ASU AND THE DEMON WOLF

ASU AND THE DEMON WOLF, by Daniel Gedge, Arwork by Miguel Santos

 

 

It was the second time Asu killed the same wolf that he began to suspect foul magic.

The beast feigned to the right before pivoting on its haunches and striking out with its slavering maw. This attack was familiar. When he fought this same beast many moons ago, he had gotten lucky, but this time in the dark of night, he felt the teeth sink into the flesh of his shoulder and snap bones.

It wrenched the spear from Asu’s weakened grip and snapped the haft into splintered shards between razor teeth.

Asu drew his dagger. Desperate, he leapt onto the back of the wolf, plunging the blade repeatedly through its eye socket. The wolf snarled and convulsed, throwing Asu to the ground. His dagger skittered off the rocks and into the ravine below. With his broken shoulder, it was impossible to keep his grip. He couldn’t think of the flaring pain in his deformed leg, hobbled since birth, nor could he think of the shredded chunks of meat hanging off his shoulder. With his good arm, he clambered for any kind of object to use as a weapon. His hand gripped the broken haft of the spear and felt the iron length of the sharpened head.

The wolf lunged through the air, snarling and slavering. Asu gripped the broken haft tight and plunged it through the toothy maw and up into the brain. The beast shuddered a final breath.

Asu knelt over the wolf as the breaking dawn shed light upon the Semberian landscape. He wrapped clean linen tight around his wound, wincing in pain. He pulled out his flask and took a swig of fermented goat’s milk, fortified with wild herbs and mushrooms. He had spent many days hunting the beast, on both occasions. This was an old enemy. He knew this beast all too well now. His aching bones cried out in testament.

Many moons ago, they heard the howling of the wolf. Asu always thought there was something wrong in that howl, as if amidst its terrifying pitch, it whispered something foul into the back of his mind in words he could not grasp. The next night he saw the silhouette of the great beast atop the ridgeline, marking its prey. And then they started finding the gnarled remains of the sheep. All attempts made by the hunters failed.

Asu was not well-loved, seventeenth amongst his father’s sons, pockmarked, ugly, and hobbled in his right leg. But he was loyal, and would protect his father’s flock. So he swore his oaths, invoked blessings from Enalu, and set upon his journey.

He had returned from the first hunt with only the honor of his word to vouch for his success. He had burned the body of the wolf, compelled by the unease he felt when facing it. The whispers of the wolf clawed through coils of rancid smoke as flesh and bone smoldered on the heap. However, praise amongst his people was short lived, as the return of the wolf brought more derision; he was called a liar. He regretted not inspecting the wolf before burning the carcass.

This time, he ran his hands through the tufts of black fur, inky and oily. This was no longer the gray fur of the Semberian wolf. Its back leg muscles were bulbous, not toned. When he pried the maw open and wrenched free the spear-tip, he ran his fingers along the blackened gum-line; inflamed and bleeding, it burned the tip of his finger. The teeth had been growing somehow. It was possible this was a different wolf from the one he’d already killed, perhaps corrupted in the same way. But the behavior, the spirit, was the same. That truth clawed at the back of his mind.

This wolf did not hunt in a pack. Asu suspected no pack would run with such an abomination.

 

#

 

Asu dipped his cupped hand into the clear waters and quenched his parched lips. It was all he could do to push the lid of the basin open. He had been wandering the wilderness for days. He had originally thought to haul the wolf’s carcass back home, but the burden became too great. He followed the base of the western ridge, where he knew he would eventually come across Durakin’s Well. He slumped against the stone basin and felt the beating of the sun against his face and dozed into a deep slumber.

He was awoken by Layla, and saw her eyes the color of deep opal, her shimmering hair like a golden field of wildflowers.

“Traveler,” her lips dripped honey. “I see that you are injured, but this is my father’s well, and he claims water rights. I have taken your weapons away while you slumbered, and I apologize for that, since you may be a guest, but I must know if you are friend or foe.”

Asu nodded weakly. He had seen Layla from afar many times over the years, and knew her name. He had even spoken to her on occasion, but was saddened that she did not recognize him. “My name is Asu son of Abranor. Our fathers have made covenant and broken bread.”

“My apologies, Son of Abranor. Your brother Bako has pastured your father’s flock two days journey to the west.” Asu winced at his brother’s name; the pain of contempt etched deep in his heart.

“Are you not with Bako’s herd?” she inquired. He nodded his head. He found it difficult to speak with her, stunned by her eyes. “Then you are far from home, Asu son of Abranor.”

“I was hunting a wolf that was terrorizing my father’s herds.”

“Then you are brave,” she said, touching the wounded shoulder. Blood had long soaked through the bandage. “In the past three moons, a wolf has slaughtered many from our own herd. Were you successful?”

He nodded again and winced when she unwrapped the wound and began to clean it. “It is a beast like none other I have fought or seen. I swear on Enalu’s name, I have killed it twice already.”

He thought she would be skeptical of his claim, but she seemed focused on washing the wound, applying a pungent salve from a small jar she kept in her satchel. “My people have stories of the mountains, of ancient fiends that roam deep chasms. If what you say is true, you have contended with a beast fouled by cruel demons and magic. Perhaps it was Khuta or the trickster Ilumahn. But if so, you would be dead, for a single bite would destroy you in an instant. Or so the stories say.”

“Is there a story of a spirit that takes control of an animal, and lives after it dies to take control of another?”

“There are many.”

“And how do you stop such a creature?”

“All spirits need a vessel, even yours, Son of Abranor. When your spirit passes the veil, it is returned to Enalu’s flock, whereon he guides them across the endless skies, to graze in the vessel of a newly birthed star. All spirits seek a vessel, evil fiends are no different.”

“Where do I find a vessel? Do the stories say?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes stories are just stories. And sometimes wolves are just wolves. Wait here, Son of Abranor. I will speak with my father, and you will be a guest in his household until you are rested. Our fathers’ covenant will be strengthened.”

 

#

 

It took a week before Asu was cast from Durakin’s home. The cave had been lavish and hospitable, and he had shared a seat at the table amongst his wives and children. But Durakin knew Asu was not a favored son and knew of his mother’s banishment. So when Asu asked for Layla’s hand in marriage, Durakin laughed.

“My daughter is beautiful, and she objects to ugly things,” he boasted. “Your brother Bako is a more suitable match. This will strengthen my bond with your father.”

“If the strength of the covenant is all you care for, then surely it would be more suitable for Layla to be my first wife, rather than Bako’s third.”

“Better she be a lesser wife of a greater man, than the first wife of you.”

Asu gathered what little remained of his supplies and left the House of Durakin dejected and sorrowful. “I will slay this beast. Then she will know my worth,” he muttered to himself.

His shoulder had been knit tight with thread and set in a cast, but he was still broken.

He traveled westward to open pastures for three days, until he found Bako’s flock of grazing sheep; his other brothers tended to a portion of Father’s herd and were scattered across Semberia.

His leg flared in pain as he hobbled his way into camp. Bako’s wives were making cheese, curdled in salted sheep skins. He inquired after his brother while he gathered several chunks of hardened cheese and filled his satchel, along with a loaf of yarak root bread.

Asu met Bako in the pasture, as sheep grazed in a sea of yellow and purple wildflowers.

“You shirked your duty for so long, I thought that you might never return, either dead or fled. I wish either were true.”

“I was protecting the flock,” Asu replied, feeling the sting in his heart more than the pain in his leg or shoulder.

“The flock is before you, and for weeks you were not to be found. Did you at least slay the beast?”
Asu nodded his head. “But it will return.”

Bako laughed, “So you continue to speak lies. If Father were dead, I would cast you aside this instant. An untrustworthy tongue has no place in my home.”

“I still have my birthright,” Asu whispered, “if you were to cast me out, I would take what is mine, I would take what is earned.”

“I will speak to Father when he returns, and discuss what future claims you hold, if any, now that you persist in deception.”

“Look upon me, Bako,” Asu snapped, casting his broken spear at his brother’s feet. “Witness my spear, stained in the blood of the foul beast I slew. And look upon my body, broken and bloodied. Do you deny my words even now?”

“At least now you come back bloodied. I do not deny that you fought. But how do you proclaim triumph over the beast, and yet insist on its future return?”

“I do not know everything. But I know there was something foul in its blood. A fiend of some kind, that still lives and will return and take possession yet again. Mark my words, Bako, when the white moon returns, so will the beast. And I must prepare.”

“We shall see,” Bako spat on the ground. “Either way, you are worthless to me, and I do not want to see you in my camp.”

“And where shall I go?”

“The Witch has returned and camps two days south,” Bako gestured a sign with his hands, “maybe you are welcome there.”

“Do not call my mother that.” Asu felt the bile build in his gut and burn like a fire. He lunged at Bako.

Bako side-stepped with ease. Asu was weakened from his journey, and never as fast nor as strong as Bako. Bako swung his crooked staff and cracked it over Asu’s shoulder. Pain flared and Asu crumpled on the ground in a heap.

Bako kicked Asu onto his back and pressed his sandaled foot on his neck. Asu felt the pressure block off air.

“You could die now, and no one would deny my word of what happened. Asu, marred son of the whore witch. Maybe Father would mourn, but I doubt it. Not if I told him your leg finally gave out, and you fell and opened your head on a rock. I could take my staff now and crack your skull. Father might even consider this a blessing from Enalu, to relieve him of the burden.”

Bako stepped off his neck and grabbed Asu’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “But no, I would never sully my honor by lying. I would be no better than you.”

Asu coughed and gasped for breath, rubbing his fingers on his sore neck, trying his best to endure through the pain in his shoulder, as well as his wounded pride.

“Go to your mother’s camp and see for yourself what she is. And carry my message to her. Tell her to move her camp further from me, or I will send my men to slaughter them. Return if you wish, when you are whole and sensible.”

 

#

 

His mother, still comely with only a hint of tiny wrinkles around her dark eyes, greeted Asu warmly. Her tent seemed large and adorned with all manner of fine decorations; dyed rugs, hand-crafted ornaments, a silver decanter that held a deep red wine.

“My beautiful boy, it has been too long,” she grabbed his face and kissed him on the forehead. “My heart remains broken without you in my life.”

Asu scoffed, “Please, mother, do not mock me.” He knew he was ugly, and her praise only served to further sting his heart.

“It has been too long since Abranor took you from my arms,” she said. “He must not be dwelling in your camp. He would never have allowed you to see me otherwise.”

“He crossed the Great River. I do not know when he will return,” Asu stated.

The statement hung in the air as her eyes twinkled. “Is that so?” The faintest of a smirk tickled on her lips. Asu knew what the implication entailed. It was not yet the Season of Wool, when the Semberian Sheep Lords crossed the river and traded their wool on the open markets of Pathorus.

“Do not mock my father,” Asu sputtered.

“Your father was once a great man and is now just a fool,” she replied, kneeling on a pillow and bidding Asu do the same. She offered him a cup of wine, which he accepted reluctantly. Wine was rare in Semberia, traded with merchants during the Season of Wool. It was always rumored that his mother had lavish tastes, which further stoked the anger of the other wives. But they were only rumors to Asu; he had been too young when she was cast out. “Your father is old and bored and seeks solace in the arms of young women. He supplicates at the House of Rested Sorrow. Do not look at me like that. I know his ways. Where do you think he found me?”

“So it is true what they say, that I am the son of a whore. Is it also true that I am the son of a witch?”

“Asu, my son, you are only what you allow others to make of you.”

Asu scoffed. He was born with a hobbled leg and moved slower than others. His skin was pock-marked, his face ugly. He did not allow those things to be, they were inescapable truths he had to contend with. “You did not answer my question.”

“Some choose to offend with hateful words, but I was a divinely chosen sister of the holy order of Lenisis, and I served my Goddess at the House of Rested Sorrow, where your father chose to commune; where he chose to fall in love.”

“Father would never forsake Enalu to commune in the debauchery of Lenisis!” Despite his protest, Asu knew in his heart the truth. He had heard all the rumors over the years, but did not want to believe his father had lapsed in his devotion to Enalu.

She smiled, patient and unphased. “All are welcome to supplicate and seek comfort in Lenisis’s holy shrine. As for a witch? In my land, we have our own practices, our own mystical arts, that I have always carried with me, even before I was accepted into the House of Rested Sorrow. And I refused to give them up when I married your father.” It was at that moment that Asu noticed various glyphs and symbols etched into ornaments or painted on the walls of the tent; wards of magic written in her hand. “For a time he was willing to turn a blind eye, for reasons I suspect you do not want to hear.

“But tell me, why have you graced me with your visit?”

Despite the revelations, Asu remained committed to his path; he would protect his father’s flock. He explained his trials with the wolf, and his suspicions about its origins. She listened to his tale intently. It was only when he spoke of Bako’s message to his mother, that she spoke up.

“Your father’s dynasty rots while his wrinkled face seeks solace in the breasts of a younger woman,” she laughed. “His sons will be clamoring for a greater portion of the birthright when he dies. There will be bloodshed. And yet they lay the blame at my feet? Bako is welcome to carry out his threats if he is willing.”

“Are you not afraid?”

“Never. But nevermind that, you are weary from your trials and are welcome to solace in my home. Stay and rest until you are ready.”

 

#

 

Asu healed faster at his mother’s camp. Whatever ointments, salves, or prayers she administered, eased the pain and knit bone and tissue.

Everyone in her camp consisted of outcasts across Semberia, and they all revered her name. New numbers arrived daily. She spoke little of her plans, or where she had traveled over the years, but Asu suspected that she was gathering her own people, her own tribe. Or possibly an army.

But it was the wolf that occupied Asu’s mind. He knew it would soon be time to face the demon.

When the white moon was full, he was awoken by the distant terrible howl. The echo rang again and again in his mind. He stood on the ridge, facing the east as he felt the cold wind cut across his face. His mother joined him as they stared into the dark.

“The forsaken children of the Night Mother return. What you hear is the cry of Kahnkaru, and it heralds the dying of the Old Covenants,” she said emphatically.

“How do you know its name?”

“Its words are scrawled along the wind. Do you not feel it claw at your mind?”

“I hear a whisper, but I do not know the words.”

“It speaks an ancient tongue, carved from the rocks of creation.” Silence hung in the air and was broken by another terrible howl that sent shivers down his spine. He did not speak, but she knew he would begin the hunt, even in his weakened state. “You are not fully mended, and Kahnkaru grows stronger with every rebirth,” she warned.

“I must prepare for my journey.”

“What do you have in mind?” she asked. Even in the shadows, he could see her smirk.

 

#

 

As the days unfolded, Asu planned as he sought counsel at his mother’s feet.

“I heard it once said that all spirits seek a vessel,” Asu said. “Is it possible to forge a vessel to imprison Kahnkaru’s spirit?”

She had admired Kahnkaru’s blood, stained against the iron of his broken spear. The blood would fuel powerful spellcraft to turn against the fiend. Asu cut a shepherd’s crook down and fastened his spear-tip to the end. She etched glyphs into the haft using a strange pick inlaid with the carvings of expressive faces. She assured him that the iron of this spear would be the vessel he sought to trap the spirit of Kahnkaru.

“But it is not enough to simply destroy the body to compel Kahnkaru to seek refuge in the spear,” she explained. Kahnkaru would have a lair, where its spirit would return until its power was replenished enough to take possession of another wolf. “Defile his lair with your presence, so that it may not have a place to return when its body is destroyed. It will have no choice but to seek a new home in your spear.”

But discovering the location of the lair was the trick. As the days passed, Asu worked with the flock, stretching his muscles and renewing his strength. He pondered, until one night, he returned to his mother.

“When a sheep is lost from the flock,” he spoke, “a bell helps us hear when we track it down. I will injure Kahnkaru enough so that he flees to his lair so that I may track him. I cannot tie a bell around his neck, but can you fashion a bell that will ring from inside Kahnkaru’s gut? I will trick him into eating it.”

“Perhaps, but you will need to move fast before the bell passes through its bowels.”

On another day, Asu walked along the dried remains of an ancient riverbed. He was frustrated, knowing he was too slow, and his hobbled leg was always a problem. Even if he could track Kahnkaru, he could not move fast enough to keep up with him.

Amidst all the stones in the dry riverbed, he knelt down and picked up a smooth stone and turned it over in his hands.

“I am crippled,” he explained to his mother later that night, “and I must make Kahnkaru crippled as well.” He presented the stone.

She marked the stone’s perfect surface with painted glyphs. Afterwards, with warm hands, she placed it in his palm and closed his fingers around the stone. She spoke: “Stones sing their own song, and I have heard the voice of this little one. It has waited since the carving of the world, as wind and water smoothed its edges over countless ages, waiting to fulfill its destiny. Plucked by your hand out of obscurity, so that it may aim true in your sling.”

She then held his cheeks in her hands and kissed his forehead. “When you are finished, return to me. I will hold a seat for you at my table, so that I may look upon your beautiful face again. I will raise you up in my household in the highest honor.”

Asu had no words in response. He departed the next day and continued the hunt.

 

#

 

Asu followed the trail of desolation and carnage left in Kahnkaru’s wake; lost sheep, dead carrion, gray wolves, and even the body of a Banduin hunter he recognized out of Durakin’s Well. Kahnkaru had grown more bold, and his cries echoed across the land. Even so, it took weeks for Asu to draw Kahnkaru’s attention. He had taken a goat from his mother’s herd, where it now grazed quietly on the scattered tufts of grass that grew between the crags.

Asu lay flat on the rock like a snake, waiting for Kahnkaru. The white moon had fled from the sky by the time Asu had set his trap. But Asu knew Kahnkaru roamed nearby, for every creature, whether predator or prey, either fled or remained in stillness. Even the goat would have fled, had Asu not tied it to a rock.

A shadow swept across the rocky crags. Blood spurted from the goat’s neck. Asu slowly crept to his feet, ignoring the stiffness in his leg. He saw Kahnkaru’s terrible form materialize, a twisted abomination of a wolf, standing on hind-legs. With long-clawed arms, it grasped the goat and ripped it in twain, long slavering tongue soaked up blood.

Asu gripped the enchanted stone tight while Kahnkaru consumed flesh and blood. When the moment was right, he loaded his sling and swung.

The rock sang as it split the air. In a shimmer of light, the stone exploded against Kahnkaru’s thigh. The leg crumpled beneath its weight as blackened fur burned. Kahnkaru howled, and Asu reeled against the force of the fiend’s cry as he heard strange words tear against his mind.

It was all he could do to ready his spear, gripped in both hands, tracking the wolf with the iron tip. Kahnkaru hobbled towards him, its speed erratic and movement unnatural. It seemed as if the creature drank in the shadows.

Kahnkaru lunged, and Asu braced himself against the force of the blow as its body crashed into him. The spear spared him from the deathblow of its claws. Instead, his robe was torn asunder, and across his chest, five shallow cuts burned against his skin. Asu felt the iron spear sink into flesh, plunging between Kahnkaru’s ribs. Foul black blood spurted down the haft of the spear and soaked his hands and forearms. Asu screamed out as the blood seared his flesh. Its blood had become even more corrosive and foul since the last time they fought. Asu lost his grip on the haft and fell on his back.

At the same time, Kahnkaru reeled back, with the spear still protruding from its chest. Howls split the night as it snarled through the pain that shot through its body, wrecked from the enchantments wrought on the spear.

Kahnkaru wrapped his maw around the haft and wrenched the spear free. It attempted to snap its jaws down to break the spear in half and break the enchantments, but its body convulsed in pain as plumes of smoke and ash burst from its maw. It spat the spear onto the rocks and lurched away, vomiting out smoking bile and foul blood.

Asu lunged for the discarded spear and scrambled to his feet. He breathed deep through gritted teeth as his arms burned, struggling to grip the spear in shaky hands. He pushed the pain down deep, and steadied the spear, tracking the fiend’s movements with the iron tip.

Kahnkaru seemed to hold Asu’s gaze. It regarded the point of the spear, and then fell back clumsily. Asu took the opportunity to strike, driving it further back as he lunged with the spear.

Kahnkaru screeched and reeled back frantically, claws scraping against the rocks as he fled into the night.

Asu dropped his spear and fell to his knees, screaming into the night. He reached for the wineskin at his belt, gifted to him by his mother. He ripped the cords off with his teeth and started to pour the brewed concoction over his forearms, washing away the corrosive blood. Smoke sizzled from seared flesh and pain shot through every nerve in his body. Through shaking hands, he applied salves and ointments, and then ripped clean linen and wrapped his hands and forearms tight.

When Asu caught his breath, he picked up his spear and staggered over to the body of the goat, sifting through the remains. The brass herding-bell was nowhere to be found, consumed by Khankaru’s feasting. The bell his mother had enchanted to ring inside the beast’s gut. Asu could now feel the pulse of the bell in its stomach, a vibration ringing out like a beacon against the haft of his spear.

Kahnkaru fled east, deeper into the mountain passes. Asu wrapped the stinging wounds on his chest, gathered his strength with food, and dulled the pain with strong drink. There would be little sleep for Asu.

 

#

 

Not even the Banduins that settled along the western slopes ventured this far into the mountains. He tried not to think of the tales that Layla had told him of desolation and roaming spirits. Thinking of her made his heart ache. Every tribe and clan would fear Kahnkaru soon enough, if he did not stop it. He would return with its head, and perhaps even she would love him for his might and bravery.

He found the cave at midday. The ravine closed in on him with oppressive silence. Even the sun appeared dim in the sky. He crawled into the crevice, and gripped tight against stones, making his way down into the depths with care. Loose rocks skittered downward. When darkness enveloped him, he lit a torch.

He saw the trail of blood marking the walls, along with tufts of oily fur where it had snagged against jagged rocks. Asu roamed twisted passages as his supply of torches burned out to the last wick. Panic consumed him as darkness set in, knowing that even if he found Kahnkaru and defeated him, he would never find his way out again.

It was the pulse, reverberating in the spear, that grounded his senses. He reached out with his bandaged hand, brushing his fingers against the cold rock. The pulse in the spear seemed to echo across the burns on his hands and arms, growing stronger and stronger as he felt his way blindly through the winding chambers, drawing closer and closer to Kahnkaru’s lair. Soon the pulse matched the wind that blew against his face, as if a harrowing breath exhaled from the mountain’s roots.

He crouched low beneath a rock outcropping and came into a vast chamber, his eyes adjusting to the unnatural blue light that pulsed from clusters of jagged crystals. The light revealed that the floors and walls of the chamber were hewn smooth by ancient hands.

As he searched the chamber, he saw markings along the wall and floor; intersecting circles, elaborate fractals, framed in the crawl of arcane symbols. His heart dropped to his stomach. He recognized several markings, the same wards that his mother had scrawled in her tent, and along the boundaries of her camp.

Asu could hear the fiend’s erratic breathing, echoing off the walls, but could not see its body, hidden from his view.

“What are these marks in your lair, Kahnkaru!” he yelled.

A mocking laughter echoed back. He could not understand its words.

“You are a coward. I defile your lair with my presence, and you hide,” Asu taunted. “Do you fear the broken son of Abranor? Face me, let’s finish this.”

The fiend crept out from an outcropping of crystals, and paced a wide berth around Asu, favoring one of its limbs to brace against its still broken leg. Claws whispered against stone. Kahnkaru lunged forward. Asu dodged back and stumbled, avoiding a savage death.

Asu held his spear aloft, now ready to thrust against Kahnkaru’s might. But before he could strike, it drew back from reach. Then lunged forward with a flurry of razor claws, but never quite landing a blow as Asu kept Kahnkaru back with the deadly spear. As the minutes passed, Asu was growing weary. His leg ached, the wounds in his chest opened up again, his seared arms flared in agony.

And then came the attack familiar to Asu. He felt it resonate in his bones. The feint to the right. He knew the strike would lash out on his left. He stepped into the feint and plunged the spear deep between its ribs, before pulling it free and stepping back to avoid any counter-attack.

The fiend pulled back from Asu and clambered towards the chamber’s exit. Desperate, Asu threw the spear, where it found its mark through its neck.

Kahnkaru struggled to escape through the narrow outcropping but could not fit when the impaled spear got wedged between the opening.

Asu staggered towards the beast, who was flailing and scraping against the ground. He wrapped his hands around the spear haft and shoved it deeper through its neck. He pulled the spear free and stepped back to avoid the splash of corrosive blood. Next he thrust through its brain until Kahnkaru moved no more.

He would not be called a liar anymore. But before he could pull out his hatchet and sever the head, he felt the spirit of Kahnkaru flood into the spear. And when Kahnkaru’s spirit lay trapped, he felt something else resonate from the spear, like a wild flame swept up by the winds of a powerful storm.

The power and fury of that storm charged his body.

His wounds mended, his leg, stricken since birth, contorted and reformed whole. The pockmarks on his face smoothed, and his ugliness melted away. He felt his muscles knit into new strength, and energy and desire burn through his senses. He could feel the clawing at the back of his mind, and the whispers of that ancient tongue. Only now he could understand the meaning: take what is earned.

Asu loosened a jagged crystal, its faint blue glow lighting the way as he emerged from the darkness of the cave. He navigated with new senses, and a whisper of a memory.

Across days of tireless travel, he first returned to Durakin’s Well, brandishing his spear and the severed head of Kahnkaru. They praised his name, and Durakin invited Asu back as honored guest. Layla sat at his side, and it was not long before Asu had negotiated the marriage covenant.

Layla was the first to see the darkness in Asu’s heart, when she traced her fingers along his arms, marred by the searing blood of Kahnkaru. The scars resembled the cuneiform of a language Asu should not understand. But he did. When Layla inquired the meaning of such strange patterns, he lashed out at her in anger, leaving bruises of his own. After that, he wrapped his arms in linen.

With Layla and her handmaidens at his side, he returned to his mother’s camp, where she offered him great honor in leading her people, which he accepted. He then returned to his brother’s camp, slew Bako in the pasture, and claimed a portion of the birthright.

Slaying Bako was like cracking open the rotted core of a yarak root. Old feuds reignited as the sons of Abranor waged war against each other.

Jasher, the great warrior-son of Abranor, remained the last real threat to Asu’s claim. He forged an alliance of the remaining sons against Asu. Among the brothers was Bashium, known for his cunning, which proved to be Jasher’s demise.

Asu forged his own covenant with Bashium under the dark moon. Bashium’s words convinced Jasher to settle the dispute in single-combat. Jasher was renowned in his youth when he slew the Blood Priest of Molosh. Though he was older now, he was still swept up in the pride of victories long past. In an open field, Asu pierced him through the cheekbone and drove the iron through his brain.

Jasher’s alliance broke that day, and one by one Asu visited fury upon the remainder of his brothers and their children, claiming a portion of the birthright with each death. Those who fled or begged mercy could not escape his wrath, as he took what was earned. Even Bashium’s cunning could not match Asu’s wit when he attempted his own betrayal.

Alone, Asu visited his father who still sought refuge amongst the frames of ancient bone and silver-dusted walls of Pathorus. The High Priestess did not stop Asu when he wrenched his father from the House of Rested Sorrow, for she saw the black speck behind his eyes and knew she could not contend with him. The once great Abranor, now wrinkled with age, wept at the sight of his last remaining son, and the blood that stained his hands.

When Asu returned to Semberia, he looked upon Layla with contempt. She was not as beautiful as he remembered. He had gazed at the priestesses of Lenisis, and his heart had strayed.

Every seed that swelled in Layla’s belly was born deformed, diseased, and dead.

One night, Asu emerged from his tent to the wailing of Layla’s cries. He had defiled her honored role as first-wife by abandoning her during her tribulations. She was holding the gnarled remains of the baby. Its skin was blackened, as if burned, like the scars on his arms. With each stillbirth, Layla withered away. This time, she would not survive. Her skin was ashen white. Her muscles, once toned, were now emaciated. Her bones were weak, as if gnawed on by a wild beast. She had fallen to her knees, her inner thighs still stained from the blood of afterbirth, fouled with a sticky black ichor. She clenched the stillborn fetus to her sagging breasts, drenching it with a rain of tears.

A part of Asu sought to comfort her, to wrap her in his arms and weep with her. But he remained in stillness. She was weak, barren, and pathetic.

Through grief-stricken tears, Layla looked up at him and saw the woman standing behind him. As time wore on, Asu’s contempt had grown, as a whisper urged him to take more. He had claimed other wives and concubines, younger and more beautiful than Layla.

This other woman would learn soon enough that not even she could bear his seed and would also waste away. But for now, she glared down at Layla with a loathsome smile. Her wrist tinkled with jeweled bracelets of silver and brass as she rested a hand on Asu’s shoulder.

“Am I not enough for you?” Layla spat out through convulsions.

Asu didn’t speak. He pivoted on his heel and returned to his tent. The ground cracked beneath his step.

 

#

 

Asu awoke on the cold rocks of the mountain, staring up at the endless sea of stars. His leg was still hobbled, like it always was. And his wounds still bit. What had he seen? He could feel the sorrow in his heart, at the fabricated memory of plunging the spear through his father’s heart after decimating his bloodline. And the sorrow of casting Layla aside as she withered away. Not a memory, but a premonition.

He did not know how he emerged from the lair of Kahnkaru, or how long he lay asleep on the rock. A voice rang in his head, the voice of Kahnkaru.

You have bound me in iron, and submitted me to your will. Take my power for yourself.

“Is that what you have shown me?” Asu inquired, not knowing if he would get a response.

I know the desires of your heart. I can make you whole, I can make you strong, I can make you beautiful. You will be loved, you will be respected.

“I will be feared.”

Kahnkaru seemed confused, All of those are the same.

Asu wrestled with the desires that lurked in his heart. With the spear, he had power to do all that his imagination could perceive. And when those desires burned out, like it would burn Layla to ash, he was promised more in its stead. Kahnkaru assured him of these things.

He stared at the endless skies, with Kahnkaru’s enticing words scratching against his mind, and saw the Shepherd’s Crook shimmering among the sea of stars. Its spiral crook punctuated the lodestar, Enalu’s Eye, brightest of all stars, eternal guide of wayward flocks.

He had set out on this journey to protect his father’s flock. The father that he loved. He does not love you, he does not know you. He has not looked upon your face in years. He favors all of your brothers above you. But Asu pushed the thoughts away, for he knew where those thoughts led.

The spear granted power to anyone who wielded it. It was not safe in anyone’s hands. Did his mother know that this would be his plight, his temptation? He considered the markings he saw in Kahnkaru’s lair. Was all of this his mother’s scheme? He could not know for certain, for the memories of the premonition obscured his mother like a mist.

Or perhaps the binding enchantments were fouled by the blood that seared his arms, scrawling sin on his flesh every time he drew its power. With him bound to Kahnkaru, just as Kahnkaru was bound to the spear.

He inquired of Kahnkaru, regarding his mother, and the marks, but was met with mocking silence.

“I must protect my father’s flock, even from myself” he whispered as Enalu’s Eye shone bright. He could not take the power of the spear, nor could he discard it for others to find. He could not return home.

With Kahnkaru as his companion, Asu sojourned into the night.

 

________________________________________

 

Daniel Gedge is a reluctant hero distracted by the constant onslaught of side-quests. When he is
not spending time with his wife and three children, you’ll find him reading, writing, practicing
yoga, and hiking the trails of the Blue Ridge Mountains. He lives in Smyrna, Georgia. You can
find him on X (@DanielGedge) or his website danielgedge.com

 

Miguel Santos is a freelance illustrator and maker of Comics living in Portugal.  His artwork has appeared in numerous issues of Heroic Fantasy Quarterly, as well as in the Heroic Fantasy Quarterly Best-of Volume 2.  More of his work can be seen at his online portfolio and his instagram.