T'aakshi

  T’aakshi gasped, spear clattering to the floor as the world of the tanae bled away, revealing reality in its wake. The tent was much as he left it, empty but for a flickering lamp, and cold, enough room for his bedroll and little else. His ears rung, and his clothes, drenched in sweat, clung to him as though he’d been swimming in them. The ringing stuck at his ears like spear points, but T’aakshi resisted the urge to clutch at them. The piercing sound hid another, like a whisper in a storm, and somehow he knew it was important.

  He closed his eyes, focused in on the faint sound and did his all to ignore the stabbing pain that filled his head. Battle. That was what he could hear. Shouting and howling, the desperate sounds of running boots. Wolves. He could hear them clearest of all, snarling and howling. It had been real!

  T’aakshi fumbled for his spear, gripping it tight and making to stand up and hurry outside to join the fight that had found them whilst he used the tanae. He only made it three trembling steps before stumbling to the floor, legs boneless. He muttered a curse into the dirt of his tent-floor, massaging his legs.

  The painful ringing had begun to fade, allowing room in his mind for other feelings—namely that his body felt as though he had been the high cliffs at the eastern sea for the nests of sea-birds all day. What had his time in the tanae done to him that made him feel this way? It had never seemed to affect his father when he used it, at least as far as he had been able to tell.

  T’aakshi ground his teeth and hauled himself to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself upon complaining muscles before stepping outside of his tent. Wolves, larger than any T’aakshi had seen before, danced between the stones like wraiths, deathly silent as they surged at a huddle of flesh and steel in the centre of the circle, only letting loose frustrated snarls and howls when crimson-slick spear tips thwarted them. S’aari stood tall, bow in hand, drawing and firing as quickly as she could nock arrows, and the others crouched around her, spears raised in a protective huddle.

  The wolves bore plentiful wounds—evidence of the valiant defence the four of his hunters had put forth—fur coats matted, slick with blood. But these wounds were superficial at best, and were not slowing the darting attacks designed to break apart the hunters’ tight formation and make them easier pickings at all. Soon, they would tire, and the wolves would have what they came for—there were simply too many to outlast.

  Vision hazy, T’aakshi tried to ignore his own exhausted swaying. Why was his body so exhausted? It felt as though he’d been fighting whilst channelling Self for hours already. He wouldn’t have long in which to make a difference before his body gave out. T’aakshi squared his shoulders and faced the bulk of the wolves, as his mind almost instinctively reached for memories.

  Pride and accomplishment was what he needed—he could channel these emotions into fortifying himself, as he had done with the beast when it first attacked. Strengthen himself and sharpen his senses to fine points. Nothing too strong. While a more powerful emotion would yield more potent results, it would also demand a far higher price be paid.

  A memory came to him—the first time he had landed a blow on T’aallin in the training square—and he burned it without interruption from the beast. Relief washed over him, almost as powerful as the surge of power that took hold within him. He directed it carefully around his body, reinforces and enhancing muscle and bone, sight and smell.

  Fortification was his specialty with Self. It was what he’d first taught himself to do, and now it was almost second nature. He had refined it enough that it took ever-decreasing amounts of power to elevate himself beyond what most men were capable of.

  T’aakshi could see all of the wolves, despite their dark fur and the low light—could make out how each tuft of straggly fur moved and swayed as the wolves weaved in and out of the stones. He could see the eager glisten of moisture on the lips of those closest to his hunters, salivating in hungry anticipation of their first taste of flesh.

  He could see how Hota had set his jaw in fierce determination, thrusting and stabbing to keep the enemy at bay. How his eyebrows turned upwards, giving away the terror he was trying desperately to hide.

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  T’aakshi exploded into motion, swallow-swift, and was upon the first wolf like a hawk before any had noticed his presence. The creatures were bigger than he, but for a moment it felt as though he towered over the thing, a titan suddenly striding amongst insects. His spear flashed, a blur of cerulean blue and steel grey, and the wolf fell, a neat slash of crimson spray following the arc of his spear strike and streaking across the snow-covered ground.

  The snarling of a second behind him came almost immediately and T’aakshi whirled to meet the thing. It threw itself at him, snow-white teeth bared, and he stepped to the side, extending the blade of his spear out at the wolf’s exposed side. His steel opened a cut in the creature from breast to hip, and the rust-iron reek of blood nearly overwhelmed his sharpened sense of smell.

  The third wolf was already upon him, not waiting to see if it’s packmate’s attack was successful before launching its own. T’aakshi brought up the haft of his spear with two hands, moments before the creature’s teeth got in range of his throat. He staggered back, his spear handle in the wolf’s mouth, preventing it from getting its jaws around him.

  T’aakshi readied himself to push back and free his spear to fight the thing, when suddenly it yelped and fell to the ground twitching, an arrow lodged in its skull. He looked up and his eyes found a scowling S’aari at the centre of a ring of spears slowly edging towards him. T’aakshi frowned at the look, but a fourth wolf came at him before he could nod in thanks.

  He staggered away from its lunge, Self-enhanced speed more than a match for even the nimble plainswolves, and swept his spear low. The blow caught the Achilles of the wolf as it tried to dart away after its failed attack. It yelped and skidded to the floor like a hawk with an arrow in its wings.

  The hunter’s formation was now close, and it was T’aallin that put his spear through the head of the still squirming wolf.

  “Some fine work, lad. Better late than never, eh?”

  The older man’s tone was jovial, but the grin did not reach the rest of his face, and T’aakshi had to resist the desire to drop his gaze to the floor in shame.

  “I don’t care how late he was, that was incredible!” Hota exclaimed, more than little relief showing on his face.

  “Let’s get this done,” T’aakshi said, doing his all to avoid T’aallin’s dead-eyed stare. “I’d rather not draw on any more of Self than I have to.”

  “Plan?” Jiro asked, eyes scanning the wolves who had halted in their attack to examine the new threat in their midst.

  “Stay tight to me and cover all sides—I’ll do most of the offensive work while I still have Self making me faster than them.”

  Jiro’s acknowledgement was cut short when the wolves, who had seemingly decided that T’aakshi was no more a threat than any other man, darted forward, some coming at them head on, and others veering wide to surround them once more.

  T’aakshi danced in earnest now, stepping and diving to intercept or avoid lupine charges depending on which was most advantageous, and the hunters fell into a brutal, beautiful rhythm. T’aakshi cut and thrust where he could, leaving bloody splatters across the boot-packed snow. Where he couldn’t draw blood himself, he allowed the creatures to think he was an open target before dancing away, wolf-jaws finding only open air and the biting steel of his companions in his place.

  They were winning. Slowly but surely the bodies of wolves mounted, and the attacks grew more hesitant. Less committed. But he was tiring faster. The burning of his muscles had returned, and his spear-dance grew sluggish as the well of Self he had channelled slowly ran dry. T’aakshi glanced back at his sweat-drenched party, the blood that flecked their clothes a mix of their own and their enemy’s, and could see that they were faring no better. Jiro drew ragged breaths, spear trembling in his hands; Kachi had stumbled once or twice in the last few minutes.

  He struck at a wolf with the butt of his spear, sending it sprawling to the side, dazed, and lashed out with the other side to finish the job. The spear point found only snow, the wolf scampering out of reach. A few minutes earlier, and he would have been fast enough to kill it. There was no other option—he needed more power.

  The memory came easily enough, but as he burned through it, and a fresh wave of power seeped into him, the magnificent warmth of it turned to glacial cold in his veins. He gasped and stumbled back. It flowed through him; the sensation coalescing around his heart as though it were being gripped by skeletal fingers of ice.

  T’aakshi couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak to warn the others something was wrong. The events outside of himself faded away, everything—the spears of his companions moving with terrified urgency to defend him, and his body collapsing, boneless, into the blood-stained snow—all happening on the other side of some spectral veil. He was both there, and not. Close, but far.

  He could see three places at once, two as clear as he was there himself. Worse, he could feel something else in each of these places, like two immovable thorns in his consciousness, and he knew with unerring certainty that he would never be free of them, for he was they, and they were he.

  Both knew him, too. Could feel him as he could feel them, and they came for him. Two behemoths, hungry and fierce as thunder, and they came.