Martin Gill
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- Oct 17, 2015
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1200 ish words here as the intro to a 6000 word short story I wrote earlier this year called Fear Makes the Wolf Look Bigger. Context is low fantasy, Dark Age inspired, leans heavily on Scottish folklore. I've re-edited it a little today since I first put it out on my blog, but I'm curious on people's thoughts. What I'm writing now has moved on in style and voice a little from this. I have a full draft of a novel in this same style that I'll also ask for some critique on, so I'm curious here about whether this works or not.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The lass looked as sorry as can be.
Drenched. Nothing but a pale linen underdress to ward her from the drizzle, wet through, clinging to her skin. Straw blonde hair plastered lank to her face, all unbraided and tangled. She was shivering, looking desperate to hug herself warm, but the shackles on her wrists held her hands high above her head so she almost had to stand on tiptoes. Bare feet splattered with mud.
Kai trudged up the hill towards her.
She stopped a few paces short and stared for a while. Shook her head and hawked a glob of spit into the wet grass. She muttered old words in a tongue few cared to speak anymore before stepping between the low, weatherworn stones ringing the crown of the hill. She knew better than to risk upsetting the forgotten gods of the old places, no matter how weakened with neglect they may be nowerdays. A little respect goes a long way, or so the Druid taught her long ago.
“This is stupid.”
“Leave me alone.” The lass’s voice was reedy. You could hear the cold in her, the chatter of her teeth. But her eyes were defiant. She glared at Kai.
“No. You are coming with me.” Kai pulled a dirk from her belt. Steel glinted in the setting sun.
Down in the valley a wolf howled.
Kai froze.
“See,” said the lass. “Wolves are coming. You should run.”
Kai ignored the advice. She cocked her head on one side and listened, her mouth half open, eyes unfocused. The wolf howled again, mournful, dulled by the thick green pines lining the riverbank below. Something in the howl didn’t sound right.
“That ain’t no wolf.” Kai looked back at the girl, staring above her head to the shackles and to the heavy iron chain binding them to the stout wooden post. She looked down at the dirk in her hand and huffed. She slid the slim blade back into its sheath. “Couldn’t have used a rope, could they? They done you up good and proper.”
“That’s the point.” The lass glowered scornfully down at Kai.
“Don’t you want me to cut you free?”
“No. Just piss off and leave me to the wolf.”
Kai thrust her hands on her hips and gawped. Lost for words, but not for long. “You actually want to be sacrificed?”
“Yes. And you’re ruining it.”
“But…”
“But nothing. I’ll go to the Good Mother pure and cleansed and will be reborn blessed.”
“You don’t really? Do you? Really think that?” All Kai got in return was a glare. She went on undaunted. She’d faced worse. “You’re half naked, freezing cold, I can see everything the Good Mother gave you through what’s left of your dress and you’re as like to die from frostbite as from the wolf devouring you. Besides, there’s naught but gristle on you. I doubt he’d want you.”
Kai turned away and gazed back down the hill. Mist smeared the horizon, curling round the tips of the tall redwoods lining the burn. The faint rush of the river where it plunged over Carrac Falls. It was a long way back down the hill, and longer still if Kai returned without the lass.
The wolf howled again. Kai sighed.
“It’s coming.” The lass sounded petulant. Triumphant at being right.
“It’s not a wolf.” Kai didn’t look back. Her gaze never left the treeline far below. There, she saw it. No, not it. Them. Three figures broke cover, moving in a low, loping run. Shaggy mannish things with an awkward gait. Arms too long. Hard to make out much detail at this distance. They headed for the trail, switchbacking their way up the steep hill.
“Not wolves.”
Lost form sight, hidden by a jagged escarpment of rocks, jutting slabs thrust from purple-brushed heather stubble.
Kai turned back to the lass and shrugged the satchel off her back. Nimble fingers worked rawhide thongs. Unrolling a sheepskin, laying it out on the damp grass. Steel glinted within. Kai grabbed the hatchet, a short, wicked tool with a worn ash handle and a stubby blade.
“Hold still.” She reached up and grabbed the lass’s wrist with one hand, hammering the blunt face of the axe against the black iron hasp holding the shackles firm to the post. Sparks. The lass yelped in shock.
“Leave me.” The lass’s voice was shrill. Kai ignored her. Struck again. A sharp metal clang echoed. Howls from below in reply. Kai kept hitting until the hasp sheared. She snorted in satisfaction and grabbed the chain linking the shackles, hauling it free of the broken loop. The lass staggered forwards, bare feet skidding on slick grass. Kai held onto the chain, tugging at it so the lass didn’t fall.
“What do they call you?”
The lass thought about it for a heartbeat, looking as if she wanted to lie, or that her name was somehow precious, not to be given out to strangers lightly. “Ethnie.”
“Well Ethnie, can you fight?”
Ethnie’s eyes were black orbs. Her glance flicked to the hatchet in Kai’s hand.
“No.”
“Well learn.” Kai flipped the axe, catching it just below the head. She thrust it towards Ethnie, who shook her head. Held up her hands and rattled the chain bound tight to her willowy wrists. She made no motion to take the axe.
“Stay there.” Kai sighed and pointed to the post. “Don’t get killed.”
The howls were closer now. Hungry. Urgent.
Kai thrust the axe into her belt. She reached up and drew a thong from round her neck, pulling her matted braids together, tying them tight. Hand on the hilt of her sword. Her mother’s sword. It hissed into the air, a snake sound. Adder, it was named. Fast and deadly. Afternoon sun trapped in the whorled pattern-welds. Fine steel.
A deep breath.
No matter how many times she did this, her heart always hammered. She tried to remember what Anthon used to say, before he turned black-hearted traitor. Footwork and agility. Speed and poise. And what her Da used to tell her, though mostly he told her not to be such a damn fool and not to get into fights in the first place. But there was one lesson she clove to, one which always lived in her, an ember of hope when she faced such fell things.
Fear makes the wolf look bigger.
And so they came. Over the crest of the hill, spreading wide. Black and shaggy and howling. Panting from the run. Ethnie screamed. Kai grinned. Closer and closer. Then Ethnie’s voice, indignant. “They’re not animals.”
She was right. They weren’t.
“Oh they are,” said Kai. “Just not the kind you were expecting.”
Men. Three of them wrapped in wolf’s clothing. Flea-bitten furs lashed to their arms and legs. Crude masks of hessian and hide. Ears and teeth rent from real beasts to make mummer’s costumes. Blades in their hands and murder in their eyes.
They howled.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The lass looked as sorry as can be.
Drenched. Nothing but a pale linen underdress to ward her from the drizzle, wet through, clinging to her skin. Straw blonde hair plastered lank to her face, all unbraided and tangled. She was shivering, looking desperate to hug herself warm, but the shackles on her wrists held her hands high above her head so she almost had to stand on tiptoes. Bare feet splattered with mud.
Kai trudged up the hill towards her.
She stopped a few paces short and stared for a while. Shook her head and hawked a glob of spit into the wet grass. She muttered old words in a tongue few cared to speak anymore before stepping between the low, weatherworn stones ringing the crown of the hill. She knew better than to risk upsetting the forgotten gods of the old places, no matter how weakened with neglect they may be nowerdays. A little respect goes a long way, or so the Druid taught her long ago.
“This is stupid.”
“Leave me alone.” The lass’s voice was reedy. You could hear the cold in her, the chatter of her teeth. But her eyes were defiant. She glared at Kai.
“No. You are coming with me.” Kai pulled a dirk from her belt. Steel glinted in the setting sun.
Down in the valley a wolf howled.
Kai froze.
“See,” said the lass. “Wolves are coming. You should run.”
Kai ignored the advice. She cocked her head on one side and listened, her mouth half open, eyes unfocused. The wolf howled again, mournful, dulled by the thick green pines lining the riverbank below. Something in the howl didn’t sound right.
“That ain’t no wolf.” Kai looked back at the girl, staring above her head to the shackles and to the heavy iron chain binding them to the stout wooden post. She looked down at the dirk in her hand and huffed. She slid the slim blade back into its sheath. “Couldn’t have used a rope, could they? They done you up good and proper.”
“That’s the point.” The lass glowered scornfully down at Kai.
“Don’t you want me to cut you free?”
“No. Just piss off and leave me to the wolf.”
Kai thrust her hands on her hips and gawped. Lost for words, but not for long. “You actually want to be sacrificed?”
“Yes. And you’re ruining it.”
“But…”
“But nothing. I’ll go to the Good Mother pure and cleansed and will be reborn blessed.”
“You don’t really? Do you? Really think that?” All Kai got in return was a glare. She went on undaunted. She’d faced worse. “You’re half naked, freezing cold, I can see everything the Good Mother gave you through what’s left of your dress and you’re as like to die from frostbite as from the wolf devouring you. Besides, there’s naught but gristle on you. I doubt he’d want you.”
Kai turned away and gazed back down the hill. Mist smeared the horizon, curling round the tips of the tall redwoods lining the burn. The faint rush of the river where it plunged over Carrac Falls. It was a long way back down the hill, and longer still if Kai returned without the lass.
The wolf howled again. Kai sighed.
“It’s coming.” The lass sounded petulant. Triumphant at being right.
“It’s not a wolf.” Kai didn’t look back. Her gaze never left the treeline far below. There, she saw it. No, not it. Them. Three figures broke cover, moving in a low, loping run. Shaggy mannish things with an awkward gait. Arms too long. Hard to make out much detail at this distance. They headed for the trail, switchbacking their way up the steep hill.
“Not wolves.”
Lost form sight, hidden by a jagged escarpment of rocks, jutting slabs thrust from purple-brushed heather stubble.
Kai turned back to the lass and shrugged the satchel off her back. Nimble fingers worked rawhide thongs. Unrolling a sheepskin, laying it out on the damp grass. Steel glinted within. Kai grabbed the hatchet, a short, wicked tool with a worn ash handle and a stubby blade.
“Hold still.” She reached up and grabbed the lass’s wrist with one hand, hammering the blunt face of the axe against the black iron hasp holding the shackles firm to the post. Sparks. The lass yelped in shock.
“Leave me.” The lass’s voice was shrill. Kai ignored her. Struck again. A sharp metal clang echoed. Howls from below in reply. Kai kept hitting until the hasp sheared. She snorted in satisfaction and grabbed the chain linking the shackles, hauling it free of the broken loop. The lass staggered forwards, bare feet skidding on slick grass. Kai held onto the chain, tugging at it so the lass didn’t fall.
“What do they call you?”
The lass thought about it for a heartbeat, looking as if she wanted to lie, or that her name was somehow precious, not to be given out to strangers lightly. “Ethnie.”
“Well Ethnie, can you fight?”
Ethnie’s eyes were black orbs. Her glance flicked to the hatchet in Kai’s hand.
“No.”
“Well learn.” Kai flipped the axe, catching it just below the head. She thrust it towards Ethnie, who shook her head. Held up her hands and rattled the chain bound tight to her willowy wrists. She made no motion to take the axe.
“Stay there.” Kai sighed and pointed to the post. “Don’t get killed.”
The howls were closer now. Hungry. Urgent.
Kai thrust the axe into her belt. She reached up and drew a thong from round her neck, pulling her matted braids together, tying them tight. Hand on the hilt of her sword. Her mother’s sword. It hissed into the air, a snake sound. Adder, it was named. Fast and deadly. Afternoon sun trapped in the whorled pattern-welds. Fine steel.
A deep breath.
No matter how many times she did this, her heart always hammered. She tried to remember what Anthon used to say, before he turned black-hearted traitor. Footwork and agility. Speed and poise. And what her Da used to tell her, though mostly he told her not to be such a damn fool and not to get into fights in the first place. But there was one lesson she clove to, one which always lived in her, an ember of hope when she faced such fell things.
Fear makes the wolf look bigger.
And so they came. Over the crest of the hill, spreading wide. Black and shaggy and howling. Panting from the run. Ethnie screamed. Kai grinned. Closer and closer. Then Ethnie’s voice, indignant. “They’re not animals.”
She was right. They weren’t.
“Oh they are,” said Kai. “Just not the kind you were expecting.”
Men. Three of them wrapped in wolf’s clothing. Flea-bitten furs lashed to their arms and legs. Crude masks of hessian and hide. Ears and teeth rent from real beasts to make mummer’s costumes. Blades in their hands and murder in their eyes.
They howled.
