Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 165
165
The wind doubled in force as Ander left the relative shelter of the woods, breaking out into the open fields for what felt like the first time in an age. He held up an arm to shield his face and squinted into the combined layers of snow and shadow, and Old Jon's mill came looming out of the night like a giant out of a child's fairy tale - its sails clipped and its wings reduced to four straight poles sticking out of its face at right angles, a massive cross scratched into the sky itself as if to mark the end of... the end of what? The hunt? Banno's life? His own life? He couldn't know which for sure, only that it meant an end, one way or another.
Ander took Nilia's knife and carved an arrow into the bark of the last tree on the edge of the forest, pointed towards the mill. She had been wise to give this to him, since the storm had already covered Banno's trail almost completely and his own wasn't lagging far behind. But these arrows, evenly spaced out in frequent intervals, should be more than enough to lead her on the way.
Ander looked back into the deeper shadows slithering through the trees, knowing that, if Nilia were here, she would have urged him to stay right in this very spot until help could arrive, speaking in a calm, mellow voice, and if he so much as tried to go on ahead, she wouldn't hesitate to knock his teeth out.
"I'm sorry, Nilia, but I can't wait for you," he whispered, more to himself than the endless dark, and began to climb the hill that would forever serve as the monument to this final confrontation, because after tonight, his old family would be no more. His father, his mother, they were both gone. All he had left were his brothers. Tonight they were three, but who could say how that number might change? By the end of the hour, they might be two. Or one. Or even none.
"I'm coming, Kiana..." he whispered, his teeth chattering in the cold. "I'm coming to save you, I'm coming to save our baby... I'm coming to save my family, my _new_family. I'm coming, so just hold on... please, hold on..."
This hill had never seemed so steep.
*
The wagon loomed out of the storm like the carcass of some long forgotten animal, buried in snow all the way up to its axles. Jagged teeth of ice hung from the wheel spokes, glinting in the dark.
Ander remembered the bright and sunny day he had come up here with Kiana to take a look at the mill. He remembered how nice Old Jon had been, how happy and eager he was to show off this strange, pointed building and all the hard work he and his son did every day.
It had fascinated him; the smells, the sounds, the gears, the wheat, the grinding stone, but most of all the sails, just the way they spun so lazily in the breeze.
He remembered walking by this wagon on that day and seeing the broken wheel. He remembered how badly he had wanted to do something for this little family of two, just to let them know how grateful he was that they had accepted him so readily, without question. Even Jonah, who had been so terrified of the giant who had suddenly shown up at their front door, had warmed considerably by the end of the visit (a few swipes from his father probably helped with that). He remembered lifting the wagon so Jonah could fit the replacement wheel while Kiana stood off to the side, fretting about his stitches.
Walking by this wagon now, with its brand new wheel, thinking: I did that, I put that there, was one of the most disconcerting things Ander had ever experienced. It felt like he'd been here just a short while ago, and yet it also felt like that had been an entirely different Ander, living an entirely different life. Everything about this, every single minute detail, seemed to be the exact opposite of that happy memory.
It was not bright and sunny. It was dark and freezing. There was no grass, no endless fields of flowers in the valley below. It was just snow as far as the eye could see, which wasn't very far at all. Beyond that it was pitch black. The mill's blades weren't spinning. They didn't even have their sails on. They were just a giant black cross in the sky, locked in place. Even the smells were different. The sweet smell of flowers and grains was gone, buried beneath the sickly stench of Banno's blood. But the most glaring difference to that happy day was the absence by his side.
Kiana wasn't here to hold his hand and skip along, swinging their arms to and fro, taking two steps for his every one. Kiana wasn't here to talk and sing and whistle and occasionally take a great big breath of air in thanks for finally getting out of that stuffy house that always smelled of pipe smoke. Kiana wasn't here to point out all the interesting landmarks or the Foxes walking the roads or tending the fields down below, explaining who was related to who and how they would love to meet him.
So many happy memories layered on top of this nightmare, flipping back and forth before his eyes like the pages of a picture book, until his eye caught something that finally locked reality in place, bringing him back to the present with a jarring thud.
Jon's front door was smashed in, and one of the windows had been shattered from the inside. The reddish light of a dying fire was bleeding over the porch and across the snow in a fan shape, pulsing weakly.
This entire place reeked of Banno's madness.
Ander readied the knife, holding it up near his cheek, and approached the threshold. The door itself was lying almost flush against the floor, dusted with a fine layer of snow and lifted slightly off-true by the doorknob on the other side. There was an overturned table and a set of chairs farther in, their shadows crisscrossing each other in a tangled web. There were jagged pieces of glass scattered all over the place, glittering in the fading firelight. Ander crossed the threshold and stepped on top of the broken door (it wobbled slightly beneath his feet) and that's when a very out of place noise met his ears. Old Jon's house was shaped like a very stubby 'L' (the first letter Layla ever taught him, as a matter of fact), and the noise was coming from just around the bend; a haggard gasping and crying. But it didn't sound like Banno or Kiana. It sounded more like a child.
"No... Dad, please..."
Ander readjusted his grip on the knife and went deeper into the house, staying close to the wall. He had to take great care not to step in any of the glass. They littered the floor in random profusion, some clear and some brown. Many of them were dotted with beads of blood.
There was a spiral staircase up ahead with even more blood dripping down the steps in a very slow, stretchy way, meaning it had only just begun to coagulate. Most of it belonged to Banno, by the smell, but not all of it.
What happened here? Ander thought. Just what the hell...?
Ander was getting very close to the bend in the room now, close enough to touch, and there were pools of blood everywhere. The firelight played off their drying edges in a dirty sheen, stretched out into wailing faces. More shards of glass, with hundreds of flickering flames trapped inside their reflective surfaces. Broken pieces of wood, jagged and splintery.
Ander rounded the corner, not sure what to expect, but nothing could have prepared him for the carnage waiting for him on the other side, illuminated by the sickly glow of a fire that was really no more than a heap of pulsing red coals, fighting to stay alive.
All the strength ran out of Ander's arm and he slowly lowered the knife, thinking: Banno did this. My brother did this. My own brother...
There were two Foxes lying on the floor, one adult and one child, completely motionless. The child seemed to be okay (at least from here), but the adult was soaked in blood from the neck down. And kneeling between them, with his small hands pressing down on the adult's chest, was a second Fox boy, making for three in total. His arms were drenched in blood all the way up to the elbows, like he was wearing a pair of long red gloves. Tears leaked from his eyes at a steady pace and flowed down his muzzle. He was constantly muttering beneath every laboured breath and hitching gasp, alternately praying and cursing and pleading.
"Dammit, Dad, please! I can't do this by myself! Please!"
He still hadn't noticed Ander's presence.
"Hey..." Ander said softly, not knowing how else to make himself known. His voice sounded so alien to his own ears, like he was hearing himself from very far away.
The boy raised his head and the first thing Ander noticed was the swelling in his jaw. The second was the look on his face... the range of emotions it went through in the blink of an eye was staggering. First there was hope, triggered by the sound of a friendly voice. Then there was fear, followed immediately afterwards by a seething fury so intense that his entire body seemed to change. His shoulders tensed and his fur stood on end. His mouth turned down into a horrifying snarl that exposed all his teeth. With one hand still pawing at his father's chest, he grabbed a broken chair leg and raised it above his head.
"Wait!" Ander began, but could get no further than that.
The boy screamed and hurled the chair leg through the air. It bounced off Ander's chest and clattered to the floor, but the scream itself hurt far more. It was no battle cry. It was no roar of anger. It was the scream of a lost and frightened child, dripping with sorrow, misery and hopelessness. He pelted Ander with everything he could reach; bits of wood and broken glass, still screaming and crying. "You get away! You get away from us! Leave us alone! Just leave us alone!"
"I'm not like him!" Ander tossed Nilia's knife aside and held out his empty hands, knowing full well that the gesture didn't actually mean anything to someone so small, but doing it anyway. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."
The boy stopped throwing things, but he still seemed balanced right on the edge of hysterics. His breath came out in quick, high-pitched gasps, and his eyes still held nothing but terror and pain. That's when Ander saw the way his right wrist was bent at an odd angle, like someone had pushed his hand back until it simply couldn't go any further, and then went on pushing.
"What's your name?" Ander asked.
The boy looked him up and down like an animal scenting a trap, filled with suspicion and mistrust.
Sensing that time might be running short, Ander decided to take a calculated risk. "If I was like him, I wouldn't try to talk to you like this. I'd just... I'd do what you've already seen."
The boy swallowed, and in a barely audible whisper he said: "Luke."
Of course. This is the cousin Jonah was talking about. "Hello, Luke. My name is Ander."
"I thought you were Banno..." he said, making Ander's blood run cold. "I saw you... and the eye..."
Ander touched the rag tied around his head. In all the commotion he'd almost forgotten it was there. "I had a little accident," he said, trying to keep things light. "Looks like you had one, too."
"It was Banno," Luke said, taking on a tone of desperation now. "We tried to get away, but he followed us! He came and he- and he-"
"It's okay, Luke, I understand. But now you need to focus, okay? Is he still around here somewhere?"
Luke wiped a bloody forearm across his runny nose and looked around the room, as if Banno might be crouching behind a chair. "I- I don't know. I woke up just a while ago and- and he was gone."
"Do you have any idea where he might be?"
He wiped his face and shook his head. "N-No."
Ander didn't push it any further. There were only two possibilities anyway. Either Banno was still nearby (somewhere inside the house or possibly the mill), or he was making his way toward town. A third possibility he did not want to entertain was that maybe, in a delirium of blood loss and illness, he had slung Kiana over his shoulder and wandered into the empty white expanse of the storm, where they would both slowly freeze to death.
"Is that your father?"
Luke nodded. "Dad was kicking Banno's ass, but he's a dirty cheater! That's the only way he could get out! He cheated!"
"Will you allow me to take a look at him?"
Immediately the suspicion came flooding back. This was obviously a boy who loved his father very much. In a way, he reminded Ander a bit of Hezzi.
"I promise I won't hurt him. I know a promise from a Wolf doesn't mean much to you right now, but you have to trust me. I want to help you."
Luke looked down at his father's body, at all the blood turning his chest a dark shade of crimson. His hands squelched with every movement. Finally, without looking up, he nodded.
Ander hurried over and crouched down by the father's head. He held a hand just above his nose and, although it took an alarmingly long time, he felt the slow exhale of breath pushing against his palm. He was worried about the other boy, too, but right now the father was the one in the most trouble. There was something off about his wound. It was too central to be a bite, and too concentrated to be a scratch. "What happened to him?"
"Banno stabbed him with a fireplace poker days ago. And now he opened it up again."
Days ago. There were so many questions Ander wanted to ask, but there wasn't enough time. He looked around, searching for something he could use, and his eye fell on a set of curtains with a pink floral pattern. "I'll be right back. You just keep pushing down like you've been doing, okay?"
"Okay."
Ander got up and ripped the curtain off its rail. Outside, the snow was still beating against the glass like a swarm of angry insects. "When I tell you to move, you take your hands away, all right?" he said, folding the fabric over.
"Okay."
"On three. One... two... three."
Luke removed his hands and Ander quickly pressed the curtain against the wound. This Fox already had layers of bandages wrapped around his chest, but even so, it only took a short while for the heat to start seeping through to the other side.
Ander wondered what kind of hell these Foxes must have gone through over the past few days, but he didn't have enough time to ask anything other than the most important things. "Is your friend all right?"
Luke crawled over to the other Fox, giving his own broken wrist hardly any consideration. "He's my brother..." he said, gingerly touching his shoulder. "I tried to wake him up, but nothing worked..."
"What happened to him?"
That flash of anger and hatred came surging back into Luke's eyes, so sudden and intense it was downright frightening. "That's what happened!" He pointed to a spot of blood on the wall. "Banno threw him clear across his room!"
"Where did he hit? Let me see."
Luke very slowly turned his brother's head to the side, revealing a small patch of bloody hair right above the neck.
Ander bit down on his lip, not liking the looks of that at all. Head wounds were finicky things. A Wolf could stumble around with a fountain of blood gushing from his forehead and still have three helpings of charred pheasant breast that very same night, while a different Wolf might take one tiny blow to the back of the head and never get up again. There was just no way to tell.
"Is he still breathing?"
Luke checked. "Yeah."
"His mouth and nose aren't filled with blood or anything?"
"Um, no."
"Okay, don't try to move him. Just leave him like that for now." Those words came out all sure and confident, like Ander actually knew what the hell he was talking about, but in truth he just didn't want to say what he was actually thinking. Probably Luke knew it, too.
If he is fine, he will wake up. If he's not, he won't. Either way, there is nothing we can do.
Dammit, he wished Bethany were here.
Luke's head suddenly snapped up and he looked around the room with wide, panicked eyes.
"Luke? What's wrong?"
"Valery?" He got up and started to turn in a slow circle. "Valery!?"
"Luke, keep your voice down! Banno might still be -"
"Valery!" He took off like an arrow and shot up the stairs, his broken hand dangling by his side like a bushel of half-crushed grapes. Ander could hear his footsteps through the ceiling, thudding back and forth as he ran through hallways, opening and slamming doors, calling the same name over and over. "Valery, where are you!? It's okay to come out now! Valery? Val!!" After a minute of frantic searching, he came running down the stairs again, nearly slipping in all the blood in his haste. "I can't find her! My little sister! She went to hide, but now she's gone!"
Banno took her. Ander knew this as surely as he knew that summer followed spring. He also knew that Banno never did anything for no reason. Sometimes the reasons didn't make any sense, sometimes they seemed as random and unpredictable as the currents of the wind, but there were patterns, and this one was impossible to miss.
You should have seen her, Ander. The way she smiled when she saw me... it was... beautiful...
Banno took another little girl.
The way she looked up at me... with her neck exposed... the tendons standing out... just waiting... waiting for me...
He stole her away just like he did with Vallah.
I wish I could explain it to you. The sounds she made when I bit into her. The way she tasted -
Ander slammed the door on those thoughts - slammed it hard. Just the way Banno had said it, with that far-off look in his eyes, the same look he always wore when he bit into the neck of a dying doe, was enough to make Ander's insides turn to ice.
"That bastard..." Luke muttered, almost too low to hear. He curled his fingers into fists and an awful sound sprung out of his broken wrist; a wet, crumbly sound, like stones mixed with clay. "If he was just insane, that would be one thing. If he didn't understand what he was doing, that would be one thing. But he's not just insane. He does know what he's doing, and he likes it. He loves it."
"Luke, listen to me very carefully." The boy looked up and Ander was once again struck by the raw hatred coming off this tiny little Fox. It radiated out of him like heat rising off a fireplace. "I am going to try my very best to help you and your family, but to do that I need to know as much as possible."
Luke nodded.
"Now, think very carefully. Was Banno alone, or did he have a vixen with him?"
"Yeah," he answered immediately. "She was in a green dress and he carried her over his shoulder."
It took every ounce of restraint Ander had left not to bombard the kid with a string of questions right there, but he had to ask the most important one. "Was she... alive?"
Luke nodded, and just as Ander started to feel the faintest sense of relief, he added: "She was hurt, though. Her face was all cut up and I couldn't wake her."
She was hurt, though. Her face was all cut up and I couldn't wake her.
She was hurt.
Her face was all cut up.
I couldn't wake her.
Luke's words echoed through his mind, but instead of fading and growing softer, they only seemed to speed up, spiralling deeper and deeper, until only the core of his message remained, throbbing like a living thing.
Was hurt.
Cut up.
Couldn't wake.
Hurt.
Cut.
Kiana.
And now it was Ander's turn to feel all that hatred welling up inside. It was a feeling he did not like. It manifested as a deep desire - no, that was giving it too much credit. It was an urge, plain and simple. An urge to lash out and inflict an amount of pain and suffering equal to, or greater than, the amount Banno had inflicted upon the vixen he loves. Preferably greater. Much greater. Infinitely greater. It was an urge to strip away all the layers he considered to be 'himself' and stand, naked as an animal, with no drives or desires other than to hurt, to bite, to tear, to rend, and to kill.
It was a feeling he did not like. It was too much like Banno. Too much by far. But it was a feeling he could not stop, perhaps because he did not want to.
"Come here, Luke."
The boy approached willingly enough. Perhaps because the anger in Ander's eye was equal to his own.
"I need you to press down on this cloth really, really hard. Don't let up. If your hand is a problem, lean on him with your forearms."
Luke did as he was told, gradually edging in until Ander was able to stand up. "Listen. There are Wolves on their way, good ones, not like Banno. One is a she-wolf named Nilia. You will know her by the bear claw around her neck. You can trust her. She'll most likely have a gang of Foxes at her back, too. They'll be able to help you and your family."
"Where are you going?"
"I am going to save your sister. And I am going to save the mother of my child." He walked across the room, picked up Nilia's knife, and inspected the reflection staring back at him from inside the blade with its one, cold eye. "And I am going to kill my brother."
He felt remarkably calm.
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