Last Life

SPRING WAS SLOWLY COMING into its own. The days grew longer. The sun no longer merely shined; it radiated warmth as well. A warm breeze passed lazily through the valley, drying the earth as it went.

The spring sky, endless and clear, seemed transparent. However, far to the northeast, it fell away. There the whole horizon was obscured by a dark, billowing gloom — the Wing of Strix itself.

It was a sight that gave me shivers. Not of fear though, of anticipation. That unknown gloom harbored new opportunities for me. It called to me. Captivated me with its alienness to this world. Neither me nor that mysterious force belonged here. All that remained was to determine to what degree we could be friends, or even allies. I somehow refused to believe we would be enemies.

It had been five days since our squad split off from the main group. Our path led us across a wide valley constricted from the southwest by a long rocky ridge called Gray Ridge by the locals, and a black strip of the Shadow to the northeast. We were supposed to go around the mountain ridge, then at a pass join back up with the main caravan.

Our little party consisted of thirteen people. Our commander was Sergeant Ravel, a grumpy pipsqueak with a wide pockmarked face, long apelike arms, and a narrow concave forehead.

No one in our party paid any attention to the sergeant’s bad manners. Well, almost no one. Vidal who to put it lightly had gotten off on the wrong foot with our commander a very long time ago, voiced a theory once while we were resting that the first sound Ravel made after leaving his mother’s womb was a loud disgusting belch.

As it turned out, for the last few months, there were a lot of jokes going around about the sergeant’s quirks in the fortress and Toulon as well. Ravel did indeed belch both often and loudly. But he must have been doing so involuntarily and, every time it happened, a look of pain appeared on his face. The few times he did it around me, I nearly choked from the nasty mixture of smells that landed somewhere between infected teeth and rotten eggs.

Everyone quietly made fun of the sergeant, thinking up mean jokes, but they could not see what I could. In true vision, his stomach looked like a black, pulsating mass. He must have had an ulcer or something even nastier.

Samdan and Barlas, our steppe-native guides, nearly always travelled separately from the group and rarely spoke. They kept their distance from everyone else. The only person they ever communicated with was the sergeant. And that was mainly just to report on things they saw while scouting. Sometimes, they went ahead for a long time, like today.

The six Vestonian mercenaries, whose unofficial leader was Patrick, had been behaving with a certain restraint for the last few days. Honestly though, I kept catching them shooting me persistent and hostile looks. Trixie’s fiancé though didn’t seem to notice me. As if I was not even there.

And his pretending I was invisible was what finally convinced me that Patrick was plotting something and waiting for an opportunity to strike. One day, he and I traded looks. I saw judgement in his eyes.

A look like that would have scared Max shitless, but to me it was just amusing. As was the little dance routine Patrick’s buddies kept doing around me. In my head, I had already come up with an explanation for Lieutenant Tassen as to why I would have to kill all the ugly bastards.

Honestly, the thing that bothered me the most about the whole situation was the fact Trixie would never forgive me for killing her fiancé. Even if she found out I was only defending myself, it would hardly excuse my actions in her eyes.

What a pity... I had already gotten if not attached, then at the very least accustomed both to her and her little brothers. As a matter of fact, she had proven herself in several sticky situations, and I was even planning to offer her regular work in the future. But alas, it was not meant to be. There was no avoiding a collision at this point.

I could see that my new acquaintances had noticed the tension between me and the Vestonians, as well, though they had yet to make any attempts to discuss the situation. And thus, there was no certainty whether they would want to cover for me in the future conflict or step aside to see how it all turned out.

And I didn’t blame them. After all, I was nobody to them, and vice versa. And all the melodramatic speeches about us being united by the noble blood in our veins and how we had to stick together were just meaningless vibrations of air.

Frankly, I was not too concerned by that whole situation. I was always on my own. A fox, accustomed to acting independently without any support. And being in front of every issue...

Patrick and his buddies mistakenly believed that they were the ones waiting for the right moment to attack. Oh no... They didn’t have the slightest idea that I was merely allowing them to think so. Dodger had been stalking them for some time already.

The situation in the squad was slowly heating up. Even Sergeant Ravel noticed. I constantly caught him frowning at me. And although everyone was behaving so far, we all understood that conflict could break out at any moment. All it needed was a spark and the whole thing would go up in flames.

We made camp for the night amongst some low cliffs sticking up from the ground like sharp teeth at the foot of Gray Ridge. We sheltered the horses in a fairly spacious crevasse, which snaked and slithered into the body of the mountain like a giant worm.

Not wanting to drag things out, I decided to get started that night. I just had to pick the right moment. I needed an innocent provocation to serve as the spark. The key was to set everything up in such a way that Patrick and his buddies attacked me first... That was going to be tough...

But my plans were not destined to come together. That evening, before sunset, one of the sentries raised the alarm. On the horizon, he spotted the silhouette of a lone rider coming unhurriedly our way.

It was Samdan, one of our scouts. Looking beat up and dead tired, staying in the saddle was all he had strength for. The right sleeve of his kaftan was soaked in blood, while his left cheek bore a deep scabbed over scratch. His horse, which had a whitish substance coating its hide in many places, was foaming at the mouth and breathing heavily.

Just a few minutes later, everyone in the squad knew that the steppe folk had encountered an advance party of wildlings. Barlas had perished, while Samdan somehow managed to fight them off and get away. His tongue slurring in exhaustion, he told us he tried to cover his tracks, but most likely the enemy would be here in less than three or four hours. Then he passed out.

“Wildlings...” Baron von Holtz gave a muffled grunt and spat in anger.

“What are wildlings?” I asked, calmly preparing my crossbow for a fight.

Reasonably concluding that trying to escape on horses that were exhausted from a day’s travel on a moonless night would be suicide, the dismal sergeant gave the command to prepare for battle. And so we did.

“Ragtag bands of scum on the run from the crown’s justice,” the talkative Vidal answered. “They break up into bands and roam the frontier of the Shadow in search of recent ebbs.”

I nodded. I had been told by my new friends about what they called “ebbs” and “flows.”

As it turned out, the Wing of Strix sometimes moved, though no one knew why. Flows were when it shifted to cover untainted land with its Shadow. They varied in duration from one day, to a month or more. And they covered areas of land several square miles in size.

In that time, the area covered by the Shadow would undergo gradual changes. The plants, insects, animals and earth were either killed or transformed by the alien magic to match it. Beyond that, flows brought dangerous predators from the heart of the Shadow to hunt everything that had not managed to flee.

Sooner or later then, the Wing of Strix would return to its usual borders, taking the Shadow along with it. That was what they called “ebbs.” They left behind all kinds of interesting things: altered plants and living creatures, soil and water. “Ebbs” were considered particularly “rich” if the Shadow had spent a long time over the area.

“There are no two wildlings alike,” Baron von Brunon threw his five copper in. “These lands are inhabited by those whose ancestors lived here before the Shadow came. They did not want to accept allegiance to the kings and preferred to remain free. Their tribes now lead a nomadic lifestyle along the frontier with the Shadow.”

Now I understood where the contraband goods were coming from. The Shadow Patrol had slowly gone from a force created to defend the borders of the kingdom from incursions by creatures from the anomaly to a tool in the corrupt hands of aristos used to move contraband.

I took heed of everything my acquaintances were saying, meanwhile out of the corner of my eye watching Patrick and his buddies. But they were still acting peaceful.

An hour later, the sergeant appointed some sentries and ordered everyone else to rest but keep one eye open.

The first shift fell to me and Baron von Brunon along with big Bruno and redheaded Jean from Patrick’s clique.

I sat leaning against the rough side of the cliff, watching the valley from up high. From time to time, I sniffed the air like an animal, listening to the sounds of wildlife in the mountains. Off to the right, I could hear a bush rustling in the wind. A bit to the left, the black shadow of a large bird flickered past. A mountain owl... Only they could fly so quietly.

I drew in air through my nose. The light breeze carried a familiar scent. I smiled. A steppe fox had come to the foot of the mountain to hunt. I could sense it observing me curiously. Also sniffing.

“No need to worry about me, little sister,” I whispered with lips alone. “Nothing here will hurt you...”

That was all. She ran off to do her business. I just saw the tip of her fluffy tail flicker by in the stones to say goodbye.

“Happy hunting...” I whispered with a smile.

Hm... Wait... That sound didn’t belong here. It was coming from below, from the crevasse where we’d tied up our horses. I could hear my Snowball snorting in slight agitation, then a quiet reassuring whisper. Not an outsider. One of us. But only I could hear him.

I got up. The baron turned to look at me. A question in his eyes.

“I’m going to take a wee...” I said with lips alone.

The baron nodded and stared off into the darkness again.

Like a silent shadow, I slipped over the stones. A minute later, I was down in the crevasse. Hm... A familiar silhouette.

“You sure recovered quick,” I came, quietly pointing my crossbow at Samdan while pushing a wave of energy through my whole body.

The steppe dweller was standing next to my mare messing with the saddle straps. I was not surprised he chose Snowball. She was the finest horse not only in our squadron, but in the whole caravan. I figured even in Toulon there were not many horses that could compete with her. I remembered the steppe dwellers’ amazed looks when they first saw Snowball.

Heh... I should say! This horse was chosen by a seer. A strong hardy mare of orange coloration with a white spot on her forehead like a snowball, she was a captivating sight to behold.

The steppe native suddenly turned, at the same time grabbing the dagger from his belt and whipping it at me. Knocking the blade away with the steel limb of my crossbow, I continued calmly:

“Another trick like that and you’ll have this bolt through your skull.”

A look of pain and astonishment settled in on Samdan’s flat wide face. The abrupt movements must have upset his wound.

Frankly, in his place, I’d also have been astonished by my reaction time. His throw was lightning fast. Samdan had clearly been practicing it since he was a child. If not for the energy streams bubbling through my body, I likely would not have survived.

“My brother was right...” the steppe native whispered, trying not to make any sudden moves. “You’re different...”

Hm... So he and Barlas were brothers.

I shrugged my shoulders and asked:

“What really happened out there? And don’t just repeat the nonsense you fed the sergeant.”

Samdan scowled.

“Why did they kill your brother?” I kept asking questions. “After all, you had an agreement. What went wrong?”

I was bluffing, but seemingly hit my mark. Samdan shuddered but stayed silent.

“Well?” I raised the crossbow.

He gulped but didn’t let out a word.

“You know something...?” I said thoughtfully. “Why should I get my hands dirty with you? I should just alert the others. Let the sergeant decide what to do with you. I want to see what they say when they realize you were leading a group of enemies straight to us only to sneak away while we fought off wildlings.”

“These are not wildlings,” Samdan squeezed out. The prospect of an impassioned interrogation was clearly less than tempting.

“Then what are they?” I tried to keep my voice from quavering.

This wretch had brought something even more dangerous in tow...

“Well, they are wildlings, but they are beholden to sorcerers... Defectors... Strykers who did not want to serve the kings. My master has been doing business with them for a very long time...”

“Who is your master? The captain? The mayor?”

No, that was off target... I could tell by the look in his eye. And it was a serious look. Samdan’s master was a bigger fish.

“You’re better off not knowing,” Samdan rasped and started trying to convince me: “But if you let me leave to tell him some very important information, you will have his gratitude...”

Seeing a skeptical smirk on my face, Samdan sped up:

“I’ve got a better idea! We can leave together! You are a mighty warrior. We can escape the men on our trail. And these guys...” he nodded over at the camp. “They’re doomed no matter what. They don’t stand a chance against strykers.”

I tilted my head slightly and pretended to consider it.

“Alright...” I said a few seconds later. “I accept... But with one condition. I have to know what happened. I have to know why I’m taking this risk.”

I saw a flicker of doubt in Samdan’s eyes, but a moment later his face smoothed out. Seemingly, he had made a decision. I even thought I knew what it was. As soon as we got far enough away from here, he was simply going to kill me. I was sure of that.

“We saw something we were not supposed to see,” Samdan said quietly. “And so, their top mage ordered us killed. My brother died so I could live and deliver this important message to my master.”

“And what did you see?” I asked.

“They have a Ghost in a cage!” Samdan whispered loudly with his eyes open wide. Then, covering his mouth, he started looking around.

Samdan’s eagerness to spill his guts told me that he had already sentenced me to death. And he clearly was not lying. He wanted to share the sensational information with somebody. He was ready to burst. It was plain to the naked eye.

“Ghost?” I asked.

Samdan bulged his eyes out at me in surprise. That was not the reaction he was expecting. I even got the feeling he was offended by my ignorance. Most likely, he pictured me looking different after hearing what he had to say. At least to stare back in shocked silence, choking on excitement.

“Ghosts...” Samdan came in a whistling whisper, not giving up his hope to stir up some kind of emotion. “Ghosts are... Legendary warriors from the Shadow! Not brainless creatures. They’re intelligent... And sometimes they come with flows.”

“And the wildlings were able to take one prisoner?”

I asked, despite having many more new questions. Apparently, there were intelligent creatures in the Shadow! I felt a shiver run down my spine.

“I see you’re starting to get it...” Samdan bared his teeth. “My brother and I lost our breath when we happened to see it. It was the first Ghost anyone has seen in the last hundred years, much less trapped in a cage!”

“Aha...” I drawled out thoughtfully. “And this prisoner will be a bottomless pit of knowledge and information about the Shadow.”

“That is precisely why my master must know about it!” Samdan nodded. “Let’s leave together... You...”

But before he could finish, we heard screams and crisp commands from the sergeant up above.

“Too late...” Samdan came darkly. “They’re already here...”

An angry frown warped the steppe dweller’s face. I saw cold determination in his eyes and... death.

In one fluid motion, Samdan fell to the ground, extended his right arm to his boot and somersaulted to the right. But that was all he managed to do. A bolt launched from my crossbow pierced his neck.

When I walked over to the body, which was still twitching in predeath convulsions, I noticed a short throwing knife lying next to his right hand...