”
“They hunt again. For us.”
“Something is wrong, Mother. I can feel it. Ever since that night of skyfire... two moons ago.. something has come to the forest.”
Joyleaf smiled at her daughter. “You have gifts that are not easily put into words, Swift. Yes, I have sensed it too. There is... a new smell.. a scent of decay.”
“Perhaps the humans sense it too. Perhaps that is why they beat their drums.”
“Perhaps... or perhaps they have simply decided to destroy us forever.”
Joyleaf brooded on the new sounds from the encampment, and the increasing feeling of anxiety. Something unnatural lurked in the darkness to the north, near the briars and long-dead trees that signalled the outer limits of their territory.
“We must learn what this is,” Joyleaf decided one day. “We will form a hunting party and scour the limits out of our territory. There is something that threatens us... perhaps in a way that the humans cannot. And who knows... perhaps this time the humans are united with us – however unknowingly – in a desire to live free of this danger. Who hunts with me? Strongbow?”
Strongbow shook his head. **When you send for us, we’ll go where you lead. But for now I’ll stay to guard our holt... and my new cub.**
As if to confirm, Dart cried softly, and Moonshade soothed with a gentle whisper.
After some discussion, a large hunting party came into being. Joyleaf and Swift would lead the group into the north, beyond the briar patch into whatever danger lurked just out of reach. Treestump would provide his strong arm and axe. Brownberry and her lifemate Longbranch would serve as scouts, while their daughter young Nightfall remained at the Holt with Redlance and the lifebearers. One-Eye would provide his sword and spear, while Foxfur and Skywise brought their sharp reflexes and large wolves. And Rain held up the rear of the party, praying that his healer’s skills would not be needed on such a night.
The party was optimistic as they set out. Treestump gave a merry howl, while the lovemates Foxfur and Skywise held hands and sent sweet nothings to each other. Swift and Joyleaf kept a close watch astride Nightrunner and Sleekwind – Joyleaf’s newest wolf-friend who replaced old Shadowsheen three years past.
“Who knows... perhaps once we deal with this creature – or whatever it may be – we will keep moving north,” Joyleaf said. “We might find a new place to set up a Holt. A summer camp, perhaps. Somewhere where we could take refuge when the drums in the human camp begin again.”
“Yes!” Swift exclaimed. “If we moved back and forth between Father Tree and a smaller Holt – especially if we did it with no real pattern, then the humans might just think we’ve left for good.”
“A new Holt?” Brownberry frowned.
“We would never leave Father Tree for good... but it would be nice to have a place to go to when the human press our borders too close.”
“Any Holt will be home as long as we’ve new cubs to raise,” Foxfur looked at Skywise dreamily.
“Be fun at least trying, eh, Foxfur?” he winked.
Swift chuckled. Her brother-in-all-but-blood could never stop looking to his lovemate.
Slowly, surely, the hunting party covered a great swath of territory, heading ever northward. They were aware something unnatural in the woods, its eyes always fixed on them, its foul stench clinging in the back of their mouths.
“It’s here....” Swift breathed. “Watching us...”
“Why can’t we scent it?” Foxfur drew her dagger. “Why can’t we hear it?”
“It’s mocking us...” Joyleaf growled. She nocked an arrow in her bow.
“It feels... almost familiar...” Swift whispered.
The wind whistled through the trees. And then – absolutely stillness, a frightening unnatural silence. Swift scanned the trees frantically while the wolves sniffed the ground for any elusive scent trails.
“Hooo-hoo-oooo!” a whistle came from the trees, and a flutter of sound broke the quiet. Skywise jumped a foot in the air, and his massive wolf Starjumper growled angrily.
“Shh... shh Starjumper.” He bent down to comfort his wolf. “It-it’s just an owl.”
Foxfur touched her lovemate’s shoulders. She was just as nervous.
“Look! Over there!” Joyleaf led them to a small clearing. A wolf cub lay on the ground, its bowels tore open, its ribcage exposed. Blood was caked to the ground, yet no flies or scavengers had come to feed. The internal organs were mostly intact, still slick and steaming.
**A cub! Freshly killed – and for the pleasure of it!** Joyleaf sent. **Be on guard. The killer is near. I sense it.**
Swift swung her bow on her shoulder as she turned the healer. “I hope your skills won’t be needed tonight.”
“So do I, young Swift,”
Swift felt something prickle the hair on the back of her neck.
“So do–”
Swift seized Rain by the shoulder and yanked him back, an instant before a massive scaled paw lashed out with wickedly-curved claws. The claws missed Rain’s throat by mere inches. Whatever relief Swift felt at saving the healer disappeared, however, as the creature sprang out of the forest, revealing its monstrous bulk.
“Swift!” Joyleaf screamed at the dazed girl.
Her mother’s voice snapped Swift out of her terror, and she pushed Rain behind her. “Get back, healer! You must survive!”
The monster bore down at Swift, jaws agape, long forked tongue unfurled. Nightrunner sprang at the creature and sunk his fangs into its shoulder. Longbranch and Treestump lunged forward on wolfback.
And then – the creature began to send.
Unspeakably intense hatred and malice bore into their minds. Horrific imagery overwhelmed them, until they could hardly focus on the reality of their surroundings. Lightning lanced through clouds as a longtooth and a snake entwined in a deadly embrace, their limbs and tails alight with supernatural fire. Voices shouted through the clouds, as the thunder beat out a rhythmic chorus.
Blood and fire and wardrums.
Anger, resentment, wild wanderlust, deadly passion...
**Madcoil!** the creature screamed.
Swift struggled to keep to her feet. It was all happening too fast. Foxfur fell as the claws raked her throat. A swipe of Madcoil’s paw and Longbranch was tossed off his wolf. Another wolf already lay dead. And in front of the rearing snake-tailed beast was Joyleaf, her sword-arm held high to shield her eyes.
“Nooo!” Joyleaf screamed. “Nooo... Grenn, stop!”
“Mother!” Swift shouted through the mist of sendings. “Wolfriders! Run! Run for your lives!” Half-blind from the pain of Madcoil’s sending star, Swift rushed forward, trying to reach her mother. But then Madcoil turned its piercing gaze on the young Wolfrider.
**Tam...** it hissed in her mind.
Swift screamed. Her legs buckled and she collapsed to the ground. Nausea rose in her throat. How could anyone bear such a wound, a soulname used in anger and treachery – the most potent weapon of all?
The fire burned her, threatened to extinguish her...
She felt arms seize her shoulders and pull her away. She collapsed against her unseen saviour, too weak to do more. Bleeding and half-mindless, the Wolfriders scattered into the forest.
The pain slowly began to ebb from Swift’s mind and she opened her eyes. She lay in Rain’s lap, and they sat high in a tree branch, out of reach of Madcoil’s limbs. “Healer?” she gasped.
“I saw you fall. Simply returning a favour,” he smiled, somewhat sadly.
“Mother.. where is my mother?”
Rain lowered his eyes. “I don’t know.”
Swift pulled herself from Rain’s lap. Skywise lay next to her on the branch, his back against the trunk. His forehead was gashed, and he was barely conscious. “Foxfur...” he murmured. “Foxfur... is she safe?”
Swift became aware of more voices calling from the trees around them.
“Brownberry?” Treestump’s voice called. “Joyleaf?”
“Longbranch!” One-Eye shouted. “Where are you, brother?”
“Mother – Joyleaf!” Swift shouted into the darkness. “Joyleaf!”
“Answer us, sister!” Treestump called.
“Swift, what–” Rain began, but Swift leapt down to the forest floor, heedless of the danger. She stared into the gloom and send out an intimate call meant for her mother alone.
First nothing... then a faint answer...
“Mother! She’s down here, someone help me!” Swift shouted as she raced across the blood-spattered dirt. The others were gone, leaving only bits of hair and leathers, and pools of dark blood. Swift followed one trail of spatters and streaks to a cluster of bushes. And there... her flesh torn by claws and fangs, her tan leathers saturated with blood, was Chieftess Joyleaf.
“Mother!” Swift cried as she eased Joyleaf out from under the cover. Madcoil had attacked her, but she had somehow escaped its jaws and dragged herself to the cover of shadows. Her body was shattered, but a glimmer of life lingered in her eyes. Her right hand still clutched New Moon tightly. The bright metal blade was covered in a sticky black ichor.
“Mother,” Swift brushed Joyleaf’s hair from her face. “Mother, can you hear me?”
Joyleaf was too weak to speak. But her eyes met Swift’s as she sent a weak message.
**I wounded it..... Tam... it’s him. Somehow... it’s a part of Bearclaw... the worst part... the monster... the Hunt, the Beast.**
Skywise and Treestump reached her side. “Sister, can you speak?” Treestump begged.
Rain dropped next to the chieftess and put his hands on her mangled body. She drew in a pained breath as Rain struggled to force his healing magic into her bones.
**It knew my soulname, Swift... I could not fight it...**
“Mother...” Swift whispered.
Joyleaf’s stare pierced her to the core. **Grenn. His name is Grenn. It is the monster inside him... and his scant saving grace. Use it, daughter.**
**I will, Mother. Rest now. Rain will heal you.**
“Too... late...”
“Don’t say that!”
“Finish it for me, my chief-daughter,” she begged. She raised her arm and pressed the cold hilt of the sword into Swift’s palm. “Take New Moon... your hand is mine... when you strike... so will I...”
Joyleaf’s head rolled lifelessly to the side. Rain let out a keening wail. He continued to pour his healing magic into the body for several tense moments, then sat back on his heel, defeated.
“I could not...” he gasped. “It was too late... too bad...”
Swift hugged her mother tight in one final embrace, weeping. The surviving Wolfriders bowed their heads in mourning. They stood back, letting Swift have one last moment alone with her mother. And then, Treestump touched Swift’s shoulders and gently lifted her to her feet.
“What is your will... my chief?”
Swift stared at him numbly. “We... we go back to the Holt. We get the others. And... and then we avenge our dead.” She looked back at Joyleaf’s body. “Help me... someone help me carry her.”
“Swift–”
“No! I won’t leave her here for the creature to eat. She will be left in untainted forest. Who will help me?”
“I will,” Rain said. He and Treestump picked up the corpse while Swift cradled the head lovingly.
Swift thought of the wolves. She turned, and saw that not all had survived. Longbranch’s wolf, and Foxfur’s, and Treestump’s, and Rain’s, all had disappeared. But Sleekwind was still alive, and Swift beckoned the wolf closer. Then draped Joyleaf stomach-down on the wolf’s back. Swift knelt and looked the wolf in the eyes.
**Take her away. Take her somewhere... clean.**
Sleekwind’s eyes told her that she understood. The she-wolf turned, then quietly melted into the darkness.
Swift got to her feet. Four dead. Longbranch, Brownberry, Foxfur... and now Joyleaf. The wolfpack decimated. One-Eye and Skywise badly wounded. And somehow... her sire was responsible.
Swift set her jaw. “Back to the Holt,” she commanded with a strength she did not feel.
“Rain!” Moonsbreath cried out. She dropped the blanket she had been mending and raced across the clearing to throw her arms about her lifemate’s neck. She kissed him fiercely, and Rain returned the embrace with equal, desperate ardor.
**Ryuu,** She used his soulname in an intimate lock-send. **I felt – Death almost touched you.**
**Death touched others, beloved. Those I could not save.**
“Father!” Pike barrelled into his parents and hugged his father enthusiastically.
Strongbow and Grayling jogged up to Swift. The brothers saw the emptiness in her eyes and their hearts sank. Nightfall searched the hunting party for her parents, and when she met only mournful faces, she let out a scream of horror and heart-shattering grief. Redlance raced to her side and held his young lovemate tight as she sobbed convulsively.
Slowly, painfully, the entire tale unfolded to the Wolfriders.
“It’s called Madcoil...” Swift finished the tale. “And it has elfin magic in it.” She could not bring herself to try and explain the role that the mysterious Grenn somehow played. “It knew my soulname,” she admitted. “It knew Mother’s.”
Grayling moved behind her, a little leather thong in his hands. When he reached for her white-blond hair, Swift flinched. “No...” she whispered. “Not yet.”
“You are our chief now,” Grayling said simply. Swift closed her eyes and let the tears flow down her cheeks as her half-brother gathered up a lock of blond hair and tied it at the crown of her head.
Swift drew in a shaky breath. “Madcoil can be killed! Joyleaf wounded it before she died. I promised I would finish what she began, but we must work as one to destroy it. All of us. Will you help me?”
Their eyes told her she need not to have asked.
“Moonshade, Rainsong, Woodlock, you will stay here. Care for Dart and the cub Rainsong carries. The rest of you, mount your wolves and come with me. You can ride Brownberry’s wolf-friend Rattle-Ribs, Treestump. Rain – you will ride with me.”
“How will we kill this creature, Swift?” Dewshine asked.
Swift smiled grimly. “With nets and cunning. It’ll be just like hunting bear.”
The Wolfriders followed the trail of death and decay towards the north-west, far beyond their usual borders. The trail was strong, marked not only by mere scents, but by a sense of unease and foreboding – and occasionally, but grisly spoor that still bore the undigested flakes of bone and metal jewelry. Skywise found a piece of Foxfur’s golden collar and rushed into the bushes to vomit. Eyes High and Shale could only watch their son suffer, for neither words nor sending would ease the pain of a lost first love.
They travelled for a full night and day before Swift instructed them to wait while she rode Nightrunner ahead. Something beckoned her to leave the clear trail of torn underbrush and bits of neglected meat. She hurried off on a tangent, following a strange prickle at the back of her neck.
The weeds and thistles that choked Nightrunner’s progress through the wood suddenly fell back, and Swift found herself staring at a gaping cave mouth. Sickly black ichor was spattered on the ground in places, and streaked as if by a thick tail in others. The broken bones that littered the opening and the magic-wilted roots and weeds that surrounding the rocks confirmed Swift’s instinct.
Madcoil’s empty den.
Swift did not enter. She knew what she would find inside, and she had no wish to see for herself.
She dismounted from Nightrunner and took in her surroundings. Ravens perched on the gnarled trees, and strange briars twisted in convoluted knots. Dark magic was everywhere. Madcoil’s tainted touch had corrupted this distant glen into a place as dark and dangerous as that briar patch where Swift had encountered Bearclaw.
“The briar patch...” Swift whispered. “That’s where this thing was created... that night... the storm.... Come on, Nightrunner!” she sprang onto her wolf’s back. “Let’s get back to the others before Madcoil comes home.”
**We make our stand here!** Swift sent. **Scouter, Strongbow, Eyes High – I want you to scout out this trail. Madcoil’s den is that way, and it will soon return to rest. Let us know the instant it returns. Pike, Dewshine, Skywise, Shale – start peeling bark from their trees and bleeding them for sap. The rest of you – gather vines and rocks. We are going to build a net large enough to trap eight bears! No one speak. From now until the creature is dead, we will only send.**
The Wolfriders set to work. Pike and his brother Shale stripped away bark from the trees, then pierced the wood underneath while Dewshine caught the sticky sap in a little bowl. Clearbrook and One-Eye laid out the first catch of vines, and Moonsbreath instructed Nightfall and Treestump in weaving. As the net grew, Skywise, Pike and Grayling began to coat the vines with sap. Treestump and Rain lashed the rocks into the net, and Pike spread more sap over each stone. Every Wolfrider pitched in, and soon the net was completed. Swift watched as the Wolfriders scaled the trees and began to drag the net up.
**We can scent Madcoil, but we can’t see it,** Eyes High sent from her perch. **It’s nearby... but not inside its den.**
**Good enough. Come back to help us set up the net.** She looked up at the progress. **It’s heavy. Choose the strongest branches. I don’t any of you falling before you’re supposed to.**
When everyone was in the trees, Swift climbed up to join them for one last inspection. **Good. I’m going to get Madcoil. Remember – when I yell, all of you jump down at the same time. It’ll be just like catching a bear.**
**Be careful, Swift!** Skywise sent. **We... we can’t lose you too.**
Swift took a step towards the den when she felt something tug at her vest. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Nightrunner holding her back. Swift smiled and gestured for him to accompany her.
She left the clearing and the net, carefully picking her way towards the den, leaving herself a clear route back. And then she felt something touch her mind. Madcoil sensed her. The twisted sending star of the monster burned in her head.
**Tam... come to me...**
Swift winced, but this time she did not swoon. Somehow, either through the knowledge gained at Joyleaf’s death, or through her newfound strength as chieftain, she had gained some immunity to the sound of her soulname used in anger.
“Yes... I’ll come... curse you...” she breathed.
She entered the glade and beheld the empty den. She could smell fear and contagion nearby. “Show yourself, Madcoil!” she shouted.
She heard a growl, but she could not place the source.
**Grenn!** she sent. **I know you now! Your name is Grenn. Your name is the Beast. Come out and face me. Don’t think – just come on, you bloodsucker. I’m waiting! Tam is waiting for you!**
A terrible screaming roar echoed behind her. Swift spun on her heel to see Madcoil spring from its hiding place across from the den – blocking her way back to the others!
Swift leapt on Nightrunner’s back, and the wolf tore directly at Madcoil. The serpent-cat lunged at the approaching prey. But at the last moment, Nightrunner sprang into the air, willing all his strength into his hind legs. He soared over the downward-lunging maw, and landed square on Madcoil’s scaled head. In two bounds he and Swift had leapt down from the creature.
Thwarted, Madcoil screamed and spun around with an agility belied by its huge size. Swift glanced over her shoulder. The creature was gaining fast, and double-determined to catch its prey. Swift looked up at the tree cover. No.. not yet. Not quite there yet.
She felt Madcoil’s fetid breath on her back as Nightrunner taxed his aching muscles to their breaking point. Swift looked up again and saw the net above her. The glowing eyes of the Wolfriders were fixed on her.
Swift and Nightrunner streaked under the net. Madcoil slithered after them.
“NOW!” Swift screamed as she cleared the far edge of the net.
The Wolfriders leapt. The net came down soundly.
Swift scrambled off Nightrunner’s back and raced back to the struggling, hissing creature. “Madcoil!” she shouted.
Madcoil screamed in pain and confusion. But the sap-coated vines held, and the Wolfriders clenched the edges of the net with sixteen death grips.
**TAM!!** the creature screamed in one last desperate gamble as Swift sprang onto its head, New Moon drawn.
“Send all you want, you magic-born mistake! I know you now!”
**TAM, stop!**
“Joyleaf, guide my hand!” Swift cried as she raised New Moon high over her head, then drove it squarely into the golden eye of the creature. With one last final thrash of the head that tore the net of out Redlance’s and Nightfall’s hands, the creature screamed, then collapsed.
Swift stared down at the motionless beast. Black blood covered her hands. But she did not trust her eyes.
Treestump climbed up behind her and patted her shoulder. “You did it, lass. Right through the eye. Madcoil is finished!”
Finished...
Slowly, Swift withdrew New Moon. She leaned against her uncle as he helped her down from the beast’s head.
Finished. Joyleaf was avenged. Grenn was dead.
The fire was extinguished at last.
“What will we do with it?” Nightfall placed a booted foot on the beast’s lifeless paw.
**Leave it to rot,** Strongbow sent.
“No,” Swift gasped. “Madcoil has crippled our tribe. Its body will serve us now. Help me take its head. I have an idea.”
“Come quickly, shaman!” Tabak cried. He caught the shaman’s withered arm and pulled the wiry old man to the clearing at the edge of camp where the demon-chief had taunted them only a few moons ago.
“What is it?” Tabak asked, scowling at the bewildering sight.
The scaly head of the monster the hunters had first encountered two moons ago lay on the ground, its forked tongue protruding from its jaws. And surrounding the head were bunches of wildflowers, a woven basket filled with fresh berries, and – most precious – a spirit dagger made of the shiny silver rocks, stronger than any blackstone blade.
The shaman stared in disbelief at the sight. “I... uh... Gotara....” But he could find no explanation for gifts that surrounded the grotesque head.
“Humans!” a voice called from the trees, in a strangely-accented speech. “The monster is dead. We – your... demons – killed it. We not make that monster, but we kill, we clean forest of it. It is over. Take gifts – gifts of the spirits. We no demons. We... good spirits. One day maybe we be friends. Now... take gifts and make no more battle. Farewell.”
“Shaman, what does it mean?” Tabak frowned.
“I... I don’t know. Quick – burn the head. Gotara’s sacred fire will rid us of this abomination.”
“And the ‘gifts?’” Tabak eyed the dagger hungrily.
The shaman also wanted the dagger. “I will take them. I will study them. This is surely a demon trap. But perhaps... perhaps this time, Gotara works through our enemies...”
**It was unwise to give them your dagger, Swift,** Strongbow sent as they returned to the Holt. **They may one day use it against us. What if one day they sacrifice one of us with that blade's edge?**
“It's a risk, I admit. And maybe the humans will only twist my words to suit what their ‘Gotara’ wills. But maybe... just this once, they might listen, if only for a little while...”
Strongbow shook his head. But he sent nothing.
A moon after they left Madcoil’s head in the human camp, the wardrums began up again. But no human trackers entered the Wolfrider’s territory. Perhaps they had forged the first links of friendship. Or perhaps it was nothing but a brief respite from the cycle of hatred. But the first frost had descended on the forest, and if the old animosities were to be stirred up, they would have to wait until the newgreen.
One final loose end needed to be tied. Swift took Nightrunner and left the Holt, heading for the lightning-burned briar patch. She found the land scarred by scorch marks just as she had imagined, just as the sending from Madcoil had hinted.
She searched the forest around the briar patch, following the faint traces of dying scents. And there, in a small glade, she found the sun-bleached bones of elf and wolf.
Nightrunner sniffed the wolf bones curiously while Swift waded through the grass, inspecting the remains. A glint of light in the weeds beckoned her. She bent down and lifted up and broken elf’s skull, stripped clean of all flesh and sinew, stabbed through the top by an immense fang.
“So you fell...” Swift whispered. “Were you its first meal?”
Gently, she set the skull back in the weeds. And then she saw the wolfshead pendant, lying intact among the bits of shoulder bone and ribs. She hesitated a moment, then lifted the pendant and weighed it in her hand.
She got to her feet. “Come on, Nightrunner.” She tucked the chain through the waistband of her breech-cloth. “Let’s go home.”
Elfquest copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. Elfquest, its logos, characters, situations, all related indicia, and their distinctive likenesses are trademarks of Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Some dialogue taken from Elfquest comics. All such dialogue copyright 2014 Warp Graphics, Inc. All rights reserved. Alternaverse characters and insanity copyright 2014 Jane Senese and Erin Roberts.