Nadea and the Wolf

They came with the dawn; the large carved head of a wolf set on the prow of the ship snarling at the coastline.

Nadea stood with the other villagers atop the wall that surrounded their village. Nervously she watched the Elders talk with two tall men who had rowed ashore from the long ship that lay anchored in the bay. One of the men was broad-shouldered and muscular, his long dark hair held in place by a leather thong tied around his head. He had a short beard trimmed neatly, unlike some of the men that could be seen hanging over the rails of the ship. One side of the warrior’s cloak was thrown back over his shoulder and he stood at ease, arms crossed, resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword.

As well he could be at his ease, Nadea thought resentfully. His village was not the one being threatened.

The second man stood a little behind the first, a silent contrast to the dark-haired warrior in more ways than one. True, he was as tall as the first man, but his body was slimmer, giving the impression that it wasn’t quite finished growing yet. This one is younger, Nadea thought, noting his beardless face. His dark blond hair was plaited into thin braids, pulled together and tied at the back of his neck. Though he didn’t actually fidget, she got the impression he was trying very hard to remain still and Nadea’s lips twitched.

She shifted a bit to get a better look, then froze as the young warrior’s eyes, drawn to her motion, pinned her. She watched his lips curve into a half smile and had no trouble seeing the gleam of interest in his blue eyes.

Nadea crossed her arms and glared, refusing to drop her eyes or look away in embarrassment.

“What do you think they want, Nadea?” She heard a voice whisper, feeling the clutch of a small hand on her skirt.

Nadea glanced down at her sister. “I don’t know, Katya. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Do you think they’re bad? Some of them look bad.”

“Don’t judge, Katya,” Nadea said, looking again at the handsome face of the young warrior. “People can look bad and still be nice, or they can look sweet and be completely evil. You have to judge people by how they act, not by how they wear their hair or grow their beard.”

“I hope you’re right, Nadea,” the girl said fearfully.

So do I, thought Nadea, watching Elder Onest frantically waving his hands as he usually did when he talked.

Her father managed to get the older man to calm down and spoke once more to the dark-haired warrior who nodded and turned, motioning to the youth behind him as he returned to the small boat pulled up onto the sand. The youth paused, his gaze and his smile seeking out Nadea once more before following the older man. The pair of them had no trouble pushing the heavy-looking little boat off the sand and into the shallows.

She raised her chin and glared at the retreating boat as the daughter of the village chief should, but found herself wanting to smile instead. This young warrior did not seem like the terrible Northborn monster that the stories had warned about. In fact, she could not remember one story where the leader of the monsters rowed ashore to ask for permission to invade.

“But, Dayon, why? What possible reason could anyone, even Northborners, have for wanting to capture reavers alive?”

Elder Onest’s words made Nadea start; the word ‘reaver’ sending goose bumps flying down her arms. Most of the other villagers too, appearing to have the same reaction as nervous murmurs rose.

“Reavers!”

“Why would they want reavers?”

“I don’t know,” Nadea’s father said, raising his hands to quiet the fearful questions. “And as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that they are not going to attack our village.”

Sounds of relief rippled through the crowd, though some still seemed to be worried about the reavers.

Nadea couldn’t blame them. The dog-shaped, swamp creatures were the real monsters as far as she was concerned. Reavers had long muzzles full of longer teeth and sharp, nasty little claws on their webbed feet. Traveling in packs, they roamed much of the swampland that extended far beyond the village, into the heart of Fluadia; their presence making the thick, stockade fence surrounding the little village a necessity of life. Though the creatures were more active at night—moving thru the wetlands like grey-green shadows—they had been known to hunt during the day.

“So what happens now,” asked Naton, crossing his thick arms over his blacksmith’s apron.

“They’ve brought traps that they’ll be unloading soon. Strong enough, so their leader says, to hold a full grown snowbear.”

“What are those?” asked Nadea’s sister, Katya.

Nadea started to tell her that snowbears were ten times as big as the small tree bears that lived in the top of the swamp’s tall trees, when she noticed her sister was pointing at the ship anchored just off the beach in the little bay. She looked and almost gasped.

“They’ve got reavers already,” someone shouted fearfully, pointing to the little rowboat where three, dog-shaped animals crouched while another was being lowered carefully over the ship’s railing into the waiting arms of the blond warrior standing in the little boat, his feet spread wide apart for balance.

“Calm down,” her father told the villagers, who had already begun to edge back through the gate. “Those are wolves, real wolves. Their leader, Verrick, said they’ll use the wolves to help herd the reavers into their traps.”

“Father guard us! They’re twice as big as reavers!” Nadea heard someone say.

“They’re not going to camp on the beach, are they? They’ll draw the reavers right to us!”

“Listen to me!” her father said, loudly enough for his words to carry to the ears of those on the ship…some of them appearing to pause in interest.

“I do not believe these men are here to harm us. Verrick, has promised that his men will stay on the ship when they’re not hunting. All they want are the reavers.” He paused, hands on his hips, glaring at the villagers’ doubtful faces. Nadea loved seeing her father like this; all tall and strong and commanding.

“Now,” he continued, “They have politely asked for our help. And considering what could have happened instead…considering that if they had choose to, our village would be a burned-out hulk right now…I have agreed to give it to them.”

“What about the wolves?”

“The wolves are under the control of Verrick’s brother, Faolan. I have been assured that they will obey him and that he will keep them well away from the village. He’s bringing them ashore now so that they can scout for the reavers to determine the best place to set up the traps.”

He seemed about to say something else, but paused, searching the crowd until his eyes finally found his oldest daughter.

He’s worried, Nadea thought, seeing the concerning in his dark eyes, and knew why when he spoke again.

“I’ve also promised them the services of our best guide; someone who knows these swamps better than the reavers themselves.”

The eyes of the other villagers all turned to Nadea. She held her father’s gaze a moment, then nodded.

“I’ll fetch my bow,” she said and turned, finding a path thru the crowd had already been made for her. Ironic, she thought, as she hurried through the village, that those who usually complained so loudly to her parents about her boyish ways had no trouble acknowledging to complete strangers that she was the best their village could offer when it came to knowledge of the surrounding swamp and its creatures.

It was perhaps a bit strange that a fourteen-year-old girl should know more than full grown men, but then, those men had not spent every spare moment of their lives exploring the woods, ponds, marshes, and swamps that extended for miles around and behind their home. Nadea had, and still did, though she was getting more pressure from her mother of late to set aside such things and concentrate on more feminine pursuits; things more suited for a chieftain’s daughter.

She was changing her clothes, exchanging her long skirts for the pants and tunic she usually wore when “playing in the swamps” as her mother referred to it, when she heard a soft knock on her door and her mother walked in, closing the door behind her.

Wordlessly Nadea continued dressing. Whatever her mother had come to say, she would say in her own time.

She had almost finished plaiting her hair into a single long braid when her mother finally spoke.

“He is chief, and cannot say what he would like to say in front of the others, so I will say it for him. Please be careful, Nadea. It was bad enough having you run wild through these woods knowing the reavers were there…thinking that one day, you might not come home…”

“Mother…”

Her mother held up a hand. “Let me finish.”

Nadea closed her mouth and waited.

“Now he must send you out with men known for their violence. Perhaps it would be different were you a young man, the son I could not give him,” she shook her head sadly, “But this is not something a father should have to do to his own daughter.”

“Let it be, mother.” Nadea said wearily, going to her mother and hugging her. “He is chief. Sometimes he has to see me as just another member of this village with skills and knowledge to be used for its benefit. This I understand and accept. He loves me no less for that, nor I him.”

She hugged her mother once more and kissed her forehead before gathering up her bow and quiver and walking out the door.

As she approached the crowd by the gate, those at the back saw her and stepped aside, touching those in front of them to do likewise. Her father still stood at the front of the crowd several feet away, speaking to the blond Northborner named Faolan; a group of six wolves lying or sitting on the sand behind him.

Nadea’s eyes scanned the wolves a bit nervously, but since she wasn’t about to show her unease to either the wolves in front of her or the villagers behind her, she kept her pace steady and even.

A wolf whinned—a young one, Nadea guessed—and her father and Faolan looked up at her approach.

“This is Nadea.” Her father introduced her. “She is the best in our village when it comes to knowledge of the swamplands and where the reavers run. You could ask for none better to guide you.”

Nadea glanced at her father in surprise. There had been more than a little pride in his voice: something she was aware of, but not accustomed to hearing. She looked back quickly at the Northborner in time to catch his slight bow, and nodded her head to him in return.

Faolan looked back at her father. Placing a fist over his chest he spoke solemnly, “I pledge myself to the safety of this, your sword-maiden, for as long we are together.”

Nadea found herself blushing, the words sounding almost like a bonding ritual, but her father appeared to sigh in relief, losing a measure of the stiffness she had noted when she walked up.

“Thank you,” her father said, turning as one of the village boys edged up; the lad keeping a wary eye on the wolves as he handed her father a small pack.

“In case you’re out past noon meal,” said her father, holding out the pack.

Nadea reached for the strap a moment too late, finding it snagged and swung over Faolan’s head before she could think to protest.

“Come, we have much ground to cover,” he said, turning and starting across the sand at a trot; the six wolves jumping up as one and racing ahead.

Nadea fumed at the Northborners arrogant gesture, but smoothed her features as her father touched her shoulder.

“Be careful, daughter,” said Dayon, shedding his chieftain’s mantel for a moment.

Nadea nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and hurried after the blond-haired Northborner already disappearing into the trees.

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