Greywolf - The Long Road Home

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

Icy rain hits me the moment I step out of the Shadowlands, the storm raging all around as I pull my cloak tight around my armored body. Lightning cracks through the sky above, showing a large cairn made of stones and a woman in Horde shaman clothing standing beside it. Then it fades, a boom rolling over the hill as I stride towards the block of stones.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can 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 stop with the length of the stone cairn between us. “Yasataar? What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” I know she's a ghost, because her clothes and tangled hair remain dry while the rain slashes through her, the empty eye sockets she had in life now possessing eyes. Yet her voice is 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’m cold, and weary to the bone, but despite my tiredness I put my hands on my hips and glare at her. “Attila’s Wise women always prattled on about the same nonsense.” I wave 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 quirks 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 give 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 grows sly. “Then perhaps you should join the others, who also have gathered this night to honor your mother.” She motions 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 rub icy crust from my eyebrows and sparse beard as I peer 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’s solidly built, with a conical roof hanging over the walls on all sides, but it must have shuttered windows because there’s flickering light coming 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 becomes sardonic. “Asena has become one of their religion’s saints.”

I can’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 glance 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, and will let you warm yourself by the fire and drink mulled wine.” Yasataar touches a withered hand to her chest. “I will accompany you inside, though no one will know I am there unless I speak.” She makes an inviting gesture with her hand. “Shall we go?”

An icy wind rips through me, lashing me with the rain’s icy fingers, and I shiver. “Might as well.” Yasataar fades into the night as I trudge towards the round structure, wiping the clinging ice from my face as I head for the doorway ahead of me.

As I get close to the wooden door, the muttered sound of people speaking together grows louder above the spitting rain. Then a voice rises above the rest. “I have made a poem of Asena and the great sacrifice she made for our people,” he says 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 drones on, an old marching song Asena taught me comes to mind, and it’s almost as if her ghost’s egging me on as I draw 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 bangs open. “Greywolf, is that you out there?”

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

Alar, dressed in a long sleeved, woolen tunic and trousers, laughs. “Remembering Asena, I’m not surprised.” He makes a frantic beckoning motion with his hand. “What are you doing, standing in the rain? Get your arse in here.” It’s my turn to laugh as I duck 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 leads me inside, the pompous voice calls out, “Who dares insult the royal court bard with such drivel? I shall not endure-”

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

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

“Actually,” Alar says as he draws 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 says, holding his arm out. We clasp each other, forearm to forearm, then let go. “Greywolf, be welcome in this sacred space. Would you like hot wine?”

The weariness I’ve been holding off creeps back in. “That would be wonderful.” The crowd parts to let Alar and Little Boots lead me towards the stone lined hearth in the center of the building, where a metal tripod is set with a kettle hanging beneath. A young man in leather armor dips a wooden cup with a handle on it into the pot, wipes it with a rag, then brings it over as I look around.

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

As I take the cup and blow on the wine before taking a sip, a tall woman in a blue dress, accompanied by a half dozen warriors in strange Artifact armor. She speaks a word and they 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 says as she holds out her hands.

I bow, then grasp them as she smiles. “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 snort, and her smile turns into a grin. “Oh, go on with you, mocking such a pious knight as your poor mother.” I roll my eyes which makes her laugh, but then her face grows 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 sigh, 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 says, “what happened?”

I take my wet, silvery-grey hair in its warrior’s braid down my back, and hold 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 on me using White Horde warriors instead, they panicked when a pack of Shadow Raptors attacked us. I wounded several, making the pack swear never to go after us again, but several men were killed.” I shrug. “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 winces as he clasps my shoulder. “He has to know it wasn’t your fault.”

“Attila told him the same, but Kula doesn’t care.” I look down at the spices floating at the top of my wine as memories of the last few days do 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… ‘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 says as I take 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 takes my damp cloak and drapes it over a chair as Morgana says, “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. 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 give her a tired smile. “Papa told me it wouldn’t take much for the Etruscan empire to begin collapsing.”

Alar nods. “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 hold me fast as she stares at me. “That is Attila speaking. What do you want?”

“To stop fighting for a while.” I look away as I take a drink, longer this time, and drain 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 sigh. “Everything I did was important…”

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

I shake 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 says, “While I know Attila’s your friend, and would never say anything bad about him-”

I snort. “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 give Alar a quick grin. “Hypam is carrying Io’s child, so he’s not going anywhere.”

Morgana says, “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 frown. “But, I thought-”

“She is part human, part Celestial,” Morgana says, 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.”

I scratch my head. “How did your people take the tidings?”

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

“Where will you go?” Alar adds.

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

Morgana asks, “What about Ghostdog?”

“Papa…” I sigh. The truth is a pale ghost with blood red hair and golden bangs, who’s staring me in the face. Even if I cannot see her. “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 told Hypam where I was going, she told me it would be hard, but I had to face the ghost. Hypam knew, and these people need to know as well. “Papa’s gone, no one knows where, and I’m not fooling myself anymore. Wysper’s dead.”

Silence breathes its stillness around me, the dark haired woman gesturing at the cup in my hand, then at the kettle of wine. I nod, and as she refills my cup, I look 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 hold 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 give 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 trade an odd look, the small, dark haired woman stops 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 rear back slightly. “King? Apologies, lady…?

She looks 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 glances at a well dressed man with a long moustache, who has harps embroidered in his tunic, and sniffs. The man scowls back as Fina hands me the cup. “Come, little Aedan is with his twin sister by the fire.”

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

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

Aedan makes a grumpy sound as he stretches, waking the girl by his arm pushing against her. As she yawns and stretches as well, I smile and sketch a kneeling bow to the little boy. “Apologies for disturbing you, highness. My name is-”

“Woof!” Startled, I rear back as the girl child lurches to her feet and staggers towards me on unsteady legs. I catch her as she practically falls into my lap. “Woof, it’s Wysp. Wysp!”

My mouth drops open. “Wysper?” She frantically bobs her head and I hold her to my chest, the child sobbing as she clings to me. I look past her at her mother. “Is this truly…”

Fina solemnly nods. “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 begins. “I maintain-”

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

“Peace, my love,” Little Boots says as he kneels beside me. He reaches 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 grumbles and walks away as Morgana picks up another child before walking back over. “I believe you should meet my daughter as well.” She sets her daughter down in front of me.

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

The child cocks her head with a puzzled expression on her face, as if she’s trying to figure out who I am as her mother kneels 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 are quieting, but she’s still holding onto me as I shake my head. “Asena did the best she could.”

Morgana shrugs. “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 into her.” Morgana’s smile turns sardonic. “Asena and Wysper met for the first time several days ago, and have been thick as thieves ever since.”

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

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

“Is that a jest?” Little Boots places 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 adds. “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’s fallen asleep in my arms, and I gently cradle her as I sit 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 says from the empty air. Everyone gasps with several crying out, and Yasataar chuckles. “Your bard will likely make a poem about this night,” she says 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 can 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 says in a sharp voice. “Will the two ever find each other again?”

“Best hope they do, O queen,” Yasataar replies, 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 replies, 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 lover 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.”

A feathery light touch like an icy wind brushes my cheek. “Wolf child, “ Yasataar says as her voice turns 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 will sustain you when the dream weaves shadows into your life. Can you do that?”

I take 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 seems to let out their breath. “Greywolf,” the bard says as he takes a few hesitant steps towards me, “apologies. I… would know more about your mother, if I could.”

Wysper’s still asleep, and Fina takes her back with a smile before I rise 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 get settled, Fina laying Wysper down next to her brother while everyone else pulls up chairs or sits on the blankets as I take 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 lowers his voice as deep as it will go. “Today is a good day to die.” I laugh, 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 retorts, lifting his chin. “Tonight I feel uniquely inspired, and have already decided how my epic shall begin-”

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

As they squabble, I glance down at Wysper, then at the child Asena, who’s left her mother to walk towards me. She puts both clawed hands on my leg and I smile. “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 says in a growling voice as she pats my leg with both hands.

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