Chapter 60: Chapter 53: Preparing for Rest

Janine breathed a sigh of relief as the group entered the elevator. Rather than waiting for it to return, she jumped off the upper deck, enjoying the cool breeze ruffling her hair. The crawler was an enormous piece of ever-shifting machinery, and it was dangerous for regulars to operate on the outer hull without being secured by ropes or harnesses. A sudden turn of a turret could’ve sent a person tumbling down on the massive tracks.

For Wolfkins, it was a second home. Trained since birth to scale the treacherous jagged mountains and ruins of their homeland using only their nimble and strong toes and fingers, they traversed up and down, mocking the caution of their cousins. Janine used the cannons as stairs and made her way to the lower observation deck, the closest point to her pack’s dens.

The Wolfkins had manned the observation decks, examining distant fields and civilian cars. Whereas the lower ranks had an air of childish naivete about them and were genuinely shocked about the lack of personal weapons among civilians, the wolf hags and scouts surveyed for perfect locations to plant mines, prepare ambushes, or orchestrate organized retreats. It wasn’t done out of malice; years of dedicated service had kept them on edge.

Joining her pack, Janine narrowed her eyes as she spotted Marco on the road below. He begged and asked relentlessly to be permitted to witness the arrival in Houstad, and she had granted him this small boon, cancelling the lessons after her precious buffoons, including even trying to look impartial, Impatient One, had given scents of support. What harm could one day do?

A lot, it seemed, she concluded as her boy dodged the tracks of an APC below..

“Confess, what have you got Marco up to this time?” Janine yanked Bogdan by the ear.

“Nothing, Warlord!” Her son smiled innocently at a clan of fangs near his neck. “Marco is brilliantly performing a community service.”

Like most of her soldiers, the boy wore a long-collared buttoned jacket, thick pants, boots, and his beret. He hurried toward the railing separating the road from the field. After a brief moment of confusion, Janine noticed a terrified filly, pounding her hooves on the concrete, leaning against the iron railing, and calling to her mother, who was on the other side of the railing, trying to free herself from the workers’ arms. Upon realizing that the young Wolfkin neared them, both six-legged horses squealed in panic, and the filly stood on her hind legs, ready to defend herself.

“He’ll get hit!” Ignacy prepared to jump down, but Soulless One grabbed him by the neck and pulled him back.

“Trust in your brother, male,” the shaman said. “He isn’t half as dumb as you.”

Marco evaded the clumsy kicks aimed at his snout and circled around the filly, wrapping his arms around her torso. He tried to lift her over the railing, but his knees gave way. Clenching his fangs, the cub trembled and stood up, refusing to let go of the panicked animal. Janine wondered why he bothered. If it had been her, she would have snapped the horse’s neck and thrown the meat back to the farmer. No livestock lacking common sense was tolerated in the Outer Lands; all disobedience and coarseness were forcibly wiped out of them, making the animals easily manageable and docile.

“What are you doing standing around here like mouth-breathers?” A voice snapped above Janine’s ears, addressing the Wolfkins on a deck below them. “Help the cub!”

“Yes, Warlord!” Kalaisa answered faster than anyone else, and, like a black streak, she leapt off the deck, weaving her way past the vehicles to reach Marco.

Janine found Warlord Ygrite’s ugly snout beside her and let go of Bogdan, guessing the intent. The woman was panting, but not from rage. Fangs, countless fangs, the blessing of the Spirits, covered her entire upper and lower palate, trapping her tongue. They descended into her throat, turning every breath into a struggle. Ygrite unbuttoned her collar and scratched at her neck, where more fangs grew, their cruel red tips poking through strands of fur.

“What are they yapping about?” Ygrite demanded to know, her words accompanied by the loud sucking and clanking of her fangs; the very act of speaking was torturous for her.

Janine heard the distant cries of ‘Neriskē, zēns!’ and ‘Välkommen hem!’ mixed in it, but they told her nothing.

“They implore Marco to back off from danger…”

“My son is not that fragile,” Janine bristled.

“And are greeting us,” Soulless One continued. She put Ignacy down, deciding against discipling him in public. “Seems they are happy to see us.”

“Why?” Janine asked. The migrant workers had lost some of their tan, but she recognized the physiques and heaps of blonde hair of several people. “We crushed their homeland sixty years ago.”

“Half a century is a long time, Warlord,” Bogdan said. “I wasn’t born there. Chances are, these people weren’t born then, either. And I doubt they’d be content dwelling underground like those insane shamans demanded. Religious freaks are such a bore sometimes.” He raised his paws. “No offense intended, Shaman!”

“Naturally.” Soulless One locked her eyes with his until Bogdan blinked in submission. Then she pulled out a notepad and began scribbling words.

“Sorry to startle you, Janine,” Ygrite said. “But you and Ashbringer treated my girl pretty nasty, I’d say.”

“She was the one who started it.” Janine placed her paws on the guardrail.

“Oh, I am not overly caring about that.” Ygrite’s glare caused the rest of the pack to retreat to free them space. “If she is foolish enough to challenge a warlord and die, that’s on her. This is what I have a problem with!”

Ygrite’s crooked finger pointed at the Wolfkins below. The wolf hag had easily lifted the struggling boy, helping him to push over the struggling filly to reunite the horses. The scared mare still kicked, but Kalaisa blocked the hooves and seated the boy on her shoulder. Before either of them could leave, a farmer rode up to them, apologizing for the incident and thanking them for their help. Kalaisa unhappily tried to wave him away, but Marco kept talking to the smiling farmer, forcing the wolf hag to stay.

“Just a few months ago, she wouldn’t bat an eye if the horse had hit the boy. Or better yet, she would’ve added a kick of her own. And now she is the first to help anyone with anything, has stopped rampant dominations, and comes to talk to you every night.” Ygrite sucked in air, furiously tearing off fangs from her neck. “Freaky. Gives the impression that a certain warlord thinks her pack is too small and is propping up a dumb puppet to get rid of a rival.”

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“More like she’s growing up.” Janine ignored the accusation. “Feeling paranoid? Good. It means you understand your shortcomings. Try solving problems in your pack. Fewer worries that way.”

“Maybe I will.” Ygrite flashed an ugly grin and licked her torn lips. “But I ain’t the one who screwed up the girl. It was her parents’ and shamans’ fault. None of them explained to her it is ok to ask for help or food, even if you are a motherless cur. I was given a flawed tool.”

“And?” Janine arched a brow. “Ygrite, how the Abyss is this matter? You have an unstable soldier of high rank in your pack. A gift to the tribe, a jewel to be polished. Would the knowledge that you are right sustain you when Kalaisa drives her family to death and leads her pack to ruin? As warlords, everything in our pack is our responsibility. If a male kills himself, it is a failure. If a female dies of her wounds in the field, it reeks of incompetence on our part. If there is a disruptive element that breeds hatred at the expense of unity, it is our job to set things right. Discipline and morale are just as important as martial knowledge. Get on with being a leader, lead by example, educate, or step down and let others do the job. Even Kalaisa is more mature than you are right now, and she is a bitch. But at least she is trying to be better.”

She smelled the seething anger in Ygrite’s scent, but made no effort to defend herself. If the fool dared to try to dominate her, so be it. Ygrite was a member of Ravager’s private circle far earlier than Janine. The woman had first opened her eyes in the laboratory, or so she claimed. Even Janine was nothing more than a youngster compared to her. But she didn’t care about the veneration of the elderly. If the old gives in to paranoia and overly clings to their authority, then the old is a threat. She fought and bled to get where she is today, and she’ll be damned if she’s going to lie to spare the feelings of a senile idiot.

“Truth be told, I had a thought of opening your throat out for a sec here. But ya have a point; the pointless bickering makes us weaker. I’m not really feeling like doing you or Ashbringer in anymore,” Ygrite laughed and stood next to Janine; her hostility fading. A hooked dagger the length of her forearm slid from a coat sleeve, and the warlord spun it in her paw. “I’ll try to set the girl straight, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stick to your lessons. It used to be so easy. Ensure that everyone is fed, lead the troops into battle, forget the weaklings who died and live to fight another day... Where has all that gone? Laws, ranks, emotions, technology… Why does everything have to be so complex now?”

“Change is inevitable. Few know it better than we,” Janine said quietly, examining her oversized paws. “I remember the days of fighting without power armor, when we feasted on the still hot insides of our enemies. And I remember how many died needlessly before Alpha and Lacerated One changed it, forcing us to use weapons instead of relying on trusty claws and hides. We have benefited from change. True, change breeds complexity, but it also breeds life. I can live with it. And so can you.”

“Gosh, I remember young Janine, shy and fragile, hiding behind Terrific’s back, eyes to the ground. What turned ya into a philosopher?” Ygrite elbowed her.

“Death,” Janine replied, rejoining her soldiers.

The farmer gave Marco a large bag, and the boy had to stand up on Kalaisa’s shoulder to look inside. Kalaisa took Marco under her arm and held the bag in her mouth. For several breaths, she watched the APCs pass by. And then she darted, passing them like water, avoiding a collision at the last moment and controlling her run perfectly to show off. She jumped at the APC closest to the crawler, stepped over its turret, and soared through the air like a bird. She landed just above the moving tracks and used her only free paw to climb up. Her thumb slipped, but Anji grabbed the woman’s paw and helped both adventurers back down to the deck.

“It was kind of you to help the cub, Kali,” Anji sang in a honeyed tone.

“Shut your trap, Bootlicker.” Kalaisa spat the bag into Marco’s paws. “I didn’t need your help. I had everything under control!”

“No, you didn’t, but it was still cool. Way to go! I’m rooting for you!” Anissa said as she stepped out of the corridor. Shortly after, she had to duck to avoid a swing that was aimed at her nose while maintaining a smug smile on her face.

The swing dented a wall, and Anissa countered by slamming her elbow into Kalaisa’s ribs, throwing the woman face up against the wall. Her claws flashed, eager to lacerate the exposed back, but they only struck the steel. Kalaisa disappeared. Her speed and agility, worthy of a warlord, allowed her to slip off the incoming stabs at the small cost of having her clothes torn.

A back kick sent Anissa crashing into the wall. She tried to break free, but an elbow pushed into the scruff of her neck, cratering her head into the steel, despite the wolf hag’s desperate efforts to break free. The two women simply occupied different social levels in the tribe. Where Nissa had already reached her peak, Kalaisa’s growth continued. Janine’s little girl will never be her equal; that was Anji’s privilege.

Bogdan’s paw moved to a pocket of her jacket, Ignacy’s arm transformed, Elzada dropped low, Impatient One bared her fangs, Melina prepared to lunge, and Soulless One released her claws. The sight of unity pleased Janine, but she growled, stopping the struggle. Kalaisa could’ve easily maimed her girl by now. She didn’t. The fool had not yet fully grasped the idea of restraint, but she no longer was a menace.

“Warlord!” Marco checked his beret was in place, saluted Janine, and showed her the bag containing six glass jars of white milk. “Look what the mister gave to us! Cows’ milk! Real stuff! He even invited me later to get a ride, and…”

“And you will never again risk your hide without my permission.” Janine’s finger lightly smacked Marco on the forehead. Technically, she should have also punished Kalaisa for leaving the crawler, but just for today, Janine had decided to ignore minor lapses of insubordination. “You won’t be hoarding it for yourself. Three pots go to Ygrite’s pack for Kalaisa’s help.”

“As if I want this piss,” Kalaisa mumbled, taking backward steps into the corridor.

“Wait, don’t go anywhere!” Marco set aside the bag and hurried into the crawler. He returned from his den, beaming and carrying leather sacks with their names written on them. “Because of the cold, Anji, Kalaisa, and I have made something for you all!”

Intrigued, Janine picked up a sack meant for her. She unfolded it and found a black sweater—more of a turtleneck, really—inside. The sweater was a little rough around the edges, but it was real, proper cloth, and it even had the emblem of her pack, the Taleteller buried in a Wolfkin’s skull, on the chest. Bogdan, Ignacy, Elzada, Impatient One, Anissa, Melina, and Soulless One received the same sweaters; Anji got a much more elegantly made sweater with an emblem of a paw wrapped in shadows, crushing a bone in its grip. Kalaisa blinked in confusion when Marco handed her a sack.

“When in the Abyss did you make it?” she growled, tearing the leather asunder to find a coarse-looking sweater with Ygrite’s pack emblem, an exploding house.

“Since you agreed to help us, I thought it would be fair if you’d get one, too.” Marco shrugged. “I’ve been working on it in my spare time, so…”

“I like it,” Kalaisa declared, taking off her coat and dressing into the sweater. “I nominate you as my favorite pipsqueak. If you need someone to beat up, just call me.”

“Thank you, Marco.” Janine patted him on the head. “You too, Anji, Kalaisa. In gratitude, I authorize you to accompany Marco to this farm if he accepts the farmer’s offer.”

“Great, more busywork.” Kalaisa’s shoulders slumped.

“What was that?” Soulless One asked quietly.

“I said, ready and able, ma’am!”

“Excellent,” Janine said, heading toward the corridor. “Now back to your posts; we arrive in Houstad in less than an hour. Make yourselves presentable. Bogdan! You are responsible for making sure our pack does not cause any tension with the locals. If any of the females grumble, call me and I’ll break her skull.”

“Yes, ma’am! It will be done, Warlord!” Her boy stood at attention.

“And no more fighting or dominating! Anyone who spills a drop of an ally’s blood will join Lacerated One in the storage bay.”