Twilight of the Wolves Read online

  Sao?

  Ng.

  You awake?

  Ng.

  I’m afraid.

  Of what?

  I feel stupid.

  What is it, child?

  Please, don’t call me child. I hate it when you do.

  What is it?

  I’m afraid. Afraid of humans. I think. I don’t know. I’ve never.

  It’s normal to be afraid.

  Can I lie with you?

  Ng.

  I need someone to be close and Faoi’s in the forest and I’m afraid to go back in because I know I’ll never be able to leave again if I do.

  Faoi and Hreao need time to themselves. They’ve been too generous with us.

  They really love you, Sao.

  I love them and we love you.

  Sao.

  Ng.

  What if the humans hate me?

  We’re human. Even if they all hate you, I will not. I will always be here.

  Will it always only be us?

  Faoi and Hreao, too. They will live long past we’re dead and gone, even past our next Life cycle. They will spend eternity running through the forest.

  Why don’t they unite?

  I think they’re afraid. You hear it, too, don’t you?

  The voices in the trees.

  The song of the forest. They’re afraid of that pain. Bodies soften the pain and even that’s unbearable to them. They fear the pain and the end. Humans are lucky in that. We know the end comes and it comes always too soon. No matter how long we live, our lives last not even the length of a single flicker of a star.

  Will they remember us?

  I hope so but I don’t know. We may one day become a story or a song and be known amongst all the wolves as a great myth from the age of humanity. Something humorous and tragic, like Life.

  Why is your skin so hot?

  Go to sleep, Aya. We’ve returned to the land of humanity and the road stretches long before us.

  She walked in the grass and he on the road and the wolves hidden behind the wall of trees but their scent lingered in Sao’s lungs and Aya saw through Faoi’s eyes when she closed her own.

  The trees ended at the western side of the dragonroad and a great plain stretched to the east until it met the forest once more, green and far away, wavering in the heatstretched distance.

  The hot dragonroad never cooled, whether night or day, like walking on fire and Sao burned out from the inside, neither taking nor rejecting the dragonheat of the stone but existing with it. It rose in him to the nebula at his center and filled him with fire and rock.

  A cart appeared in the distance and slowly made its way to them. Aya’s heart erupted within her, beating against her ribs. The sinewy black driver ignored Sao’s words in every language he spoke and disappeared far behind them, taking his wares north.

  This won’t be easy, Sao muttered and Aya took his hand raised above her head, their fingertips clasped with Sao crouching to keep hold.

  Sao waved his hand and the driver at the head of the caravan, whose blond hair and white skin made him shine like a pale flame against the blackness of the dragonstone, stopped. He wore a small metal helm pushed back on his head and pulled on the reins with a metal arm ratcheting from his chest and beneath his chainlink tunic. Speaking in accented Garasun, he said, Hello, brothers. Where do you go from here? Seven men stared, emitting puffs of steam from vents and valves, all tall and bright as the driver with metal limbs and glass eyes, their armor manufactured directly into their fused bones and torn skin.

  Sao stepped forward and the horses reared back, snorting, whining.

  Whoa, the driver laughed, then barked words in a harsh and guttural language.

  Where do you go, brother? said Sao.

  Well, we came from Ormr and we go north towards the Kingdom of Glass by way of Seollal to trade. We are merchants and strangers in this land, and, would you believe! there’s a war going on! But we came from across the ocean far to the west and so we did not know and trade cannot stop because a few proud fools decide to burn their countryside, can it? Of course not, but, you, is it only the two of you? The driver’s eyes darted back and forth between Sao and Aya.

  We, too, are strangers here, brother. We look for civilisation and hope you could tell us in which direction to head.

  Hm, well, the driver scratched his head, As you can see, there aren’t even traintracks out here so you may never find civilisation if you look for it. You might as well just come with us. You look a long way from Glass and we could take you back there, and Glass at least has proper amenities. You look as if you could use a bath and some grooming, especially the girl, his eyes ran over Aya’s body.

  I am not from there and do not wish to go, thank you.

  The driver laughed, Yes, no problem there. Ormr should only be a few days south of here. He then turned to the men in the cart and spoke in his barking language and they all laughed, eyeing Sao and Aya walking past.

  Filled with darkskinned aged and children chained to the floorboards, the second cart began to move, the driver yawning and staring with icy eyes. Beyond the third cart the long lines of men and women chained together stumbled after the three carts with the big white and yellow men walking beside them, driving them forward.

  Sao took Aya’s hand and quickened his pace. A heavy hand fell upon Aya’s shoulder and several more grabbed Sao, their words harsh and incomprehensible. His heat burned them but they held on with steel fingers and he did not struggle while Aya kicked and scratched and bit until a large hand struck her into silence.

  The rage swelled in Sao but he whispered, Be still, Aya. Be strong. No harm will come to us, I promise.

  Her tears answered him, her body slumped in the metal hands of the white men who dragged her to the line with Sao, who breathed slow, eyes closed, allowing himself to be led.

  He felt it then, tactile and all around, an aberration, refracting spacetime glossing over reality, turning everything vibrant and acute, thick with violence, the air round them congealing, flowing rippling with energy. His lips moved but made no sound, only mouthing No no no, clenching his eyelids shut.

  Hreao burst through the trees, toppling the first cart and tossing away the mauled and mangled limbs. Faoi came from the south coursing through the long line of slavedrivers. Sao watched the rifles appear and his heart burst, the impact of the ironball deep into Faoi who did not stop running but came to the shooter and took his head, the alloy crunching and cracking between her teeth. Screams and growls and violence, all action slowed and Sao’s own scream filled the air, crowding out all else, the pain of the ironball deep within him.

  Aya screamed and her tears drowned all action, locking her in the moment she watched the rifle fire, the plume of smoke and sulphur, and the ironball enter. Every sensation alive inside her, the ironballs piercing, the blood pouring out, the crack of bones, the fear, the taste of iron, the eyes and shadow of Death.

  Struck again and a fourth time, Faoi vomited blood but lunged forward, taking another man before Hreao appeared, his fury an electric eruption coursing through the viscous atmosphere, shattering the will of the humans. They died loading their heavy rifles and Hreao ripped the man apart coating himself in the human blood and then took an ironball through the neck, his head jerked to the side, following the projectile as it left his body. His great amber eyes blanked for a moment and he fell to the dragonstone. Rising slowly, gasping, Faoi whimpering and growling and dying, she hobbled to him and pressed her head against his, their blood mingling as another shot took Hreao in the stomach and his growl shook the earth and the air but the elasticity of spacetime bent and normalised.

  Sao, screaming still, his body a supernova, consumed by a dark flame, his anatomy changing, the atoms spinning in new directions, combining, forming molecules, rebuilding cells, creating new ones, stronger, faster, and he was bright as the Death of the suns, a sonicboom levelled all who stood. Shining still, emanating, the sickle moons on his cheeks an obsidian glim
mer, two blackholes, a beckoning blackness, his hair turned white and his eyes the same amber as Hreao’s, the pointed ears of the wolf sprouting from his skull. The white men stared at him from their backs as he appeared over them, one after the other, and ripped out their hearts, feeding on them.

  Aya crawled to Hreao gasping, her body shaking, cold, empty, she put her quivering hands to him against the Death throes and felt his Life and the pain of the journey to Death. Within him, his eyes saw nothing but Faoi from a thousand years ago in a forest of white flowers as bright as the moon. Lunar flowers, the kiss of the moon in every petal and the immense happiness, the peace of that place. Letting go, Faoi whimpered, Do not go, Heart. Do not go without me. Faoi pressed her forehead against his, licking away the blood, calling him back, Wait for me, Heart. Even a moment without you will hurt more than this Death. Wait for me, I’m coming with you. Faoi, dying, the blood pouring from her, Aya holding her, on top of her, crying, screaming into her fur, begging her not to die, pleading with the sky, with the suns, with the humans around her, with herself, with the Goddess she did not name.

  Sao knelt down beside her, bloody tears burning away from his cheeks, his mouth thick with human blood. He took Aya in his arms and pulled her face to his chest, feeling the tears steam away and he promised her that she will never hurt like this again, his voice thick and seismic, an added dimension to his human voice.

  I will protect you. Always.

  With every day we are born again not as men or women but as the guardians of existence, as daughters to the Mother. Mother, our Mother, watch over this one from sun to sun through moon and moons. Make this one whole and last forever between ever and never. This one is Yours. To live is to die but first we must die. We give everything to You, Mother, for we are Your daughters, and we will die forever.

  Who are you?

  The throat clicks full of sand and the words drop through the chattering teeth, This one is no one.

  Who am I?

  The One Who Lives. Mother. Death. Life. The Light.

  She smiles, radiant and the eyes cower but will not look away but instead bathe in Her Light for there is nothing else in all the world and its endless histories that eclipses this Light. Her eyes spotlight and burn the flesh and Her thick lips hide the eternal Light of the Dream, Are you ready, no one?

  This one belongs to You and will do all and anything for You, Mother, our Mother, the head touches the cold marble, This one is Your hands and mouth and will die forever.

  Rise, no one, Her hand breaks the distance and the skin burns from Her almost touch and then the heat races through and within illuminating and eradicating all darkness and all the long silent days devoted to Her, Do you know what day it is today?

  This one died today.

  Her incandescent eyes brighter than the suns warm all that is within and without and Her smiling lips holding back starlight break all shackles and chains of this shell and it falls away disintegrating into the empty spaces created by her dazzling touch. The Light, the Life, The One Who Lives. She says, And what is tomorrow?

  This one was born tomorrow in order to die forever.

  Tomorrow we shall say farewell and you will gather the lost and the dead. You are the shadow of Life and the Light. Without the Light there is no shadow but the shadow is part of the Light just as Death is part of Life. The humans continue to kill and die thousands at a time. The war may outlast them all for they cannot contain or sustain it. A white flame looms from the west and all may be lost to the sisters of this land. They kill each other today to be murdered by foreigners tomorrow. Remember, no one, you may look but never touch. You are My hands and mouth. You live so you may die forever. Remember Me and forget this frame you wield, this shell that contains Life and Death. Go now, no one. Go to die that all may live and reunite with the Dream.

  Through the forest, all Life pours within and beats down but elevates and makes all clear as still water but the world is so vibrant and loud that the shell slips disoriented by the constant assault of Life. The breathing rushes and rages and warbles and into the grass so soft and so green the skin it touches crawling with the caress of thousands of blades. The sky above the perfect Twilight ripped ragged by dark clouds stretching as Raven fingers and the rain rushes from a yawning chasm of spacetime bellowing from impossibly deep and always beyond fingertip reach. So close as if the mouth could taste it and the eyes could swim within it and make all existence swirl away in its dark otherworld hues.

  The Grey expands and the stars project through the hazed canopy of trees and the rained artillery. Millions of hearts beating in time with the songs of the trees and the whispers of forgotten stars from millennia ago caught in the rings of the seven sister moons.

  Mother, oh Mother, this gift will never be forgotten, sweet Mother, dear Mother. To rest here beneath everything, the Dream becomes tangible as it soars through the sky and beyond this planet into the infinity of space where You have slept for thousands and thousands of cycles of Life amongst the echoes of all past and future existences. Mother, oh Mother, we are Your hands and mouth and we will die forever. For You, Mother. Always for You.

  Within the Grey we are boundless and tied together, the perfect unity of plurality, all our deadlives living and dying for the singular purpose. Sisters, my sisters, daughters of Mother, we are mouths and hands counting in the millions all grafted together, constellations of Her perfect vision. The Dream never ending, existing beyond never and ever.

  The black ground of mud and sludge made of ash and blood and this roaring storm and the wind slashes the water across the men waiting to die as they rush forth into the jaws of their enemies, their sisters. They are all men barely more than boys beating with the same meat and the same blood and the same will with only one thought: to live.

  There is only the sound of rain slapping the wet ground and then there is nothing but the blasts of rifles and the screams. The screams that freeze this day washed in midnight and blood where all of them turn to mud and then to dust. The clouds of smoke erupting from the rifles haze and condense in the rain forming thick clouds that surround and sting. We daughters exist at the periphery of battle in and out of the Grey as shadow flickering as dark candles in an unreachable wind that neither cools nor comforts but simply goes on.

  Their faces disappear in the downpour and they don’t exist in the Grey but their lives glimmer and the battle turns into the collision of thousands of shooting stars blinking in and out of existence and the beauty of the image distends and disconnects from the pain consuming with the burning flames of these beating stars screaming out loud to the center of the world where all beat as one and they disappear in breaths of galactic dust to become the mud where future Death will join and all the land that was once a perpetual forest now becomes a grave where the echoes push out Life even as it calls for it forever into the future out of the past and in the Grey all exists now and the world changes but humans never do. They will always die too soon and never in the way they choose. Locked in this neverness of confused Life, the humans last too long even as they die together perennially.

  The fractured skull of iron with the face of a demon masks the dying expression of a child. Cracked red lips muttering in silent gasps and his eyes look across the immense cavern of spacetime and see nothing and no one and he feels no rain and no skin. The holes through his chest frothing his life away and becoming one with the world. Brown bloodshot eyes rattle unblinking and tracking no movement, the song we sing heard only by those crossing the threshold of Death where spacetime and Life mate and separate casting forth all the newdead in fitful throes.

  The ironhelm falls away sinking into the mud and the hands hold his head and his arms clutch, pulling his face close, his eyes focused, listening, Where do circles end? the shattered words hewn from his own fatality. Again and again, he says it, screams it, until his heart no longer beats and his blood no longer lives but he rests hand in hand at the shore with Mother, oh Mother, eternal child with ravenhair and s
tardust eyes of gaseous twilight consuming with Your impossible Light and Your perfect song. To remain here forever with Your Twilight eyes and Your forever Light. Mother, dear sweet Mother, to behold the eternal child, this perfected visage for all of expanded and contracted spacetime. This one is Your mouth and hands made to die forever. With one breath the boy leaves his body and his Life is written in the mud and within where he will exist forever or until the suns yawn out.

  The pain of his Life courses within dismantling all that comprises this shell and the echoes of him crawl beneath the skin like countless legs of memory’s insects. The song we sing together houses us within the river of being and naught untouched by the physicality of this plane but observing all of it from its wreckage and carnage to its ecstasies and brilliant sublimity.