Myth of the Ice Queen:
Book One - Blood and Ice Wolves
Chapter 3 - The Council's Decision
Feyt pushed his way into the crowded Lodgehouse. The Lodgehouse was made of timber poles like the stockade, except the bark remained on. Caernall sprawled around a lone hill next to the Seltzin River. The Lodgehouse was constructed on the top and down the side of that hill and was by far the biggest building in the village with its high peaked roof. The big heavy wooden double doors of the public entrance sat at the top of the hill and the structure extended down the hill from there. It was twice as long down the hill as it was wide. The floor followed the sloped hill and the shape provided an amphitheater for large meetings.
Feyt had heard from his neighbors that the Council convened immediately when word of the attack reached them. The villagers began gathering at the Lodgehouse as the confusion from the attack died down and after the warriors made sure Caernall was secure. Now the building was full of worried villagers in spite of it being the middle of the night.
Feyt repeated his thoughts again, to reassure himself. The Council makes all Caernall’s decisions. I am sure they will decide to have the Village Chief send a hunting party after the ice wolves. They’ll surely do that right away. I have to go with them. Feyt groaned softly. It is my fault Mum and Serente are dead. I have to make those wolves pay. Especially the one that killed mum and sis.
Determined to go along, and afraid he would be left behind, Feyt dared to enter the Council Meeting. Normally only adult males were allowed in. Tonight, no one was at the door to bar his way. He was confused though. He had no idea what happened in Council Meetings except that all the important decisions happened here. Feyt did not know exactly how to go about learning what they would decide, but he did not want to miss the opportunity if a band of hunters left immediately.
Coming in from outside, Feyt felt the oppressive heat in the room sharply. Inside the building, the clamor of the villagers made it difficult to hear. Torches along all the walls lit the room brightly and added a smoky smell to the odors of alcohol and sweaty bodies. A good number of the crowd here appeared to be tipsy from the interrupted Equinox celebrations.
Looking around the room, Feyt was unsure who would know what was going on. The inside was one large room with a high ceiling. It was much longer than it was wide. Its walls inside were scraped and finished timber, the backs of the same poles that formed the outside. He had come in on the high end and the room's packed earth floor sloped steeply downwards at the hill's natural grade to a raised platform at the far and low end of the room. The slope made a natural amphitheater and gave everyone in the room a view of the stage below. From his vantage point at the top, Feyt guessed the platform to be maybe twenty feet lower than his position.
On a dais in the center of the platform below, over the heads of the mass of bodies, Feyt could see Swornson, the Village Chief with most of the other council members clustered around him. Guards were everywhere trying to keep order. There was a line of them along the front of the platform, and another behind the council along the wall. They stood in line holding spears and shifting a bit from time to time. Some of them were as bleary eyed as the crowd.
Where were those guards when they were needed? Probably all drinking and whoring! Feyt blinked away his tears. Now is not the time to get angry.
On the platform, on each side of the dais, a large fire was burning, adding to the room's stifling heat. Pulling off his furred cap, Feyt wiped sweat from his brow and opened his parka. Still near the back of the assembly, he moved to the left wall of the lodge where the press of the crowd seemed less. Below, Caernall's leaders were clearly having a disagreement of some kind. He was not sure what was supposed to happen next. He had never been to a normal village meeting before and this impromptu gathering was more chaos than order.
An older man standing next to him pointed suddenly, and loudly said to another next to him, "Look. There’s Muroc. There, in that group of men."
Feyt looked to where they were pointing. Down near the front of the dais, he saw a broad man, not too tall, in the group. He recognized Muroc. Most people in the village knew him by sight. Muroc wore his long grey-blond hair in half a dozen braids. Even his beard sported braids on each side of his ugly beat-up looking face. On that grizzled mask, a black patch covered one eye. The men clustered around him looked just as rough as he did and seemed uncomfortable in the crowd.
The pointer cackled to the man next to him, "Hah! Muroc is a veteran of the last Ice War, fifteen years ago. Lost his eye back then. What a killer he was in his youth!"
"What's so special about him, other than he scares children with that face?" his listener asked.
Leaning forward, as if telling a secret, the old man replied, "He was one of the Anchorfief's. You know! 'The' Anchorfiefs? They fled from the village of Anchor when the Ice moved.”
Feyt shuddered. The Ice was an evil force that brought fear even to the strongest warrior. Ever growing, pressing southward, the Ice was a thing alive… and hated.
The old man went on, “The Ice crushed Anchor, and they had to evacuate. Muroc's was the lead family there. I can tell you, the Anchorfiefs have kept their injured pride at their fall from status! Muroc is famous as much for his nasty scowl as for being surly and unsocial. He and the Council had a falling out back during the last war. Dunno what over, but he has held that grudge ever since. Ha! And I expect the Council has, too. They barely tolerate each other." Nodding knowledgeably he led his friend away back into the crowd.
Feyt looked down at Muroc again. Next to him was a man with black skin. He looked again in surprise. That is a rarity, Feyt thought. I have heard of men with black skins, but never seen one before. He was dressed like a rich merchant on display, but with some kind of a light-colored wrap around his head. His dark red shirt bloused out under what looked like a chainmail vest. He did not appear the least upset about the crowd, or this evening's blood. He was smiling and jovial even while Muroc was obviously gruff and sullen with the other men.
The stamping of the guards’ spears in unison brought the crowd to order as a herald shouted for silence. He cried out several times until the noise quieted. Brandt Swornson, the Village Chief, stood and stepped forward. "Calm yourselves. Everything is under control. For any who do not know what has happened, I will tell you. Tonight, Caernall has been attacked by a large pack of ice wolves." The crowd began to murmur loudly. The guards stamped their spears in unison again. Swornson looked around the room solemnly before starting again. "Yes. Ice wolves. I know it has been unheard of here. Somehow, they entered the village in several locations without detection. We do not know how they scaled the stockade walls. Many people have been attacked and injured. Some killed. We are still taking count."
A man in the front row yelled out, "Ice wolves means that the Ice is coming." This caused more unrest in the crowd. The speaker went on and the crowd quieted, "Every time the Ice in the north moves, taking new lands under it, the ice wolves come first. They always attack a village just before the Ice covers it. Look what happened at Anchor! Now they have attacked us on the Equinox! It's an omen." At the word omen, Feyt looked again at the speaker.
Sure enough, it was Tenyt's father, Senchar. High Priest of the Old Religion. Senchar stood there defiantly, tall and thin, dressed in bright scarlet robes.
Swornson frowned at the speaker. "Don't try to create panic, Senshar! No one knows if the Ice is coming. We just know that ice wolves have been inside Caernall, killing our people. That is enough of a problem for now. These things are killers! Cunning, smart, deadly killers! We have at least nine dead inside the walls and thrice that many injured.” The crowd started calling names and murmuring loudly.
Feyt felt numb, “I don’t think they know that some of their children were attacked at the ford yet.”
Raising his arms for silence, Sorenson went on, “The wolves caught us completely by surprise. Again, no one knows how they got inside the walls. Or why none were seen outside the walls before the attack. They were just suddenly inside the village. When they left, they were just as suddenly, not there." He paused and glared around the room.
Senchar was not dissuaded. "They always come for a reason. They foretell the coming of the Ice. The Ice Demons are sending the Ice against those who do not worship the old gods properly.” Feyt cringed, that was a shot at the small group of One God’s followers in Caernall. “The wolves were at Anchor before it fell twenty-five years ago. That’s when the Ice came to Anchor, and it was given over to the Ice." The packed mass of people began to murmur again.
"I warned you, I'll not have you causing a panic, Senchar. What is it you want?"
"The old gods war with each other. The ice wolves come from evil gods that are arrayed against our village god. Against Caer. These gods seek to damage us, to hurt Caer. Caer has told me that we must take vengeance on these creatures." Senchar paused and looked back and forth across the murmuring crowd for effect."The ice wolves are a force of the evil that is against Caer and us. We must send out warriors to kill the ice wolves."
"War is brewing here in the Northlands, Senchar. Mayhap because, as you say, the gods are at war. You have heard the Council's discussions on that over the last year. Ergas Holm has allied with the Freebriers and with others south of them. They keep us and the other northerners from moving south to escape the ice. They have moved against our allies at Barrot's Keep and Lord Faegus is hard pressed even now. War is almost upon us, Senchar. We cannot afford to send our warriors off chasing will-o-the-wisps out in the tundra.”
Swornson drew himself up. "Ice wolves are hard to find, and harder still to kill. It takes skilled hunters. The tundra is their home and they disappear into it. Some say these creatures are supernatural." He glared at Senchar."You all know the stories about ice wolves; their uncanny intelligence, how they kill their hunters. Anchor lost three bands of their best hunters to them when the wolves appeared there. They are deadly and those we send out may not come back. We will not waste men in these times."
Senchar started to pursue the argument, but Swornson waved him down, saying, "Enough. I will send none of my warriors."
"Then send me." The voice came from the crowd below the stage. Swornson looked surprised as Muroc climbed the steps and strode to the dais. "I'll go. If good Senchar will bestow the blessings of Caer on me..." He gave a low bow to the priest. "I'll go. Moreover, I will bring my own band of hunters. I won't take any of the village's warriors."
Brandt Swornson scowled. "You! What do you get out of this, that you would go? Do you seek your death finally, Anchorfief? To join those of your kin who have already fallen to ice wolves?"
"A man has the right of revenge, Brandt. I would claim that right. And, I would prove to all Caernall that an Anchorfief, with or without a city, is still a good friend against ice wolves. Perhaps even against Freebriers."
One of the Council members leaned next to Swornson and whispered something. Brandt shrugged. Looking back at Muroc, he said, "Very well then. Council will allow you to raise your band and pursue the ice wolves. It is your death you risk. But, hear me. None of the village guards or warriors may go. I will not have you take a single sword from the defense of Caernall. No warriors or men."
"There are Anchorfief's enough here in Caernall."
"It's been years since Anchor fell. The Anchorfief's are Caernall villagers now too, Muroc. You cannot keep them separate. Their swords are expected to rise to our defense. Since you are such a famous warrior yourself, I'm sure that you and a small group of your Anchorfief's should be sufficient to bring back ice wolf pelts."
Muroc grinned fiercely, "I'd go by myself and kill them all single handed, but I would not wish to shame the good men of Caernall, nor steal all the glory for killing them. Give me leave to take ten good men and I'll bring you back pelts to cover your dead in."
"Not ten, Muroc. If the war starts, every single man within the walls will be needed. I will allow five."
Fuming, Muroc answered. "Five. And me, for six. Done." Muroc faced the crowd and loudly called out, "If we die out there, know that we were the only men of Caernall who were willing to risk death for vengeance." Most of the crowd stayed shamefully quiet, but a few who were offended jeered and made catcalls.
Feyt rushed forward. If they are going, I am going with them. "Wait!" he yelled. He ran down the middle aisle of the room pushing people aside until he reached the front of the stage. Stopping in the center between the fires he shouted out, "Let me go, as well. I claim right of vengeance, too."
The jeering at Muroc stopped. Around him, the crowd fell silent.
Above him on the dais, Brandt Swornson looked down at him. Feyt felt much smaller suddenly. "Who are you? And what is all over your parka?"
"I am Feyt, son of Emmanis Wardholder. And what is on my clothing is the blood of my mother and my sister." His voice choked up. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Murdered by ice wolves. I claim my right to blood feud. I want to go with the hunters."
Swornson looked surprised, and then shook his head pitifully. "My daughter knows you, Feyt. I am sorry for your losses." Pausing, he sighed loudly."You are not a warrior of the village, so..." he shrugged, "I will not prevent you. But it's up to Muroc, not me." With that, he turned his back and walked back to the others of the Council.
Muroc scowled at him, but there was pity in his eyes, too. "Go home, son. I need men, not boys. Killing ice wolves is not a game of tag."
Angry, Feyt drew his long-knife suddenly and those around him gasped and drew back, expecting a fight. Muroc backed up, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Holding his knife overhead, Feyt shouted, "See the blood on this blade? The only tag I played this night was with an ice wolf, and I marked it for my own. I will know my wolf when I see him again by his scarred face. I am a hunter too. I haven't been a child playing tag for years."
The crowd was silent, but Muroc stepped up to him and said quietly, "I can only take five, and I will only take the best. There is no room for you. Go home, son. Bury your mother and sister." He turned his back and strode back to his rough companions.
Feyt struggled to hold back the tears. He shouted at Muroc's back, "That's not fair. I can kill wolves. And I will. I'll... I'll go by myself if I have to." Muroc ignored him. It was too much. He felt the tears running down his face. Beyond Muroc's back, he saw the black skinned man staring sadly at him.
He slid his knife back into the scabbard and blindly walked back up the aisle. He felt people patting him on his shoulders and arms. He heard words like, "It's okay, boy." "Spoken like a man." "We're with you." However, nothing penetrated.
They turned me down. How could they?
As he walked out the door of the Council Lodgehouse, back into the cold, Feyt saw Selise staring at him. She was crying. Next to her was Jolen. His father's parka still looks too big and sloppy on him, Feyt thought incongruously.
"Feyt," Jolen called and ran up. Looking down uncomfortably, he mumbled, "Selice just told me. I'm... I'm sorry."
Feyt stared at them, unable to speak; afraid his words would turn into more tears.
"Come with us," Selice pleaded.
He looked at her blankly, as if he did not hear her. Then, he roused himself, feeling his anger rising, driving away grief. "No. I have to get ready."
"Ready for what?" Jolen asked.
"To go. I said I was going. So, I'm going to go."
"Go where?" Jolen asked looking confused.
"After the wolves. Alone if I have to," he challenged them. He felt a tiny hope that they would offer to come along.
Reading his mind, Selice retorted, her hands on her hips. "We can't go with you! Our parents would kill us. And you can't go either,"
"I can do anything I want." He regretted the anger in his voice, especially directed at Selice. He could tell they would try to stop him. Seeing the hurt in Selice's eyes, he looked down. "I'm sorry. I guess... you're right." When he looked back up, he saw his surrender had brought some relief to Selice's pained face. His heart felt a pang. She cares.
"You can come stay with me, Feyt. My da won't mind," Jolen offered. Behind Jolen, Selice’s face was worried still.
Dropping his voice, he mumbled, "Just let me go home tonight. I want to be alone."
"Sure. Sure, Feyt. I will come by tomorrow. Okay?" Hope oozed from Jolen's words.
"Alright. Tomorrow," he said with resignation. Selice and Jolen both looked relieved. He turned away heavily and began to walk towards home.
"Feyt!" Looking back, he saw Selice, tentatively raise a hand and give a tiny wave. Jolen stood next to her somberly. He waved back at them both and began walking again.
They can't stop me. Nobody can stop me. It is my fault my mother and Serente died. I will be gone before they know it.
Feyt pushed his way into the crowded Lodgehouse. The Lodgehouse was made of timber poles like the stockade, except the bark remained on. Caernall sprawled around a lone hill next to the Seltzin River. The Lodgehouse was constructed on the top and down the side of that hill and was by far the biggest building in the village with its high peaked roof. The big heavy wooden double doors of the public entrance sat at the top of the hill and the structure extended down the hill from there. It was twice as long down the hill as it was wide. The floor followed the sloped hill and the shape provided an amphitheater for large meetings.
Feyt had heard from his neighbors that the Council convened immediately when word of the attack reached them. The villagers began gathering at the Lodgehouse as the confusion from the attack died down and after the warriors made sure Caernall was secure. Now the building was full of worried villagers in spite of it being the middle of the night.
Feyt repeated his thoughts again, to reassure himself. The Council makes all Caernall’s decisions. I am sure they will decide to have the Village Chief send a hunting party after the ice wolves. They’ll surely do that right away. I have to go with them. Feyt groaned softly. It is my fault Mum and Serente are dead. I have to make those wolves pay. Especially the one that killed mum and sis.
Determined to go along, and afraid he would be left behind, Feyt dared to enter the Council Meeting. Normally only adult males were allowed in. Tonight, no one was at the door to bar his way. He was confused though. He had no idea what happened in Council Meetings except that all the important decisions happened here. Feyt did not know exactly how to go about learning what they would decide, but he did not want to miss the opportunity if a band of hunters left immediately.
Coming in from outside, Feyt felt the oppressive heat in the room sharply. Inside the building, the clamor of the villagers made it difficult to hear. Torches along all the walls lit the room brightly and added a smoky smell to the odors of alcohol and sweaty bodies. A good number of the crowd here appeared to be tipsy from the interrupted Equinox celebrations.
Looking around the room, Feyt was unsure who would know what was going on. The inside was one large room with a high ceiling. It was much longer than it was wide. Its walls inside were scraped and finished timber, the backs of the same poles that formed the outside. He had come in on the high end and the room's packed earth floor sloped steeply downwards at the hill's natural grade to a raised platform at the far and low end of the room. The slope made a natural amphitheater and gave everyone in the room a view of the stage below. From his vantage point at the top, Feyt guessed the platform to be maybe twenty feet lower than his position.
On a dais in the center of the platform below, over the heads of the mass of bodies, Feyt could see Swornson, the Village Chief with most of the other council members clustered around him. Guards were everywhere trying to keep order. There was a line of them along the front of the platform, and another behind the council along the wall. They stood in line holding spears and shifting a bit from time to time. Some of them were as bleary eyed as the crowd.
Where were those guards when they were needed? Probably all drinking and whoring! Feyt blinked away his tears. Now is not the time to get angry.
On the platform, on each side of the dais, a large fire was burning, adding to the room's stifling heat. Pulling off his furred cap, Feyt wiped sweat from his brow and opened his parka. Still near the back of the assembly, he moved to the left wall of the lodge where the press of the crowd seemed less. Below, Caernall's leaders were clearly having a disagreement of some kind. He was not sure what was supposed to happen next. He had never been to a normal village meeting before and this impromptu gathering was more chaos than order.
An older man standing next to him pointed suddenly, and loudly said to another next to him, "Look. There’s Muroc. There, in that group of men."
Feyt looked to where they were pointing. Down near the front of the dais, he saw a broad man, not too tall, in the group. He recognized Muroc. Most people in the village knew him by sight. Muroc wore his long grey-blond hair in half a dozen braids. Even his beard sported braids on each side of his ugly beat-up looking face. On that grizzled mask, a black patch covered one eye. The men clustered around him looked just as rough as he did and seemed uncomfortable in the crowd.
The pointer cackled to the man next to him, "Hah! Muroc is a veteran of the last Ice War, fifteen years ago. Lost his eye back then. What a killer he was in his youth!"
"What's so special about him, other than he scares children with that face?" his listener asked.
Leaning forward, as if telling a secret, the old man replied, "He was one of the Anchorfief's. You know! 'The' Anchorfiefs? They fled from the village of Anchor when the Ice moved.”
Feyt shuddered. The Ice was an evil force that brought fear even to the strongest warrior. Ever growing, pressing southward, the Ice was a thing alive… and hated.
The old man went on, “The Ice crushed Anchor, and they had to evacuate. Muroc's was the lead family there. I can tell you, the Anchorfiefs have kept their injured pride at their fall from status! Muroc is famous as much for his nasty scowl as for being surly and unsocial. He and the Council had a falling out back during the last war. Dunno what over, but he has held that grudge ever since. Ha! And I expect the Council has, too. They barely tolerate each other." Nodding knowledgeably he led his friend away back into the crowd.
Feyt looked down at Muroc again. Next to him was a man with black skin. He looked again in surprise. That is a rarity, Feyt thought. I have heard of men with black skins, but never seen one before. He was dressed like a rich merchant on display, but with some kind of a light-colored wrap around his head. His dark red shirt bloused out under what looked like a chainmail vest. He did not appear the least upset about the crowd, or this evening's blood. He was smiling and jovial even while Muroc was obviously gruff and sullen with the other men.
The stamping of the guards’ spears in unison brought the crowd to order as a herald shouted for silence. He cried out several times until the noise quieted. Brandt Swornson, the Village Chief, stood and stepped forward. "Calm yourselves. Everything is under control. For any who do not know what has happened, I will tell you. Tonight, Caernall has been attacked by a large pack of ice wolves." The crowd began to murmur loudly. The guards stamped their spears in unison again. Swornson looked around the room solemnly before starting again. "Yes. Ice wolves. I know it has been unheard of here. Somehow, they entered the village in several locations without detection. We do not know how they scaled the stockade walls. Many people have been attacked and injured. Some killed. We are still taking count."
A man in the front row yelled out, "Ice wolves means that the Ice is coming." This caused more unrest in the crowd. The speaker went on and the crowd quieted, "Every time the Ice in the north moves, taking new lands under it, the ice wolves come first. They always attack a village just before the Ice covers it. Look what happened at Anchor! Now they have attacked us on the Equinox! It's an omen." At the word omen, Feyt looked again at the speaker.
Sure enough, it was Tenyt's father, Senchar. High Priest of the Old Religion. Senchar stood there defiantly, tall and thin, dressed in bright scarlet robes.
Swornson frowned at the speaker. "Don't try to create panic, Senshar! No one knows if the Ice is coming. We just know that ice wolves have been inside Caernall, killing our people. That is enough of a problem for now. These things are killers! Cunning, smart, deadly killers! We have at least nine dead inside the walls and thrice that many injured.” The crowd started calling names and murmuring loudly.
Feyt felt numb, “I don’t think they know that some of their children were attacked at the ford yet.”
Raising his arms for silence, Sorenson went on, “The wolves caught us completely by surprise. Again, no one knows how they got inside the walls. Or why none were seen outside the walls before the attack. They were just suddenly inside the village. When they left, they were just as suddenly, not there." He paused and glared around the room.
Senchar was not dissuaded. "They always come for a reason. They foretell the coming of the Ice. The Ice Demons are sending the Ice against those who do not worship the old gods properly.” Feyt cringed, that was a shot at the small group of One God’s followers in Caernall. “The wolves were at Anchor before it fell twenty-five years ago. That’s when the Ice came to Anchor, and it was given over to the Ice." The packed mass of people began to murmur again.
"I warned you, I'll not have you causing a panic, Senchar. What is it you want?"
"The old gods war with each other. The ice wolves come from evil gods that are arrayed against our village god. Against Caer. These gods seek to damage us, to hurt Caer. Caer has told me that we must take vengeance on these creatures." Senchar paused and looked back and forth across the murmuring crowd for effect."The ice wolves are a force of the evil that is against Caer and us. We must send out warriors to kill the ice wolves."
"War is brewing here in the Northlands, Senchar. Mayhap because, as you say, the gods are at war. You have heard the Council's discussions on that over the last year. Ergas Holm has allied with the Freebriers and with others south of them. They keep us and the other northerners from moving south to escape the ice. They have moved against our allies at Barrot's Keep and Lord Faegus is hard pressed even now. War is almost upon us, Senchar. We cannot afford to send our warriors off chasing will-o-the-wisps out in the tundra.”
Swornson drew himself up. "Ice wolves are hard to find, and harder still to kill. It takes skilled hunters. The tundra is their home and they disappear into it. Some say these creatures are supernatural." He glared at Senchar."You all know the stories about ice wolves; their uncanny intelligence, how they kill their hunters. Anchor lost three bands of their best hunters to them when the wolves appeared there. They are deadly and those we send out may not come back. We will not waste men in these times."
Senchar started to pursue the argument, but Swornson waved him down, saying, "Enough. I will send none of my warriors."
"Then send me." The voice came from the crowd below the stage. Swornson looked surprised as Muroc climbed the steps and strode to the dais. "I'll go. If good Senchar will bestow the blessings of Caer on me..." He gave a low bow to the priest. "I'll go. Moreover, I will bring my own band of hunters. I won't take any of the village's warriors."
Brandt Swornson scowled. "You! What do you get out of this, that you would go? Do you seek your death finally, Anchorfief? To join those of your kin who have already fallen to ice wolves?"
"A man has the right of revenge, Brandt. I would claim that right. And, I would prove to all Caernall that an Anchorfief, with or without a city, is still a good friend against ice wolves. Perhaps even against Freebriers."
One of the Council members leaned next to Swornson and whispered something. Brandt shrugged. Looking back at Muroc, he said, "Very well then. Council will allow you to raise your band and pursue the ice wolves. It is your death you risk. But, hear me. None of the village guards or warriors may go. I will not have you take a single sword from the defense of Caernall. No warriors or men."
"There are Anchorfief's enough here in Caernall."
"It's been years since Anchor fell. The Anchorfief's are Caernall villagers now too, Muroc. You cannot keep them separate. Their swords are expected to rise to our defense. Since you are such a famous warrior yourself, I'm sure that you and a small group of your Anchorfief's should be sufficient to bring back ice wolf pelts."
Muroc grinned fiercely, "I'd go by myself and kill them all single handed, but I would not wish to shame the good men of Caernall, nor steal all the glory for killing them. Give me leave to take ten good men and I'll bring you back pelts to cover your dead in."
"Not ten, Muroc. If the war starts, every single man within the walls will be needed. I will allow five."
Fuming, Muroc answered. "Five. And me, for six. Done." Muroc faced the crowd and loudly called out, "If we die out there, know that we were the only men of Caernall who were willing to risk death for vengeance." Most of the crowd stayed shamefully quiet, but a few who were offended jeered and made catcalls.
Feyt rushed forward. If they are going, I am going with them. "Wait!" he yelled. He ran down the middle aisle of the room pushing people aside until he reached the front of the stage. Stopping in the center between the fires he shouted out, "Let me go, as well. I claim right of vengeance, too."
The jeering at Muroc stopped. Around him, the crowd fell silent.
Above him on the dais, Brandt Swornson looked down at him. Feyt felt much smaller suddenly. "Who are you? And what is all over your parka?"
"I am Feyt, son of Emmanis Wardholder. And what is on my clothing is the blood of my mother and my sister." His voice choked up. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Murdered by ice wolves. I claim my right to blood feud. I want to go with the hunters."
Swornson looked surprised, and then shook his head pitifully. "My daughter knows you, Feyt. I am sorry for your losses." Pausing, he sighed loudly."You are not a warrior of the village, so..." he shrugged, "I will not prevent you. But it's up to Muroc, not me." With that, he turned his back and walked back to the others of the Council.
Muroc scowled at him, but there was pity in his eyes, too. "Go home, son. I need men, not boys. Killing ice wolves is not a game of tag."
Angry, Feyt drew his long-knife suddenly and those around him gasped and drew back, expecting a fight. Muroc backed up, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Holding his knife overhead, Feyt shouted, "See the blood on this blade? The only tag I played this night was with an ice wolf, and I marked it for my own. I will know my wolf when I see him again by his scarred face. I am a hunter too. I haven't been a child playing tag for years."
The crowd was silent, but Muroc stepped up to him and said quietly, "I can only take five, and I will only take the best. There is no room for you. Go home, son. Bury your mother and sister." He turned his back and strode back to his rough companions.
Feyt struggled to hold back the tears. He shouted at Muroc's back, "That's not fair. I can kill wolves. And I will. I'll... I'll go by myself if I have to." Muroc ignored him. It was too much. He felt the tears running down his face. Beyond Muroc's back, he saw the black skinned man staring sadly at him.
He slid his knife back into the scabbard and blindly walked back up the aisle. He felt people patting him on his shoulders and arms. He heard words like, "It's okay, boy." "Spoken like a man." "We're with you." However, nothing penetrated.
They turned me down. How could they?
As he walked out the door of the Council Lodgehouse, back into the cold, Feyt saw Selise staring at him. She was crying. Next to her was Jolen. His father's parka still looks too big and sloppy on him, Feyt thought incongruously.
"Feyt," Jolen called and ran up. Looking down uncomfortably, he mumbled, "Selice just told me. I'm... I'm sorry."
Feyt stared at them, unable to speak; afraid his words would turn into more tears.
"Come with us," Selice pleaded.
He looked at her blankly, as if he did not hear her. Then, he roused himself, feeling his anger rising, driving away grief. "No. I have to get ready."
"Ready for what?" Jolen asked.
"To go. I said I was going. So, I'm going to go."
"Go where?" Jolen asked looking confused.
"After the wolves. Alone if I have to," he challenged them. He felt a tiny hope that they would offer to come along.
Reading his mind, Selice retorted, her hands on her hips. "We can't go with you! Our parents would kill us. And you can't go either,"
"I can do anything I want." He regretted the anger in his voice, especially directed at Selice. He could tell they would try to stop him. Seeing the hurt in Selice's eyes, he looked down. "I'm sorry. I guess... you're right." When he looked back up, he saw his surrender had brought some relief to Selice's pained face. His heart felt a pang. She cares.
"You can come stay with me, Feyt. My da won't mind," Jolen offered. Behind Jolen, Selice’s face was worried still.
Dropping his voice, he mumbled, "Just let me go home tonight. I want to be alone."
"Sure. Sure, Feyt. I will come by tomorrow. Okay?" Hope oozed from Jolen's words.
"Alright. Tomorrow," he said with resignation. Selice and Jolen both looked relieved. He turned away heavily and began to walk towards home.
"Feyt!" Looking back, he saw Selice, tentatively raise a hand and give a tiny wave. Jolen stood next to her somberly. He waved back at them both and began walking again.
They can't stop me. Nobody can stop me. It is my fault my mother and Serente died. I will be gone before they know it.