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Chapter 45: A Genteel wolf

They were aboard Nontikmah's magical ship for exactly four days before land came into view in the distance. Kilyan stood in the prow, his chest swelling: they were home.

"Good to be back," Avi said.

Kilyan could smell her at his side, could feel the brush of her soft downy fur. He tangled his fingers with hers and together, they smiled at the long and dark silhouette of land emerging ahead in the misty sea.

That silhouette contained everything in the world that was important to Kilyan, and there was no better feeling than coming home to it. He grinned as he thought of Lea and Ohana bursting out to greet him. No, no, they were too old for that now. His wives weren't girls anymore. Perhaps a few dignified kisses on his cheeks. And were his sons back yet? If so, they wouldn't tackle him to the ground as they had so many years ago. No, they would probably just smile and say hello, and if they had really missed their father, they might give him a one-armed hug. Kilyan sighed to himself. He wished his family was younger again: he secretly longed to be tackled to the ground, to be jostled on both sides by the flapping breasts of his eager wives . . .

"Dad," piped Wynn's curious voice, "what's the summer village like?"

Wynn climbed up on the railing and leaned against it. Inden appeared at Wynn's side, his large wings tucked behind him. Kilyan looked over the boy: slightly muscular, strong, tall, loyal and responsible. Yes, Inden might just make a fine husband for his Wynn one day. A fierce protector. That's what Kilyan wanted for his Wynn.

"Many wolves there like Wynn," Avi assured her daughter. "None like Avi. Avi and Ryo were freaks there . . ."

Wynn's eyes grew round: her mother, the queen, a freak? She saw a small tear gather in the corner of her mother's eye and realized that Avi was thinking of Ryo. She rested her head against her mother and squeezed her paw. Avi put her arm gratefully around Wynn.

"Wolves there have wings?" grunted Inden.

" 'Fraid not," Kilyan answered.

"Then what will I do if they don't accept me?" Inden wondered, and he had a strained sort of look that sent a pang of sympathy to Kilyan's heart: Inden was an orphaned prince, a pup with no where to go. If the summer wolves did not accept him, he might become a lone wolf.

"I'll go to the village council for you, Inden," Kilyan assured the boy. "I'll do what I can to make them see you are trustworthy, honest, and could become a valuable asset to the village. There's no reason why they shouldn't accept you." Hell, they accepted Eno, thought Kilyan darkly, and he was practically banned as a lone wolf by the winter wolves . . .

Later that night, Kilyan was asleep with Avi snuggled against him when a hard jolt made him jerk awake. The jolting vibrated right down to the ship's spine, and when Kilyan opened his eyes, it was to find himself rocking in a little boat. Avi was in his lap, clinging in shock to his neck, and Wynn was in the arms of a startled Inden. The boat rocked up on a wave and spiraled back down, spilling its occupants out on the wet sand.

Kilyan sat up and spit sand from his mouth. He could hear the others coughing and doing the same, smacking the sand from their fur and blinking the salty seawater from their eyes. He blinked more sand from his lashes and gazed into the distance: the wastelands, and far off down shore, the sun village. They were back.

"No trees for miles," Inden happily observed and flexed his wings. Kilyan smiled his amusement: Inden wouldn't have to worry about getting his wings tangled for a long time.

"Think we should stop at sun village? Stay with Kilyan friends?" Avi wondered as Kilyan helped her dust herself off. She turned to Wynn, and lifting her child's face, she brushed the sand from it.

Kilyan shook his head and gazed into the ever stretching wastelands. God, he hated the sight of them by now. It seemed only just yesterday that he had fought Ryo here, that their blood had stained the cracked earth as they struggled and snarled -- just yesterday that Lea was taken from him and they pursued Eno across this place, just yesterday that he and Keeno were raped, tormented, and fisted under these same withered trees, upon these same curly hills.

"There's no point stopping at the sun village, Avi," Kilyan answered. "They don't welcome shemales there. They're as prejudiced against shemales as winter wolves are against tail chasers," he said with a snort. "No, our best bet is to waste no time crossing the wastelands. Come on."

Kilyan led the others into the pink and pearly dawn. The night was slowly retreating, and with its end, Kilyan knew that merchants would be on the prowl, ready to abduct unsuspecting wolves: lost females, runaway youths, and travelers they could take as mates or sell in distant lands as slaves. Lone wolves usually lurked after dark, but Kilyan had come to a place in his heart where he no longer feared any wolf: he had faced every danger this world could give him, had been beaten, raped, enslaved and tormented, publicly humiliated, and more. And in the end, these moments of defeat in his life had only served to make him strive for excellence as a warrior -- something Ryo learned soon enough when she challenged him.

So Kilyan was fearless that morning when he led the others into the wastelands. And he knew when they had been traveling for some hours, when they settled to rest in the shade of a withered tree, when strange wolves approached their camp, that he would gladly give his life to keep the others safe.

There were three of the strangers. Why were there always three? They were scraggly looking wolves and very thin. They weren't dressed finely enough to be have been merchants: a group of lone wolves searching for some nasty hole to curl up in as the relentless heat of the wastelands began. Perhaps Kilyan and the others had settled in their usual spot. Kilyan didn't think so though: these trees did not reek of lone wolf piss.

Kilyan stood as the wolves approached and lifted a large rock. "Don't come any closer!" he warned, his voice such a threatening bark that the wolf in the lead held out his arms, a silent order for his companions to stop.

Wynn clung to her mother, glaring at the strangers. Kilyan heard feathers rustling and knew Inden had stood as well, that he was probably standing in front of Avi and Wynn, his paws balled into fists.

The lone wolves laughed at Kilyan's audacity: he was a single male wolf defending two pups and a female against three. He didn't stand a chance.

"Just give us your females," called the wolf in the lead, "and we'll leave you be." He took a step closer, but Kilyan barked for him to stop.

"You take another step," Kilyan shouted, "and I'll replace your head with this rock."

This seemed to infuriate the wolf, who gestured for his companions to attack. The other two looked at each other and hesitated: even if he was alone, Kilyan was clearly not a wolf to be reckoned with. Neither of them wanted that rock to crush their faces. When they didn't move, their leader cursed, grabbed them by their heads, and shoved them forward, shouting around his chipped fangs, "I said kill him, you pussies!"

Kilyan and Inden both started forward, but there was no reason for either of them to do a thing: an arrow came flying from somewhere behind Kilyan, and whizzing past his head, it sank in a splash of blood between the eyes of one of their attackers. The wolf, with the arrow still in his face, crumpled to the ground. His lone wolf companions stared at him, flabbergasted, then took off across the dry earth as fast as they could. But the arrows didn't stop coming: they came -- one, two -- and took out the remaining lone wolves in the same manner.

Kilyan stood in amazement a long moment. He turned around in circles, but there was no one there! He heard Avi sharply cry his name and looked at her. She and Wynn were still huddled under the withered tree, but Avi was pointing up at its branches. Kilyan looked where she'd indicated and gasped: hovering in the tree, covered like a gorilla fighter in mud and twigs, was a young gray wolf. The length of his muscular body lay along the tree branch, and in his skilled paw, a classic bow and arrow. On his back was a quiver of arrows and in his teeth a twig. Kilyan stared at him: the wolf looked utterly mad! He had twigs in his mane, thorn bracelets on his arms and wrapped around his tail, there was even a thorn stuck in his nose like an earring. A strange bloody stain was on his temple, but the blood looked dry, as if the wound had long ago been given. And there was something else strange: the wolf didn't seem to have a scent! Kilyan blinked as if he was seeing things.

The strange wolf in the tree fitted an arrow to the bowstring and aimed it at Kilyan, right between his eyes. "Tell me why I shouldn't shoot you down too," he said in a low and grating voice.

"No!" Avi wailed, and Kilyan was alarmed when she ran in front of him. She stood with her back to Kilyan, her wings spread like a barrier.

"Avi -- get out of the way before he shoots you --"

Kilyan pulled her behind him, but Avi shoved him back with her super strength, and turning burning eyes up to the archer, she snarled, "If you shoot Kilyan, I rip head off neck! Shemales are resilient: you can shoot me sixty times -- I live to kill you in the end!"

Kilyan stood behind Avi and felt chilled by the tone of her voice. She wasn't lying, after all: Ryo had lived through countless blows before she managed to slaughter a great deal of the winged warriors.

To their bewilderment, the archer lowered his bow a fraction, then his pupils grew small and he burst out laughing. His laughter echoed across the wastelands, loud and jolly and steady "Ha! Ha! Ha!" s that almost made their ears bleed. Then he shouldered his bow and started down from the tree. Wynn and Inden ran to join Avi and Kilyan. They all stood frozen and watched the stranger, wondering nervously what to expect.

Kilyan wanted to just walk away, but the wolf seemed completely nuts: he didn't feel like any arrows in his back.

The stranger hopped down from the last tree branch, landing on his feet in the dust as if there were springs in them. He stuck his paws jovially on his hips and surveyed Kilyan and the others with a grin.

With the strange wolf much closer, they could see that he was wearing many straps across his chest and calves, all containing daggers. His long, shaggy gray mane was tied tackily in a frizzy tail, and there were lines of war paint smeared under his eyes, across his chest -- gray and brown paints that helped him blend with the dull colors of the wastelands.

". . . is there some battle going on we don't know about?" Kilyan asked, holding back a snicker.

Avi pinched Kilyan's arm and shushed him. "Don't provoke weirdo with weapon!" she hissed.

The stranger laughed again. "The name's Garth," he announced. He hacked and spit over his shoulder, then added with a smug smile, "Take a good look, because I'm the best damn archer you'll ever see."

"Will you shoot us if we don't look?" Kilyan teased.

Garth burst out laughing, more great resounding HA!s. He seemed to laugh with all his strength, with everything he had, as if his laughter could push away the gloom, banish the atrocities that took place in the world. It suddenly occurred to Kilyan that Garth was some loner who probably thought himself a defender of the faith -- as in, the faith in the goodness of wolves everywhere. Garth was their world's first crime fighter. It amused Kilyan.

"You're alright, kid," Garth said, grinning from ear to ear at Kilyan. "You're alright!"

Garth was such a likeable, such an amicable soul (he was a regular ball of sunshine, Kilyan thought), that Kilyan and the others warmed to him immediately. He offered to accompany the group across the wastelands, bragging that his sure-shot would take the hair off a tick's ass.

"What are you pups doin' out here in the middle of death?" Garth asked one night when they were all seated around a fire.

They had been traveling for many days now, and every morning when they settled down, Garth insisted on taking watch alone. He would let them all sleep for a few hours, then it was back on their feet and across the barren earth. They made good time in this manner until one day at last Kilyan took a deep breath: he could see the southern woods in the distance. He knew that within those woods lay the graveyard, and beyond that, the pastures, and beyond that . . . the summer village. He felt a surge of relief wash over him: he was home.

Present-day Kilyan cocked an eyebrow. It was the first time in a long time that anyone had called him a pup, and what was more, Garth was no older than he! He'd been sitting with his elbows on his knees, looking thoughtfully into the flames when Garth spoke. "It's a long story," he answered.

"I like hearing stories," Garth returned, "but I bet you don't like tellin' 'em." His pale brown eyes twinkled at Kilyan.

Kilyan smiled back, reflecting that he couldn't keep a smile off his face anytime he was around Garth. "I'm like you," he said. "I like hearing stories: what are you doing in the middle of death? I mean, god, what do you live off of? Where's your home?"

Garth waved a paw, indicating the wastelands, "This is my home." He tore a root from the earth and took a rough bite out of it, making everyone around the fire cringe. The roots in the wastelands were very bitter, and Garth should have been choking, but he acted as nonchalant as if he couldn't taste at all. "And this is what I live off of. Damn good too. Want some?" he asked, green juice dribbling down his lips as he offered the root to Avi.

Avi politely declined but made a disgusted face when Garth wasn't looking. Wynn giggled.

"You didn't answer the last question," Kilyan said quietly. "What are you doing here? Don't you have a tribe? A village? You're not a lone wolf, are you?"

"By choice, not force," Garth said, giving a bitter laugh.

Kilyan and Avi exchanged glances: it was the first time any of them had heard bitterness from Garth, who seemed so settled in his life on the wastelands.

". . . you left your tribe?" Kilyan asked slowly. "Why?!"

The very thought was inconceivable to Kilyan: life was so much easier with a village than without a village. A wolf without a pack was usually a dead wolf -- one reason lone wolves found each other and traveled in groups. To abandon ones pack for the unknown . . . it was suicide. Kilyan studied Garth and he wondered for the first time if Garth's laughter wasn't a charade, a mask that he wore for the sake of covering the true melancholy in his soul. Perhaps Garth had come here to die. But why? What could have been so bad? Kilyan had to know, for all his life he had done nothing but struggle to live.

Garth smiled at Kilyan and Avi's shock. He was amused to notice, however, that Wynn and Inden were not shocked at all: the pair of them would have gladly left their homes for the unknown. Unbeknownst to Garth, Wynn had done just that.

Garth leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and after smiling bitterly at the fire for a moment, he answered: "Why else would I leave my village? I left it for love." He paused, but they waited, knowing that more that was coming.

"Some years ago when I was younger and dumber," Garth began with a laugh, but his pale eyes became flat and solemn as he unfolded his tale, "I was a warrior of the autumn tribe. Far across the sea from here. A little tribe of quiet wolves -- nutty, all of them. They'd chop the head off a squirrel if it looked at them wrong. They aren't a very smart tribe. We autumn wolves are, in fact, very primitive. We are set back in time, a hundred years of evolution have surpassed us. We might as well still walk on all fours. We insist on living in caves, not huts, up in the withered hills where the leaves are always red and gold. The continuation of life is an autumn wolf's main concern, thus a female must lay with a male. No ifs, ands, or butts shall be prodded."

Garth paused in his tale to allow their laughter. He laughed too, but began again:

"I was an autumn wolf who liked to prod butts. I loved males. They were irresistible to me, and my first kiss with one was down in the dead leaves as it was raining. He and I had just come from some hunt. We'd caught some good fish and shot down some deer as well. He was a beautiful boy. So was I," Garth said dreamily, "and I wanted him. I always had, but he never suspected. So that day, I let him know. . . ."

Garth didn't finish. He scowled at the fire and snapped a twig in halves with such violence that Kilyan said, "What happened!"

"What do you think?" said Garth with a dark laugh. "We were seen. My father was the chief of the autumn tribe, so I escaped punishment. But Aren?" Garth chucked the snapped pieces of the twig hard in the flames. "They banished him to the end of the earth and I never saw him again."

Kilyan sat in shock. He couldn't mean the Aren he'd once known!

"I tried for years to stay with my tribe," Garth went on wretchedly, "but always, Aren's sad eyes as they chased him with stones haunted me. I still remember when a stone caught his ear. He fell to one knee and cried out. I screamed his name, and Father struck me. That blow to the face seemed to unhinge me and I ran after Aren like a mad thing. I would be banished with him, let them chase me from the village too! But they held me back. I was the future of the autumn tribe, I was to rule from the high cave after my father, and I was to do so with a female at my side. . . .

"So Aren left. My beautiful silver Aren. Bloody, battered, and torn, he ran into the trees. I spent many years trying to forget him, but you don't forget love. You just . . . don't. So I ran away one night, into the unknown --" a feverish light came into Garth's eyes and he stared past their heads into the darkness "-- I searched everywhere, I trudged through the mud, I sat up wintry nights freezing beside a meager fire as I thought up new places that my Aren could have gone . . . Villages shunned me. I had runaway from home, disobeyed my father. I was a disgrace. Eventually, I smuggled myself across the sea on a merchant ship. I was discovered, beaten here in the wastelands, and . . . left to die."

Avi stared sadly at Garth, her eyes glowing bright with sympathy. Kilyan was still in shock. Could it be? Was Garth the lover whose kiss had caused Aren's banishment and ultimate enslavement in the moon village? Kilyan opened his mouth to speak, but Garth -- still staring with blank eyes past their heads -- suddenly vanished.