46. Little Wolf

Evening was falling, and the Rock was filled with shadows. Although the afternoon had been splendid, now the wind had risen and icy gusts were coming up through the twisting streets of the Cats.

“Two goldies, two goldies,” I muttered as I walked down an alley.

As if it was easy to find two goldies, like that, at the drop of a hat! And what a roasting Dalem had given me when he had seen the cap completely torn… Good mother, he had gone off the deep end. He had told me that I return the next day to the office with two siatos because, if not, he would talk to the director, and in addition, he would make me pay double, which meant that I would have to work for nothing for ten days, and I would starve for a cap. In the end, wearing a uniform was not as wonderful as it seemed.

After glancing around, I entered the alley of The Joyful Spirit, climbed the damaged stairs, and knocked on Le Bor’s door.

I waited. I knocked again. I knocked three times. Nothing. That was quite a let-down. Then I thought of going to the Hostel and asking for picklocks to get into any house, nab whatever I could find in it, and selling it as fast as I could to a merchant in the Cats… and then I told myself there was no way Korther would lend me anything. Not after the bad trick I’d pulled on him… right?

I went there anyway. And I saw that no one was opening the door for me there either. How come there was no one behind the doors today? After waiting in the dead end for a while, I got bored, walked away from the Black Daggers’ shelter, and entered the Labyrinth. I arrived at The Drawer, pushed open the door to the small tavern, and let out a loud:

“Ayo, everyone!”

I smiled as I caught sight of Yarras’ red hair, and my smile widened as he greeted me with a cheerful:

“Bard, it’s good to see you again, come here, come here!”

I walked willingly over to his table, greeted also by other regulars who remembered me fondly, though they had not seen me for a long time. These, at least, were still where they were supposed to be: making bets and deals and keeping The Drawer in good spirits. As promised, Yarras invited me to a mug of radrasia, and hearing that I had been staying at the inn, old Fieronilles asked me if I had any news of a certain slowed companion. I confessed:

“No idea, Grandpa. At Carnation, we’re all numbers.”

“At least you must have learned to count!” One-Eye joked.

I smiled indecisively and replied:

“You learn to count better by looking at the stars.”

And after taking a sip of radrasia, I helped Yarras in his card game. I whispered him a good tip in his ear that won him three siatos, and I looked at the coins as if I had seen a chocolate cake behind a shop window. Until Yarras made them disappear into his bag.

In this tavern, we learned everything that was happening in the Labyrinth. So I learned that Frashluc’s gang had just split up that morning and that a guy named Gowbur had left with his followers, threatening the other kap with death. Nothing very special, except that this time it was the most powerful gang of the Cats, and that meant big trouble even for people who weren’t looking for trouble.

“Lately, I don’t go out without my dagger and my four-leaf clover,” one confessed.

“Me neither, for a change!” Lotto the Tinker laughed; it must be said that that cove always had a good collection of weapons barely concealed under his clothes.

“Bah,” old Fieronilles intervened, and at once, the voices fell silent, respectful.

“Bah?” someone encouraged him. “What do you say, grandpa? Is there going to be a war?”

The old man fiddled with his pendant where he kept the portrait of his recently deceased wife—I knew this because he had shown it to me. In front of an attentive audience, he answered:

“I say this Gowbur is running straight into the precipice. Frashluc was not born yesterday, and he won’t be tamed that easily. The war won’t last. So long as the flies don’t get in the way.”

I huffed, indignant.

“The flies wouldn’t dare enter the Cats!”

“Oh, you’re too young to remember,” Fieronilles retorted, “but the flies have been in before, twenty years ago, and I well remember it was open warfare. Until that terrible fire that burned down half the neighborhood.”

“That was thirty-five years ago, grandfather,” a young ruffian corrected him.

“Thirty-three,” Yarras corrected in turn. “I know because I was born the day everything burned. I don’t know if I told you that my old lady tried to pretend I was born with fire-red hair because of the fire,” he laughed. “And her boyfriend bought it all for quite a few years!”

The regulars laughed and scoffed, and I shook my head. As far as I remembered, I had never heard of this fire.

I did not know what time it was when Yarras said that he had business at The Blue Flame tonight, and took leave of his companions. I hastened to follow him and was already crossing the threshold when the tavern-keeper asked me:

“Hey! Are you leaving already? Have you had your dinner yet, boy?”

“Huh? Dinner? No, no, no, no. I don’t feel like eating. Ayo, Sham!” I replied. And I ran out behind the red ruffian. “Yarras!”

This one was walking briskly down the alley, and when I joined him, he began to climb stairs without stopping; he asked me:

“What do you want?”

“Well… you see,” I coughed as I followed him with difficulty. “I have a job. And, at this job, I’m asked to pay two goldies tomorrow because, if I don’t, I’ll be charged four. So, I thought you could lend me the two goldies, and I’ll give them back to you afterwards.”

I kept quiet. I waited for the answer. We reached the top of the stairs, and Yarras snorted:

“I don’t make deals like that, bard. I’m sorry. You should have challenged me to a game of forks earlier. If so, we could have talked. But not now.”

Inwardly, I had promised myself long ago not to play forks with Yarras again, and I shook my head. I trotted off to join him.

“Please, Yarras,” I insisted. “I made you win those three siatos in the game earlier. You could at least give me—”

“Don’t bust my chops, kid, I’m not your mate,” the redhead interrupted me, suddenly adopting a stern tone. “These three siatos are for my cute cousins. Period. I don’t lend money, is that clear? And now get out of here.”

I was shocked more by his sharp voice than by the refusal, and I stopped in the middle of the alley as the ruffian disappeared around the corner. Always the same, I thought. It was always the same with adults. No matter how nice they were, there came a time when you asked too much of them, and they reminded you of the limits. Because they didn’t trust you. Because they had their own life. Because, all in all, a gwak never really fit into any of those “lives”. But, well, that wasn’t new, was it?

I began to walk through the alleys of the Labyrinth, and unconsciously or perhaps not so much, I passed by the Death Row. I looked down into the alley. Everything was dark. I shivered suddenly, for it was freezing cold tonight. It was even snowing, I remarked in astonishment. It was the first flakes of the year! I reached out a hand to one of them. It melted at once. Then I walked down the corridor at a brisk pace, and arrived at Coldpalm’s door.

I knocked a few times. I waited. And I smiled as I heard a latch open. Little Wolf was probably using a stool, for I heard the crunch of wood against the floor, and finally the handle turned, and the figure of the little kid appeared.

“Ayo, Little Wolf,” I said in a low voice. “I’ve come to visit. May I come in?”

In reply, he held out his small hand. I took it and entered. After closing the door behind me, I whispered:

“Hey, shyur. Aren’t you afraid of the dark?” There was a silence. “Well, I guess not, you’re lucky. How’s Grandma? Is she asleep?”

“I haven’t really slept in years,” replied the soft voice of Coldpalm.

I tensed a little, but continued down the small hallway, and entered the necromancer’s room.

“Good evening, little one,” she greeted me. “The darkness may frighten you, but I assure you that, if you saw me in the light of day, you would be much more frightened.”

After a hesitation, I shrugged.

“My master is a nakrus. And he never scared me. He never slept either.”

I heard a slight snort of amusement.

“Mm… I suspected that only a nakrus could have taught such a young being to power a hand with mortic energy… And it looks like I wasn’t wrong.” She seemed satisfied that I had confirmed her suspicion. “Come. Sit down with Little Wolf. I’m glad you decided to come back,” she added as I walked over to the sofa with the little one and sat down next to her. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. About life, about Little Wolf… and about you.”

I blinked.

“Me?” I repeated. “Because of the hand?”

“And not only that,” Coldpalm replied serenely. “You are a necromancer. And as far as I know… we are the only two necromancers in all Estergat. That makes you very special. Your skills… could save someone’s life.”

Without making any sound, Little Wolf lost his balance on my lap while trying to catch Coldpalm’s arm and he fell between us. I shook my head, without understanding.

“I could save someone using necromancy? You mean you want to steal my morjas to continue living?”

Immediately, I thought that perhaps I could sell her my morjas in exchange for two siatos. After all, my nakrus master said that, in living beings, the morjas of the bones regenerated with time. Coldpalm took Little Wolf in her arms while answering:

“No. I’m referring to someone else. Someone I love very much who has a growth disease. Someone who needs my daily help to wake up the morjas in his bones because, otherwise, he would stay asleep forever.”

My eyes widened, I glanced around the darkened room, and then I focused my attention on the little one.

“Little Wolf?” I wondered. “Is he sick?”

I heard Coldpalm sigh.

“Unfortunately, yes. And, unfortunately, so am I. My days are numbered. Every morning, I think Death is coming, and every morning, I’m proved wrong. But the day will come when I’m not wrong. A day not so far away. And, then, Little Wolf will die if you don’t wake up his morjas, little one.” She took a deep breath. “He has no family. He doesn’t know anyone. He only has me. I’d like you to take care of him and help him grow up, and… in return, ask me for whatever you want: I’ll give it to you.”

As I stared at her in amazement, the magical glint in her eye took on the same tone that my nakrus master’s eyes adopted when they smiled.

“That’s what I’ve been thinking about these days, little one. If only I could trust you, I would give you everything I have to allow this creature to live. Hold out your undead hand,” she invited me. “And place it on Little Wolf’s head. Yes. Like that. Now, don’t be frightened and pay close attention.”

She put her large, deformed hand on mine. Little Wolf was now sitting on the sofa between us, very formally. With my heart beating rapidly, I swallowed and… I felt a mortic shock. No, it wasn’t really a shock. It was a spell with a definite pattern. As it passed through my hand to Little Wolf’s head, I gradually understood the idea. It was simple. Coldpalm was only waking up the bones of Little Wolf, one by one, with an amazing efficiency. Then she broke the spell and whispered:

“Can you do it again?”

I gasped.

“I don’t know, Grandma. I think… I think so. But not so fast.”

“Do it,” she asked me.

I felt challenged, as when my nakrus master asked me to perform this or that spell in the valley. Tranquilized by the comparison and guided by the witch’s own hand, I concentrated and built the spell with application. Finally, I set about waking the morjas from the bones that were still “asleep”. When I finished, Coldpalm withdrew her hand and whispered weakly:

“Thank you, Draen. You did it very well.”

She was silent, and for a moment, neither of us said anything, and Little Wolf even less. Then I asked:

“Is he mute?”

Coldpalm turned her big head towards me.

“Yes, he is.”

She turned her head again to the emptiness of the darkness. I thought her days must be very strange, spent in bewitching false papers, waking up Little Wolf’s morjas, and pondering on life.

“How did his parents die?” I asked.

“Oh,” Coldpalm sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t know. One day, two years ago, a woman came to me and asked me to do some papers for her. She didn’t give her real name or any payment in advance, and if I hadn’t been so bored as a dead rat, I would have sent her out to fish for bears in the ocean. After two weeks, when she came to pick up what she had ordered from me, she paid me with… the Little Wolf. She told me that the gem he wore around his neck must surely pay for everything. She left like a coward without telling me more. It probably wasn’t his mother. I can only tell you that the gem Little Wolf wears around his neck is precious. Even so… I’d rather you didn’t sell it unless it’s absolutely necessary. Maybe one day we can find out where he came from.”

I looked down at Little Wolf. Given his position, I guessed that he had fallen asleep.

“Tell me about it,” Coldpalm continued gently. “Tell me how you met this nakrus.”

I frowned.

“He told me not to tell anyone about him,” I objected.

Coldpalm did not insist, and the silence continued. I put my bare feet on the sofa and hugged my knees before murmuring:

“He kicked me out of the cave. He said I must see the world and learn about sajits. And that I couldn’t come back until I brought him a ferilompard bone.”

Coldpalm cleared her throat.

“Hmm. A tall order for a child your age,” she considered. “Ferilompards no longer exist in Prospaterra. For that, you would have to travel far west. To the Storm Hills. They say there are still a few gahodals living there.”

I looked at the witch, wide-eyed; my heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t thought that Coldpalm could have more knowledge than a professor at the Conservatory about ferilompards.

“Gahodals?” I repeated. “What is that?”

“Another word for ferilompard,” the witch replied simply. “Your master must be from Arkolda itself. Did he speak Drionsan?”

“Caeldric. Mostly Caeldric,” I replied. “But also Drionsan. Except he used some words that aren’t used anymore. And he taught me to read things that aren’t used anymore. It’s because he’s very old. And he doesn’t like visitors, so he hardly ever sees anyone. Except for a few.”

“Who?” Coldpalm asked curiously.

“Well… he told me a few names,” I admitted. And I smiled. “He liked to talk about certain friends. Because they’re a bunch of weirdos. But he didn’t like to talk about the distant past. Because he said that talking about things that happened over four centuries ago is being old-fashioned. So he talked to me about new things. About Arivessandro. Jabler. Marevor Helith…”

I felt a slight pinch in my chest and rubbed myself vigorously.

“And Orferyum,” I added. “They were all friends of his.” I smiled and admitted, “Except Jabler because he once stole a bone from his foot. But he gave it back to him a few years later,” I laughed. “It was just a joke.”

I still remembered my master’s nakrus laughter as he told me the anecdote. After another silence, I said to him, thoughtfully:

“I too would like to become a nakrus one day.”

Coldpalm made a hesitant sound.

“Uh… Well, little one… I’m not the best person to advise you to do such a thing. I suppose you know it’s a very slow process. And that there are risks involved. Not many people survive. Actually, I almost succeeded,” she commented with a touch of amusement. And she murmured gravely, “But my time has come. And there’s nothing dramatic about that. The only thing that tied me to the world was Little Wolf. And I know he can count on you now… can’t he, Draen?”

When you were given a choice between letting go of a little kid’s hand in trouble and taking it… the choice was pretty simple.

“Natural,” I said seriously. “I only have to wake up the morjas every day and take him home with me. No worries. I’ll take care of him like my own bones. It is only natural. Any honest gwak would do that.”

Coldpalm nodded slowly.

“Except that you are the only gwak who can do it. I would like to be able to ensure the future of Little Wolf. I want him to become a happy man. I want him to go to school, learn a trade, and never learn the necromantic arts.” She paused. “But it will be enough if you teach him to be an… honest gwak, as you say.”

I smiled, and she asked:

“I would like to see your face. Just for a moment. But, for that, you must close your eyes. I don’t want you to see me. Close your eyes and don’t open them again until I ask you to, okay?”

I sighed and closed my eyes and said:

“It runs. Closed. But I’d like to see you too, Grandma.”

I felt a faint light against my eyelids.

“But I don’t want you to see me,” the necromancer replied. I opened one eye and… the light disappeared, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Sajits and their curiosity…”

I made a stubborn pout.

“I can make light too. I could see you right now if I wanted.”

Coldpalm answered me with a mocking glare:

“Then do it.”

The silence continued. And I did nothing. Finally, I grumbled:

“Okay, it runs. Say, where are the Storm Hills?”

“Mm. I told you that. Far, far to the west. Beyond the Mirvic Ocean. Beyond the Bayland. A child like you would take moons to get there. That is if he gets there,” Coldpalm murmured. “Perhaps one day, after becoming a nakrus, you will have time to go in search of gahodal bones.” I sensed a hint of mockery in her voice. “In the meantime,” she continued, “I will give you the fifteen siatos you brought me from Le Bor. You will take Little Wolf away, and tomorrow night you will return with him, and I will give you more. All that I have left. Okay?”

She handed me the purse of coins at the same time, and it took me a few moments to react.

“Good mother,” I murmured, taking the purse. And I frowned, suspicious. “Just a minute. Is this for real? What do I have to do in return?”

“I told you: just take care of Little Wolf,” Coldpalm answered. “Nothing else.”

I breathed out, and my suspicion vanished. After a moment’s hesitation, I put the little silver bag under my shirts and took the sleeping Little Wolf in my arms. He was a little heavy, but I could carry him.

“Well. Okay, I’ll take him. But… tomorrow you’ll still be alive, right, Grandma?”

I saw her shake her head.

“I’ll try to be, little one,” she replied, amused. “I’ll try to be. As a friend of mine would say—may she rest in peace—long live your bones, young necromancer. And remember: if you ever don’t take good care of Little Wolf, my spirit will know and take revenge. So be careful.”

Faced with her threat, I recoiled with a strange feeling in my body.

“O-Okay,” I said. “Ayo, Grandma. Don’t die, huh.”

I took a better grip on Little Wolf, who was fast asleep, and stopped at the door. I hesitated.

“By the way, Grandma,” I said. “Is it true that you are the daughter of the Bifid Witch?”

That’s what Rogan had told me when I told him about my first encounter with Coldpalm. And, apparently, the Bifid Witch did exist: she moved at the speed of a spirit, and if you misbehaved, she would enter your dreams and drive you mad.

I heard a muffled laugh from the sofa. Coldpalm replied:

“Wrong. I am the Bifid Witch herself.”

I smiled, but didn’t quite believe her.

“Good night, Grandma.”

“Good night, little one.”

I opened the door and walked out into Death Row. All the way back to the Fairbank Pension, I thought: look casual, just casual, pretend you don’t have fifteen goldies hidden under your shirt, nobody is supposed to know, pretend to be a completely broke gwak… And, while I was walking through the alleys, going down stairs and coming across Cats of all kinds, Little Wolf continued to sleep comfortably between my arms. When I arrived at Tarmil Avenue safe and sound, I was tempted to wake him up, because he was really starting to weigh me down; however, in the light of the street lamps, I saw his face so serene and happy that I didn’t dare, and I arrived at the boarding house carrying the blond boy. When I entered the courtyard, the clock had just struck twelve and it was still snowing. I pushed the door open with one hand, closed it, walked through the little room and found that Yal’s mat was empty. I rolled my eyes. It was the night of Kindday to Sacredday, and surely my master must have gone to the theatre again… When I reached the big straw bed, I lay down with my back to my cronies and set Little Wolf between the Priest and me. I smiled, made sure I still had my coins, smiled wider, and fell into a deep, placid sleep.