Ankit, the old man, and the Great Wolves
Recommended: If you haven’t done so, read Ankit and the Uncle of Refuge, Ankit and the Champions, and Ankit over the Orphan’s Pass first.
Part 1: The old man
First, the glare of snow strained Ankit’s eyes, forcing them shut. Next, ice crunched under enormous paws, and shadowy figures passed left and right. This was followed by more nothingness. The sensation of warmth, and the glassy fur held tightly in his grip, stuck with him as he drifted in and out of consciousness; he felt that warmth deep in his bones despite the cold air filling his lungs. Before he drifted off again, he found the source of the warmth, a glow from within this creature that carried him to safety.
Ankit tried once more to open his eyes. Fortunately, it wasn’t too bright now, wherever he was, but still enough to make him entirely too aware of the pounding inside his skull. He closed them again and turned his attention instead to standing up. After shifting about a little, he found his body sluggish, so he lowered his target to sitting. This he managed.
Once more, he tried to open his eyes, slowly this time. Shapes drew into focus, and before long, his sight was almost back to normal, though he was confused by the setting. He found himself in what looked like a mountain cabin.
With his other senses beginning to return, several things struck him. Everything seemed incredibly old, as though from a completely different age. The best example of this was an old wooden bench, into which was worn — not carved or shaped intentionally — a seat. Someone had sat on that same spot so many times, over many, many years, so that the wood had been worn that way.
As he continued to look around, there were other similar indications. The stonework was weathered and smooth, the wooden floor polished to a sheen, and the rugs and fabrics threadbare. All this and yet the cabin was obviously lived in, clean, and warm.
Ankit’s sight was followed by his sense of smell. Having grown up in the worst of the squalor that Refuge offered, he had learned to ignore all but the most foul odours. Since he’d left, however, starting in the Lowlands, the scents had grown more pleasant and he’d started paying attention to them. As he ascended into the mountains, he had noted how fresh the air smelled.
Here he caught a note of something different again, fragrant and pleasant, similar to the flowers he’d smelled in the plains. This was richer, stronger, so much so that it couldn’t be missed. It was the sort of thing he imagined the spoiled children of Barons would pay serious Coin for. His eyes were drawn over to a large pot plant in the corner of the room. Inside was a thorny, tough-looking plant, its gnarled stems twisting this way and that and covered with beautiful, heavy, red flowers. He’d only ever seen such a thing in old books, on posters, or as street art. He believed it was called a Rose.
Without thinking, he stood and made his way over to it, placing his nose close to a flower. It was so intoxicating he felt his eyes close and his head go light.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen many of those where you’re from?” The speaker was behind Ankit. He turned calmly, with an overwhelming sense that he was safe.
Standing in the doorway was a man. They stared at each other for a short while. The man smiled. He matched his surroundings, face wrinkled and deeply lined around his mouth and eyes, with a full head of long white hair tied back, and a thick beard.
“In pictures. Where am I?” Ankit asked. His wits returned, though strangely only a mild sense of unease accompanied them, even though he did not know where he was.
“You are in my home. I call it New Carro. I am known as Old Timm by my friends. And you?”
“Ankit, my name is Ankit.”
Old Timm had walked over to the stove as they spoke, opened it, stoked the coals, and placed a kettle on top. “Tea?”
“Yes please,” Ankit wasn’t sure when he’d last had a hot drink. It must have been back at Nejja’s, in Refuge. The smells of her tea and biscuits rushed back to him and for just a moment, he pictured himself standing in her kitchen. That felt like a lifetime ago now.
“You’ve had an eventful few days.” Old Timm lifted two cups off their hooks and placed them on a counter near the stove before turning and facing his guest again. “Now, let’s look at that arm.”
Ankit had almost forgotten. He looked down, where the wolf had bitten. There was no pain — only the pounding in his head remained for now — everything else felt normal. It certainly didn’t look normal. Where the bite had been, there was only a dark scar, mostly healed. The worrying part was the veins in his arm. They were dark and visible through the skin, which itself was darker to just above his elbow.
“Good, it’s settled down. Our friend was anxious. She felt terrible for biting you,” he said as he held Ankit’s arm and ran his fingers across the scar.
“I’m sorry, our friend?” Ankit asked.
“Mon Delta. It was her that bit you,” he answered.
“Sorry, the wolf? She… she has a name? She felt terrible?”
“Of course she has a name!” He looked at Ankit, incredulous, “and, she’s no ordinary wolf, she’s a Greatwolf! “
The old man paused for a moment, looked Ankit in the eyes, and sighed before speaking again, “my apologies, I don’t get many guests. You have never come across the Greatwolves, have you? We’ll make the proper introductions. You are now all but part of the pack, after all.”
“The pack?”
“Later. Let’s get you that tea now, and perhaps some food.” He returned to preparing the brew, grabbing a handful of what looked like dry leaves from a container at the back of the counter. “One or two things I suppose you should know. First, that arm will never be the same.”
Ankit reached over and held his injured arm. He was sure it felt normal.
“No. For that matter, we can’t be sure just how changed you are, but you’ll have to discover that for yourself. As for the arm, I expect you will have reduced sensation, especially pain, and significantly increased strength.”
Ankit looked at his arm again and stroked it. Lightly at first, then vigorously, eventually scratching at it with his fingernails. Old Timm was right, he couldn’t feel anything.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, depending on your point of view,” he said as he poured hot water into the cups. “Some might even say it has been vastly improved.”
The two cups were placed on a wooden board and carried over to where Ankit stood. He took one with his injured hand. As he did, he noticed he couldn’t even feel the heat of the freshly brewed tea.
“There will be other side effects, but they will take time to show.”
“Side effects of what? The bite?” Ankit’s head was starting to swirl. He stepped to one side and felt for the well-worn seat with his good hand, and sat down.
“The Wolfsom is what I’ve come to call it. It’s a type of venom in their saliva, unique to the Greatwolves so far as I know. It is fatal, inducing first a long, fevered, and restless sleep. The convulsions increase in intensity, as though the mind is fighting a battle with itself. Eventually, the skin grows dark and hard, and finally, the body succumbs.”
“What about me? Will that happen to me?” Ankit could not hide the fear in his voice.
“That’s the interesting part. Like I said, I don’t fully understand it myself. There’s something in the Wolfsom that’s deeply connected to the animal that did the biting.”
There was a timely howl in the distance. Ankit spilled some of his tea as he looked over at the door.
“Oh good, she’s on her way back,” Old Timm said in a tone that puzzled Ankit. He seemed deeply fond of these animals. “As I was saying, so far as I’ve been able to work out, occasionally the Greatwolf feels that the victim is worthy of saving. I’ve never quite understood what they base this on, but I’ve seen enough to make an educated guess. They have a deep sense of the spirit of a thing, and if they believe it is good, that Unara would be worse off without it, they will apply the anti-venom. Only the one who did the biting can do this. Even so, the effects, which vary from person to person, cannot be entirely reversed. Now from what I gather, you helped her. Released her from a trap?”
Ankit said nothing. He simply stared at the man.
“Yes, well, I wouldn’t have expected that alone to be enough. She must have sensed something more in you. I’ve known no one in your situation not to go on to have some meaningful impact in the world, to do great things,” he added matter-of-factly. “Though that being said, I’ve known only two others to be granted this gift.”
He paused long enough to drink his tea down in one gulp, then he stood. Ankit looked at his cup and saw that it was still steaming, scalding hot.
“Let’s go and make the proper introductions, shall we?” Old Timm added.
More howls, and much closer this time. Then he felt, as much as he heard, the noise of something large galloping, on the approach. He sipped his tea, burning his lips as he did, then placed his cup down on the bench before following the old man out of the front door.
The glare of the snow caught him by surprise. Instinctively, he raised his injured arm to obscure the light. As his arm made contact with his forehead, he felt the skin. It was cool and stiff. His eyes slowly adjusted, and he lowered his arm. Standing directly in front of him were two Greatwolves, both he recognised. The glistening white one that he’d freed from the trap, and another, a jet black one that had been with her when she’d come back to save him.
She approached Ankit, and he froze. He wasn’t so much afraid as uncertain. Like she might change her mind about saving him from the Wolfsom. The old man had made it sound like something so important.
How could this orphan deserve such a thing?
“Mon Delta, Ekta, meet Ankit,” the old man said, gesturing to each of them, and then to him.
Ankit noticed that the black Greatwolf dipped his head, as if bowing. He wasn’t sure what to make of it until Mon Delta drew up to him, face to face. She nodded to him as well, then dropped her head as low as she could towards his arm. He raised it in response, and to his surprise, she licked it. This he felt. An infectious warmth radiated up his arm.
He felt like he should say something. “It’s ok, no harm done,” he paused, then added, “thank you for saving my life.”
Immediately, she stuck her nose into his neck and rubbed her head against the side of his face. Resting her cheek on his shoulder for a moment, that strangely glassy yet soft fur against his skin, that same warmth. For a moment, she seemed to glow.
“It’s her that’s grateful to you. You saved her life from the Raiders. She says thank you,” Old Timm said on her behalf. He needn’t have, Ankit understood.
He raised his good hand and stroked her head. Her warmth penetrated him to his core. Only then did he realise he wasn’t cold, having followed Old Timm outside with no coat, and barefoot.
Part 2: The Unaran wilds
Three weeks passed in New Carro and Ankit was feeling quite settled. He spent most of the first week resting and recovering from his injuries. Old Timm came and went in the days; it was never entirely clear what he busied himself with. In the evenings, they would talk about Unara. Ankit had never been a big talker, and yet he felt himself opening up to the old man more and more, and Old Timm listened intently when he did, though he was never surprised by what he heard.
When it was the old man’s turn, Ankit was captivated, and often perplexed. Like so much about this place, his stories seemed out of place in the world Ankit knew today, and he felt as though they had barely scratched the surface.
When Ankit’s strength had returned, Old Timm had kept him busy out in the peaks and forests. They tracked and hunted for food, felled trees, collected deadfall, and tended the gardens. With each lesson, Ankit felt different. Some parts strength, a gift from the Greatwolf-he felt this especially in his left arm, though he suspected the physical changes were spreading further; some parts wisdom, a gift from the old man-deep knowledge of the world around him.
Here though, there was something more mysterious too that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He felt it around the Greatwolves first, beyond the warmth and the strange glow, the feeling that they understood each other without speaking. This same feeling had extended beyond them now, when he worked with the plants, the trees, and when he tracked animals.
“What do you think?” Old Timm asked, lying prone in the snow beside Ankit.
“About what?” Ankit responded, keeping his attention on the old Tuskhog centred in his crosshairs.
Hunting was fast becoming a favourite of Ankit’s, among all the things the old man had taught him so far. ‘Living in, with and from the world’, as the old man had put it.
“He’s solitary, and very old,” Ankit added.
“Yes, an old Tusker. When they’re no longer up to breeding, they move off on their own and keep to themselves.” Old Timm paused and shifted. The snow crunched around him.
The animal seemed to hear this. It stopped, lifted its nose, snorted loudly, and looked around.
“He’ll be good meat for a few weeks, and may not have long left anyway if the predators catch his scent. They can spare us one old hog,” Old Timm continued.
Moving his crosshair over the animal’s shoulder, Ankit first looked for signs of wind, but the air was dead still. Breathing out slowly, he squeezed the trigger. There was a piercing crack, followed by a boom that echoed through the trees. The Tuskhog dropped instantly, a sudden, final spasm kicking the powdery snow up around him. A red mist settled on the snow behind the animal, highlighting its bristling white fur in silhouette.
“Not bad,” Old Timm sat up as he spoke. “I’ll take a walk back. You should manage him on your own. Take care.”
Ankit had grown accustomed to the old man’s ways by now. He cranked the lever of the rifle, catching the spent cartridge out of the air, and reloaded before making his way down the slope through the heavy snow. It was freezing cold out, but he could barely feel it, and it wasn’t thanks to the heavy coat and boots he now wore. It seemed he always felt comfortably warm, indoors and out. Old Timm had said that the gifts of the Wolfsom seemed to vary from person to person. He’d suggested the warmth of Greatwolf blood was one of Ankit’s.
As Ankit approached the clearing, he got the overwhelming sense that someone, or something, was near. He gripped the rifle tightly.
As he neared the downed Tuskhog, he glanced around. At first, nothing seemed out of place, but he remained cautious. Just as he was about to kneel beside the animal, he spotted something unusual. Someone had wrapped a chain around the base of a nearby tree. It was only visible because the pig had been digging around the roots. Ankit moved over to inspect.
He picked up the chain and pulled, watching as it lifted out of the snow towards the centre of the clearing. Pulling again, harder, a trap emerged from beneath the snow, just like the one he had removed from Mon Delta’s leg.
An unexpected rage boiled up inside him as he walked back to the tree, broke off a dead branch, and returned to disarm the trap. He tried to calm himself. His hands were shaking.
“Now why did you go and do that?” a sharp, cruel voice spoke from among the trees behind Ankit.
The voice belonged to a man-Ankit had turned his head partially towards the new arrival-wearing similar clothing to Marko’s Raiders. Could he be one of the survivors who had escaped the Greatwolves’ rescue? Ankit had not seen all their faces clearly that night. This man was holding a staff and had his hand on a holstered pistol.
“I asked you a quest…” The Raider paused and squinted his eyes as Ankit turned the rest of the way to face him.
Old Timm’s rifle was slung across Ankit’s front, his left hand still holding the grip tightly while his right hand neared the handle of his club. He began processing his options; there was no telling how quick a draw the man would be. He didn’t look to be in the best shape, but that wasn’t always a clear indication of speed. Still, Ankit backed himself to either shoulder the rifle and fire, or clear the thick snow between them and disable his opponent before he could fire with any accuracy.
“Wait, you’re that do-gooder from the Pass! You lousy… how are you…” he was in shock.
Now or never, Ankit made sure his footing was firm. The snow crunched down under the balls of his feet.
He sprung-almost flew-barely leaving prints in the snow as he went. Before the Raider knew what was happening, Ankit had cleared half the distance. As he fumbled at the handle of his gun and raised it, Ankit cleared what remained, drew, and raised his club. First, he smashed the gun violently from the Raider’s hand.
With a loud shout, the Raider clutched at his hand and cowered, having dropped his staff. “What… no!” Ankit was looming over him, his club raised.
Pathetic. Lost. Broken. Ankit saw only these things in those hazed-over eyes. This man was adrift. Lowering his club, he looked around. The wilds would eventually take care of him. Ankit didn’t feel it was his place. He dropped his club and turned towards the Tuskhog.
“Wait, how did you?” The man was still nursing his hand. It looked broken and was swelling. Staring at Ankit, pleading, “the wolves, what are they? How are you alive?” He nearly screamed the last question. He was growing incoherent, confused.
A loud howl penetrated the surrounding quiet, close by. A deep, guttural growl followed. Ankit froze, looking down at the old pig..
“No, no, please,” the Raider bent over and began searching around madly at his feet for his pistol.
It was too late. The wilds had their way, just sooner than Ankit had expected. He heard it, but he didn’t watch. The Greatwolf swept in quietly and quickly. The Raider barely made a sound. He was dead before he’d even seen Ekta coming.
Ankit took out his knife and set about gutting the pig. It made no sense carrying all that extra weight in guts back to New Carro, and they had no need for any of those bits at the moment. The forest’s scavengers could have their fair share.
Ekta approached from behind. He sniffed the disarmed trap. Then he pushed his nose into Ankit’s side and Ankit stroked his head in response. The Greatwolf let out a hauntingly beautiful howl. Off in the distance, Ankit heard an even more melodic sound in response. Sharper, clearer, and familiar. Mon Delta wasn’t far. He could feel her.
Her response was more than just a greeting though, and Ekta turned towards it with intent. Ankit knew it too. She was calling them.
Having quickly stashed the Tuskhog carcass under a heap of snow to keep it fresh-he would return for it later-Ankit followed Ekta up the hill. He noticed they were following Old Timm’s tracks from when he’d left after the hunt.
Jogging lightly over the snow, eyes on the tracks, he turned a corner and saw the Greatwolf ahead, sniffing at the snow. As he drew near, Ekta raised his head and nodded up a small trail that sloped upwards, gesturing that Ankit should follow. He did so without hesitation, leaving the Greatwolf behind. There was a warmth building in his chest. This sensation was growing familiar. It happened whenever he and Delta were close.
Another feeling emerged now. Caution, or fear. This was new, but it was as if something was telling him he should tread lightly and stay quiet. Clearing over a small rise and past a snow-covered bush, Ankit saw the old man lying in the snow ahead. To his left, almost invisible against the white cliffs opposite, was Delta. She clearly expected him, and didn’t move a muscle, instead staring down the cliff at the scene below. Old Timm raised an open hand, then lowered it. Ankit went prone and crawled up beside him.
Below them was an encampment of sorts, not dissimilar to the Raiders’ ramshackle settlement on the Pass. Some old, weathered tents, a cabin or three, and various sheds and outhouses. Perhaps an old homestead, or a mine camp.
“Your Marko is down there, and he’s just had some intriguing visitors,” Old Timm explained in a whisper.
“Intriguing how?” Ankit asked.
“They did not belong. Two of the most unusual and mismatched individuals I have ever seen. If indeed they belong anywhere, I suspect it is very far from here.” He paused for a long while before continuing, “I don’t believe they were satisfied with his services. They left unhappy and empty-handed.”
Old Timm pointed at something in the camp. A cage set aside near the door of the old cabin. Inside was something Ankit had not yet come across himself. A Greatwolf pup.
He felt rage again, but this time it did not feel entirely his own. With it, the warmth intensified. Instinctively, he looked over at Delta and found her gaze fixed on the cage, anger in her eyes.
Part 3: The Greatwolves
It took Ankit some time to pick out the emotions that were his own from those he suspected were Delta’s. The obvious ones, the desire to tear the Raiders apart, a fixation with their throats, those were easy. There were others too, though, far deeper, and less primal than he might have expected. In the end, this proved to be the mismatch with his own. He wasn’t sure he was even capable of that depth of feeling.
All the while, he continued to stare down at that Raider encampment alongside Old Timm and the Greatwolf. Ekta was somewhere nearby too, though Ankit hadn’t seen or sensed him in a while. Come to think of it, how much time had passed?
The camp was quiet, and the sun had just dipped behind the peaks. Looking off to the north, Ankit noticed for the first time that the clearing was at the top of a trail that led down into the valley below. The Meetlands stretched out beyond, the setting shadows of great hills and mountains beginning to obscure the vast plains in darkness. A long way off, smoke rose from a settlement that he imagined might be the walled city of Waysmeet itself.
A few Raiders had appeared to light torches. They ambled about slowly, as if dazed. Ankit had seen that same behaviour in them on his first night in the Low Gates. The same few continued about the camp aimlessly.
A thought emerged from between all the mixed emotions. The rage, his own, and Delta’s. The fear on behalf of the Greatwolf pup. Even the curiosity about what Marko and the Raiders were doing here, and who it was Old Timm had witnessed him meeting with. We must rescue that pup! The thought came with no detailed plan or reason. He simply knew it must be done. With that purpose in mind, he started clearing his mind of many of the unhelpful emotions.
First, he began to see a route down the cliff and on the slope. One that he was confident he could manage without being noticed. Then, his eyes focused on the camp and worked their way around. Through the tents and sheds, other obstacles, and finally onto the main cabin’s stoop, where the cage sat. Assuming he could reach it, the pup looked old enough to escape into the trees itself if released. Considering he had the distinct impression that he, Old Timm and the two Greatwolves were now not alone in the forest, he was sure it would be safe, once released.
There was considerable risk. He had no sense of how many Raiders were in the camp. Judging by the number of cabins and tents, it could be anything from a dozen, to dozens. Regardless, resolved to attempt the rescue, Ankit looked across at Old Timm-who was still staring down at the camp, showing little emotion-then looked up at Mon Delta. Unexpectedly, he met her gaze, as if she had been staring into his mind, hearing his very thoughts. He felt as though she was saying, I cannot ask this of you.
Ankit set the rifle beside the old man, felt for his clubs-secure in their holsters-then dropped over the edge of the cliff.
Just a few minutes later, Ankit found himself crouched behind what he understood to be Marko’s cabin. He peaked around the corner to check the coast was clear and, seeing no Raiders, he snuck along the side to the front corner of the cabin and stopped. He was now within earshot of the young pup. Crouching, pressed tightly against the cabin, he listened carefully, hearing the pup’s claws tapping on the floor of the cage as she paced, the occasional fearful whimper, even a low grumble from time to time-no doubt an act of defiance when a Raider approached.
As the minutes passed, he felt a sense of calm, readiness, but something else too. He first felt it on approach to the back of the cabin. The closest thing he could think of was when he was near the Greatwolves. He had an awareness of them, a glowing presence in his mind’s eye, and was no longer surprised when they appeared to him. This new presence was something different. Instead of warmth, he felt fearful anticipation. He felt cold.
Doing his best to clear his mind of this darker glow, and once confident that the Raiders were not moving around all that much, Ankit peaked around the corner for a moment to check on the pup. He found her staring at him, as if she’d known he was there. Unsurprised, he scanned the area.
The coast looked clear, and he realised he should take the opportunity before he lost it. Standing, he pulled himself over a railing and on to the stoop without disturbing the relative silence in the camp. The pup watched him closely as he did so. Finding his way around the side of the cage and to its front, he saw that he only had to deal with a simple bolted clasp. He knelt, pulled on the bolt and opened the cage door carefully in case it creaked. It did not.
The young Greatwolf didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, licked his hand, then stepped to his side, ready to depart. She knew the plan. Instead of running off however, she froze, then growled. This sound was deeper than what Ankit had thought possible from such a small animal. He knew what she was growling at. Various emotions-including a vague image of the camp from above-clouded his mind.
“Go,” Ankit whispered toward the pup.
She made to, but paused and looked up at him, then again towards the cabin door. The dark chill became more and more heavy on his mind.
“Go, I’ll be ok.”
She finally complied, leaping from the stoop, and made for the trees. Several Raiders stared at her, confused. One of them stumbled into her path and she slid to a stop. Ankit tensed up, and the pup backtracked. Then, from the trees behind the Raider, a loud, snarling snap rolled into a deep growl. With the Raider’s attention averted, the pup bypassed him and reached the treeline.
“I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it,” that familiar, raspy voice rang out. Marko was standing in the doorway, hand to his side, gripping a handgun.
Ankit stood and turned, his hands at his sides, close to his club handles. The chief Raider would have no problem cutting him off if he made a dash for the clearing. If he tried to drop backwards over the railing, a shot would likely beat him to it.
“How exactly is it you come to be alive? In my time hunting these accursed animals, I have never known anyone to survive one of their attacks.”
Ankit refrained from answering. He simply returned the stare he received, though there was little doubt he was less intimidating than the Chief Raider. Marko’s eyes continued to bleed that dimly glowing, white fluid that matched his whited-out pupils. His skin was dark and encrusted, particularly around the eye sockets, and the glow surrounded him.
Just as he looked as though he was about to speak again, there was a single, beautiful, angered howl from above. Mon Delta. This was followed shortly by a chorus of others from the cliffs, all around the encampment. Marko’s gaze barely shifted, and only for the briefest moment, but Ankit was certain the white eyes had darted up into the forests above.
“Hmmm, perhaps that explains it. Not so different after all, you and I, are we?” A smile formed on his face as he spoke, staring at Ankit, taking in the air around him.
In that pause, Ankit’s mind drifted again, first to what the savage could mean. How was he anything like that cruel, unnatural monster? It was clear Marko could see something, but what? Before there was a chance to consider this further, he was distracted again by an awareness that they were no longer alone. He tried not to move his eyes from Marko, but in his periphery he could see that several Raiders had drifted into the clearing in front of the cabin. They no longer seemed to be ambling, or aimless.
“I wish I could hang around to beat the answer out of you. I imagine my employers would pay me handsomely for that knowledge.” He smiled, his teeth blackened and his gums pale. “No, not this time… but I have a feeling we’ll meet again. Assuming they don’t find you first!” He placed some emphasis on the ‘they’.
The smile widened as he spoke again, “well, I’ll be off then.”
Without hesitation, Marko stepped down from the stoop and, moving quickly, walked into the crowd of Raiders. Ankit went to chase, but as he took in the scene in the clearing, now directly in his eyeline, he slowed. There were dozens of them, he guessed close to a hundred of them, standing, eyes glowing more vividly now. They stood upright, each of them armed with some sort of weapon.
Marko had already disappeared into the crowd. Ankit felt the need to chase him, but he could already tell that was not going to be an easy task. His eyes shot left and right to look for a way of circumventing the mob. He was sure he could outrun any one of them.
Just then-to make matters both more complicated, and exceedingly strange- the Raiders began to march forward towards the cabin in perfect unison. Ankit was struck hopeless for a moment. He froze. Fortunately though, this was the very moment that Ekta and the other Greatwolves commenced their own attack. From the trees, the slopes, and even leaping down onto the crowd from the roofs of the cabins, the Greatwolves attacked with a ferocity unlike anything Ankit had ever seen.
Still, the Raiders seemed unfazed. As their comrades fell left and right, each dispatched quickly, expertly even, they continued to march towards the cabin, eyes trained on Ankit. He decided his only real chance of catching their leader was to meet them head on, disabling as many as he could in an effort to cut a path through them. He guessed Marko had made a break for the trail down towards the valley below.
As he descended the stairs, he leapt from the last, bringing out both of his clubs as he did. With his full weight, and the increased strength of his left arm, his first blow landed on the lead Raider. Ankit felt the uncomfortable crushing of bone run through his arm as the attacker dropped to the floor, almost certainly dead. He did not feel good about it, but was now focussed on one thing, and one thing only. Landing several more deft blows to ribs, heads, and knees-his right arm also feeling slightly stronger now-he had dispatched nearly ten of them by himself when he noticed a change.
The Raiders became scattered, disorganised and confused. At the same moment, a path revealed itself. Ankit could see the opposite end of the clearing and wasted no time sprinting forwards, ducking wild swings with an assortment of weapons as he did. When he broke clear of the crowd, he didn’t even take a moment to look back. If anything, he sped up.
Ankit sprinted on for what felt like fifteen to twenty minutes, barely taking a breath as he did. Only then did he slow down, two realisations sinking in at once. First, what just happened? This was the first chance he’d had to really test himself. His strength, his speed, even his stamina, they all seemed significantly enhanced. Then where is he? In any normal circumstance, Ankit, even before he’d had these traits, would have caught up with a normal individual. That was accounting for the head start as well, he was sure of it.
No, Marko was no doubt also somehow faster, perhaps stronger too, and could easily have taken off down one of several side-trails Ankit had noticed as he ran. Though, also notable, was that the savage had left no perceivable trail out of the clearing either. Finally he stopped, and after taking a few last moments to scan the trail for any sign of Marko’s flight, he turned and jogged back up the trail.
Nearly half an hour later, Ankit jogged back into the Raider encampment and was greeted by quite a sight. The Greatwolves surrounded the survivors. The dead and dying had been carefully dragged off to one side. Some were being tended to by Mon Delta and another, older looking Greatwolf. Ekta and four others stood guard amongst those left standing, padding this way and that between them, sniffing at each, watchful.
As he approached, Ankit saw Old Timm standing and facing one of the Raiders, hands behind his back, staring into his eye. The man stood, slightly hunched, and swaying side to side. Ankit joined the old man and succumbed to his own curiosity. The eyes were no longer white and glowing. Instead, they were hazy and dull. They gave the distinct impression that there was nothing left inside, no person, no mind.
“I no longer know this place. This new world,” Old Timm spoke, startling Ankit. “In my age, people manipulated, controlled, even subjugated to great effect. The tools they used were sophisticated and powerful. Yet somehow, looking back, they seemed almost civilised compared to… whatever this is.”
There was a long pause. Even the Greatwolves seemed to sense the depth of Old Timm’s apparent despair. Ankit didn’t know what he could, should, or even might say. He sensed the same thing he suspected the old man did. The minds of these Raiders had been taken, what little autonomy they’d had, had been finally and completely usurped in Marko’s flight.
What was it that gave him this power over them?
“What power indeed?” Old Timm said as if he were responding to the question Ankit had asked only in his mind.
Before Ankit could respond, he felt Mon Delta’s nose on his shoulder. Feeling her warmth filling him up as always, he turned his head to look her in the eyes. She was grateful for his actions and nodded towards the pup, who trotted out of the trees. She sat before him, opened her mouth and began to pant, tongue falling out to one side. Ankit heard her tail dusting the floor behind her.
“The time for you to leave is fast approaching. There is more for you to learn, but your place is out there.” The old man gestured towards the valley. “In this new world… you, and others like you, will be needed.”
Having followed Old Timm’s gaze out to the Meetlands, Ankit looked back to him briefly, then glanced at Delta, before looking back towards the pup who was still smiling at him. As the old man continued to stare between the mindless Raider and the world beyond, one thing he’d said was stuck in Ankit’s mind.
Others? Others like me?
Illustrations by Midjourney & G.G.B.
We’ll be back soon with another entry in the Journal of G.G. Bailey. Ankit will be back soon.
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Originally published at https://www.unarkida.com on October 1, 2023.
