Greywolf - The Long Road Home

A ghost waited for me on the hill where Asena died.

Icy rain hit me the moment I stepped out of the Shadowlands, the storm raging all around as I pulled my cloak tight around my armored body. Lightning cracked through the sky above, showing a large cairn made of stones, and a woman in Horde shaman clothing standing beside it. Then it faded, a boom rolling over the hill as I strode towards the block of stones.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see the face beneath her tangled hair, a memory flashing of the day she dissolved herself into a red mist inside the tent of Khan Timur. I stopped with the length of the stone cairn between us. “Yasataar? What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” I knew she was a ghost, because her clothes and tangled hair remained dry while the rain slashed through her, the empty eye sockets she had in life now possessing eyes. Yet her voice rang out strong and clear despite the rain’s hiss. “The dream we all exist inside gave me a sign that this would be the night you would return. So, here I am.”

I was cold and weary to the bone, but despite my tiredness, put my hands on my hips and glared at her. “Attila’s Wise women always prattled on about the same nonsense.” I waved my arm at the storm around us. “How can this be a dream, when I’m cold as a Frost Bear’s nose and just as grumpy?”

Yasataar’s mouth quirked in a smile. “If the dream is all you have ever experienced, how would you know the difference? Wolf child, we are the dream of the True Earth, who sleeps as she basks in the arms of her mother star. The Earth dreams of herself in all the forms she could have taken, and the Shadowlands makes them come alive, as it does the myths and legends of the people and creatures who live upon her body.”

I gave Yasataar’s ghost a sour look. “Even if that’s true, I’m freezing in place, standing here. I came here to honor Asena, not to argue with you.”

Her expression grew sly. “Then perhaps you should join the others, who also have gathered this night to honor your mother.” She motioned with her hand towards something off in the darkness to my left. “They have gathered in the temple the Britannic people built last year.”

I rubbed icy crust from my eyebrows and sparse beard as I peered out into the gloom. In the Shadowlands, all stone structures look like ruins, and even though I’d seen the round building, I hadn’t paid it much attention. It was solidly built, with a conical roof hanging over the walls on all sides, its shuttered windows allowing flickering light inside to seep through the cracks. “It reminds me a little of a Horde clan tent.”

“Alar, Wysper’s brother, learned many things from Attila’s people, including their belief in one God beyond all others. They believe in Tengri of the Eternal Sky, but here the one God is known by a Celtic name.” Her expression turned sardonic. “Asena has become one of their religion’s saints.”

I couldn’t help but snort. “Asena would laugh herself sick if she knew.”

“I doubt it not. However, the anniversary of her death is now her saint’s day, and the people inside the temple are honoring her memory. You should join them.”

I glanced back at the temple a moment before shaking my head. “I doubt they’d appreciate a stranger barging in on them.”

“You may find that not all of them are strangers. If nothing else, they have a tradition of hospitality to strangers, especially on a night like this, and will let you warm yourself by the fire and drink mulled wine.” Yasataar touched a withered hand to her chest. “I will accompany you inside, though no one will know I am there unless I speak.” She made an inviting gesture with her hand. “Shall we go?”

An icy wind ripped through me, lashing me with the rain’s frozen fingers, and I shivered. “Might as well.” Yasataar faded into the night as I trudged towards the round structure, wiping the clinging ice from my face as I headed for the doorway ahead of me.

As I got close to the wooden door, the muttered sound of people speaking together grew louder above the spitting rain. Then a voice rose above the rest. “I have made a poem of Asena and the great sacrifice she made for our people,” he said in a pompous voice. “An epic poem reminding us of her noble virtues, including her chastity and virtuous nature, her…”

Is he serious? As the man droned on, an old marching song Asena taught me came to mind, and it was almost as if her ghost egged me on as I drew breath to sing.

O sing of Achilles, who gave men to Hel.

O sing of the Trojans, who fought and died well.

O sing of the heroes, their deeds writ in stone.

And sing of the great men the world’s never known.

Now march, you old bastards.

We’re fighting for coin.

You’re a fool to be marching.

You’re a fool to have joined.

We don’t fight for glory.

We fight to get paid.

We don’t fight for honor.

We fight to get-

The door banged open. “Greywolf, is that you out there?”

Wysper’s brother stood in the doorway, framed by the flickering firelight behind him. I grinned. “Alar, apologies, but that was more the kind of poetry she liked to hear.”

Alar, dressed in a long sleeved, woolen tunic and trousers, laughed. “Remembering Asena, I’m not surprised.” He made a frantic beckoning motion with his hand. “What are you doing, standing in the rain? Get your arse in here.” It was my turn to laugh as I ducked underneath the overhang and out of the wet, Alar and I embracing a moment before we let go. “Tengri’s bones, you’ve gotten big. You’ve got to be seven foot if you’re an inch, and you’ve filled out as well.”

As Alar led me inside, the pompous voice called out, “Who dares insult the royal court bard with such drivel? I shall not endure-”

“Peace, bard,” a familiar male voice said. A short man stepped out of the crowd of people dressed warmly, a dozen or more guards with their hands upon their sword hilts as he looked up at me. “This is Asena’s only son.”

I think I recognize this man. “Lord Little Boots?”

“Actually,” Alar said as he drew me closer to the crowd, “we call him Prince Cormac now, since it’s his son who will inherit the throne once he comes of age.”

“Little Boots is fine,” Prince Cormac said, holding his arm out. We clasped each other, forearm to forearm, then let go. “Greywolf, be welcome in this sacred space. Would you like hot wine?”

The weariness I’d been holding off crept back in. “That would be wonderful.” The crowd parted to let Alar and Little Boots lead me towards the stone lined hearth in the center of the building, where a metal tripod was set with a kettle hanging beneath. A young man in leather armor dipped a wooden cup with a handle on it into the pot, wiped it with a rag, then brought it over as I looked around.

The walls were stone but the beams overhead were hewn from timber, as were the shutters, all of them carved with Celtic designs like knots and running horses. Wooden chairs sat in a circle around the fire, with a mound of blankets on the stone floor close to the warmth. Several children laid there, fast asleep.

As I took the cup and blew on the wine before taking a sip, a tall woman in a blue dress walked towards me, accompanied by a half dozen warriors in strange Artifact armor. She spoke a word and they stopped to let her approach me alone as my memories of Wysper’s court, return. “Lady Morgana, it’s been a while.”

“Queen Morgana, now,” Little Boots said as she held out her hands.

I bowed, then grasped them as she smiled. “Me mother returned to the Celestial Kingdom, leaving me in charge. There was a bit of instability for a while afterwards, but the erring clans have been chastised, and I finally felt secure enough to make the trip over here for Saint Asena’s feast day.” I snorted, and her smile turned into a grin. “Oh, go on with you, mocking such a pious knight as your poor mother.” I rolled my eyes which made her laugh, but then her face grew serious. “Ghostdog told me you would be part of the war against the rebel Celestials for years to come. I never expected to see you so soon.”

I sighed, taking another swallow of the red, spiced wine before speaking. “Truth be told, I didn’t think I’d be here so soon either, but it was either have me leave or put down a rebellion by Timur’s old warriors.”

“Greywolf,” Alar said, “what happened?”

I took my wet, silvery-grey hair in its warrior’s braid down my back, and held it out. “This is what happened. Attila’s men were used to running raids using the Shadowlands, and knew to follow my orders so no one would get hurt. But when War-leader Kula insisted that I start using Timur's old White Horde warriors instead, they panicked when a pack of Shadow Raptors attacked us. I wounded several of the creatures, making the pack swear never to go after us again, but several warriors were killed.” I shrugged. “I made sure to get everyone out, so they wouldn’t be ghosts in the Grey, but I can’t bring a man back from the dead. Kula thinks I set it up deliberately.”

Alar winced as he claspd my shoulder. “He has to know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Attila told him the same, but Kula doesn’t care.” I looked down at the spices floating at the top of my wine as memories of the last few days did the same in my mind. “Kula called a meeting of the tribal khans under Attila, and told him in open court that I needed to leave. He believes Tengri’s still upset because their victories…" I made my voice go harsh as Kula's for a moment. "‘Do not come from the deeds of warriors, but from the deeds of a monster’, is how he put it, and only my banishment will appease him.”

“But you and Hypam gave the Grey Wargs victory,” Little Boots said as I took another swallow. “We’re isolated here, yet we still get news. The eastern tribal kingdoms allied to the Etruscans are reeling from your onslaughts.”

A small, dark haired woman took my damp cloak from me and draped it over a chair as Morgana said, “It would seem Greywolf is a victim of the Khanate’s success. Since my kingdom was able to stay out of the fighting, our merchants still trade with the Gauls and the ports on the empire’s western coast, and they keep me informed of events. Those eastern tribal kingdoms have been pushed west into the empire itself, and fighting has begun between the former allies, with the Etruscans getting the worst of it.”

Warmth from the fire’s penetrating my bones as I gave her a tired smile. “Papa told me it wouldn’t take much for the Etruscan empire to begin collapsing.”

Alar nodded. “Obviously Kula knows it as well. Did Attila agree to your banishment?”

“Only temporarily. He wants me to go away for a while, and return once he begins his push towards the lands bordering the Empire of the East. Attila’s going to continue honoring his treaties with Emperor Konstantine, especially since he knows Prince Paulus well and respects Amazonia, despite her helping Timur, but Attila also knows those border lands are rich. Attila wants me to get the share he believes I’m entitled to.”

Morgana’s eyes held me fast as she stared at me. “That is Attila speaking. What do you want?”

“To stop fighting for a while.” I looked away as I took a drink, longer this time, and drained the cup. “Ever since our victory over Timur, Attila’s had me leading raids against his enemies and surprise attacks on the tribal kingdoms, keeping them off balance while he forged the Horde clans into one group. Even in winter, when everyone else was mending their armor and their friendships, I led scouting parties to keep Attila informed.” I sighed. “Everything I did was important…”

“But it never stopped.” I nodded at Little Boots, who added, “Could this Kula possibly have done this as a favor, a way to get you a respite?”

I shook my head. “Over the first couple winters, everyone was busy mending fences and figuring things out between former enemies, but this winter’s been different. The Horde warriors who fought under Timur have begun to be ashamed that their victories were accomplished using dark magic, and a backlash developed against all Shadow magic in general.”

“Ah”. All around me, people are nodding as Alar said, “While I know Attila’s your friend, and would never say anything bad about him-”

I snorted. “Alar, stop dancing around the bush. Attila sees the world as he wants it to be, not as it is. Castor and Pollux are part of his guards now, and Io is his councilor when it comes to dealing with the civilized lands, so I’m not worried about what’s going to happen to him after I’m gone.” I gave Alar a quick grin. “Hypam is carrying Io’s child, so he’s not going anywhere.”

Morgana said, “I gave birth to my first almost a year to the day that you left us, though she will not be queen after me.”

I frowned. “But, I thought-”

“She is part human, part Celestial,” Morgana said, interrupting, “and I decreed that the ruler who comes after me will be human. The people of Eire will decide who their next king or queen will be.”

“How did your people take the tidings?”

She returned me a sardonic smile. “Once the shock wore off, the squabbling began.” We shared a laugh, but then her expression became serious. “Greywolf, if you can never return to the Horde clans, what will you do?”

“Where will you go?” Alar added.

Staring back into the fire, I watched as a log broke apart with a loud crack, scattering sparks which died as they hit the stones. “To be honest, I don’t know.” I continued watching the flames dance. “Asena and I were always on the move for as long as I can remember, so I don’t have a home to go back to, or family to shelter with.”

Morgana asked, “What about Ghostdog?”

“Papa…” I sighed. The truth was a pale ghost in my mind with blood red hair and golden bangs, staring me in the face. “Papa told me he’d help me find Wysper again, but I know he told me that so he wouldn’t have to watch me face the truth.” When I'd told Hypam where I was going, she told me it would be hard, but that I had to face the ghost. Hypam knew, and these people needed to know as well. “Papa’s gone, no one knows where, and I’m not fooling myself anymore. Wysper’s dead.”

Silence breathed its stillness around me, the dark haired woman gesturing at the cup in my hand, then at the kettle of wine. I nodded, and as she refilled my cup, I looked at Morgana. “I’m not Attila. He can shape the world as he likes, for he's human, and their time to rule over Earth has come. I just needed to accept that Wysper’s gone and she’s not coming back.”

“Greywolf-”

I held up my hand to stop Morgana from speaking. “I won’t trouble you long. Allow me one last cup of wine, and I’ll return to the Shadowlands. There’s an inn just outside the city where I can get a meal, before the long road takes me again.” I gave her a sad smile. “Your bard should write poetry of the long road she walked, ages before he was born. That’s the Asena I knew.

As the others traded an odd look, the small, dark haired woman stopped in front of me with the cup. “Lord Greywolf, before you leave, would you care to meet my son, who is to be the future king of this island?”

I reared back slightly. “King? Apologies, lady…?

She looked up at me with a smile. “My title is princess, Princess Fina of Pictland. But we Picts don’t put much stock in titles or those who give themselves airs.” She glanced at a well dressed man with a long moustache, who had harps embroidered in his tunic, and sniffed. The man scowled back as Fina handed me the cup. “Come, little Aedan is with his fraternal twin sister by the fire.”

I followed her around the hearth to where other women were sitting on several woolen blankets with the sleeping children. Alar took the cup from me, and I knelt down with the woman as she reached out to touch a little dark haired boy curled up next to a redheaded girl. I said, “Don’t wake him on my account.”

Fina smiled. “Aedan will go right back to sleep, though his sister will stay up longer. She’s the curious one.” She gently shook his shoulder. “Up, sleepy-head, and greet your guest.”

Aedan made a grumpy sound as he stretched, waking the girl by his arm pushing against her. As she yawned and stretched as well, I smiled and sketched a kneeling bow to the little boy. “Apologies for disturbing you, highness. My name is-”

“Woof!” Startled, I reared back as the red haired girl child lurched to her feet and staggered towards me on unsteady legs. I caught her as she practically fell into my lap. “Woof, it’s Wysp. Wysp!”

My mouth dropped open. “Wysper?” She frantically bobbed her head and I held her to my chest, the child sobbing as she clung to me. I looked past her at her mother. “Is this truly…”

Fina solemnly nodded. “Aedan was the first child from my womb, with Wysper coming perhaps an hour later. We named her after your lost love, never realizing whose soul had incarnated into her body.”

“This proves nothing,” the bard began. “I maintain-”

“The first real sentence she ever spoke was, ‘Wysp wants Woof’,” Fina snapped at him.

“Peace, my love,” Little Boots said as he knelt beside me. He reached out to stroke his daughter’s red hair with a gentle touch. “Our daughter recognized Greywolf, and that should be enough for anyone.”

The bard grumbled and walked away as Morgana picked up another child before walking back over. “I believe you should meet my daughter as well.” She set her daughter down in front of me.

This can’t be! Her daughter had her mother’s face and eyes, but also fur, fangs, and the same hulking shape as… “Asena?”

The child cocked her head with a puzzled expression on her face, as if she was trying to figure out who I was as her mother sat on the blanket beside her. “Pan told me Asena’s spirit was lingering instead of moving on, racked with guilt over the way she had mistreated you.”

Wysper’s sobs were quieting, but she’s still held onto me as I shook my head. “Asena did the best she could.”

Morgana shrugged. “Regardless, for the sake of their friendship, Pan wanted to give her a chance to do her life over. So, after I agreed to bear her, he shaped the little one in my womb, making her body match the soul that was drawn inside.” Morgana’s smile turned sardonic. “Asena and Wysper met for the first time several days ago, and have been thick as thieves ever since.”

Her words made me smile as Alar said, “Greywolf, are you sure we can’t get you to stay with us?”

My thoughts were whirling, everything happening too fast. “Would you have me?”

“Is that a jest?” Little Boots placed his hand on my shoulder, drawing my gaze to him. “Greywolf, your presence here will help stabilize the court, especially if you help me train Aedan to be a good king.”

“And help me with my daughter,” Fina added. “Queen Boudica the Last wanted her to grow up a free spirit, and I told her I would teach Wysper the ways of the Picts.”

Glancing down, little Wysper had fallen asleep in my arms, and I gently cradled her as I sat back. “There’s nothing I want more in the world than to do that… but what if she forgets who I am? I don’t want to make her unhappy because I want her back but she doesn’t.”

“Wysper will soon forget,” Yasataar’s voice said from the empty air. Everyone gasped with several crying out, and Yasataar chuckled. “Your bard will likely make a poem about this night,” she said in a mocking voice, “and every good poem deserves a ghost. Greywolf,” her voice returning to normal, “Wysper will forget, but as long as you are patient and remain her true friend, she will fall in love with you all over again.”

“I can be patient. However long it takes, I will be there for her.”

“Good.” I could hear the smile in Yasataar’s voice. “When Aedan takes on the burden of kingship, she will leave with you and Asena, the three of you making the journey your mother wished to take you on before she died.”

“What will happen when Wysper dies?” Morgana said in a sharp voice. “Will the two ever find each other again?”

“Best hope they do, O queen,” Yasataar replied, her voice taking on an edge of its own. “Because Greywolf is not merely a Celestial. A monster lives inside him, the Shadow Warg which only Wysper’s gentle spirit can calm, and if he does not know her love then, in time, the monster will consume him.”

Papa what have you done to me? “Yasataar, what does the dream tell you? Will it destroy me someday?”

“Wolf child, I cannot see but so far into the dream’s weaving. I know the day will come when Aedan is reborn under the name Arturo, and Wysper as Guinevere, while you will fight under a different name, and a legend of the sleeping Earth reborn as well. I see others as well, the two of you like lovers dancing in a crowded room, pulled apart then coming together again, over and over.”

“How far into the future?” Morgana asks.

“How far does the queen wish me to go?” Yasataar replied, the mocking tone returned to her voice. “I see a time a thousand or more years from now, when the two have not found each other for quite a while, and the monster Ghostdog implanted inside his son has grown wild. Wysper will be reborn as a far different person, caught between her love and a man of the sleeping Earth, who rides the dream as if his world has changed. She will have to decide who to follow, and the choice she makes will either doom this earth or save it.”

My fear must have flashed across my face, for a feathery light touch like an icy wind brushed my cheek. “Wolf child, “ Yasataar said as her voice turned gentle, “I know you will worry about things you cannot change. Do not. Keep Wysper safe as she finds her own way, and the memories you create together in the days to come will sustain you when the dream weaves shadows into your life. Can you do that?”

I took a deep breath. “I can’t promise I won’t brood over the future from time to time... but I’ll always remain her friend and protector no matter what she decides.”

“No more can I ask. So,” Yasataar’s voice growing brisk, “my part is done and I can lose myself in the dream once more. Write your poem, bard,” her voice fading like a dying wind, “but write it of the warrior Asena truly was, and the music of your words will be remembered long after your bones have crumbled into dust.” The wind howling outside seems to echo her last word as the ghost goes silent and is gone.

After a hushed moment, everyone seemed to let out their breath. “Greywolf,” the bard said as he took a few hesitant steps towards me, “apologies. I… would know more about your mother, if I could.”

Wysper was still asleep, and Fina took her back with a smile before I rose to my feet, taking the wine cup back from Alar. “If you want to know who Asena truly was, sit on a chair beside me and I’ll tell you as best I can.” We got settled, Fina laying Wysper down next to her brother while everyone else pulled up chairs or sat on the blankets as I took a long drink of my spiced wine. “To know Asena, you have to know Titan, the last of the Ogri created during the War of the Princes, and the one who trained her as a knight.”

Alar lowered his voice as deep as it would go. “Today is a good day to die.” I laughed, raising my cup to him as he says, “Now that you’re here with us, surely you don’t have to tell the entire story tonight?”

“Of course he does,” the bard retorted, lifting his chin. “Tonight I feel uniquely inspired, and have already decided how my epic shall begin-”

Fina threw up her hands. “Oh, here we go again.”

As the humans squabbled, I glanced down at Wysper, then at the child Asena, who left her mother to walk towards me. She put both clawed hands on my leg and I smiled. “It’s been a long road we’ve walked together, and I’ve got a feeling we’ve got a long way still to go. But don’t worry; someday, when you’re grown, I’ll let you off the leash and you can make your own way in the world. But right now we’re not going anywhere for a while.”

“Home,” she said in a growling voice as she patted my leg with both hands.

“That’s right,” I told her as I lifted little Asena up onto my lap. “You and I are finally home.”