Wolfbreed (56 page)

Coda

ix months later, during the fall harvest, Uldolf returned to the newly renamed town of Mejdân, carrying elk hides from a tannery outside town. The tannery’s stink still hung on the hides, in Uldolf’s nose, and probably his clothes as well. The putrid combination of urine, dung, and rotting flesh was the primary reason retrieving the freshly tanned skins was work for the leatherworker’s apprentice.

The old man he was apprenticed to was a Prûsan who claimed to have known his father, Radwen. It was an increasingly common claim. As more Prûsans moved in, retreating from more recently Christianized areas, it was becoming fashionable to acknowledge the past.

Uldolf reached the city gate and Lankut called from his post, “So, Uldolf, what do you have there?”

One thing hasn’t changed …

“Fresh tanned hides for Master Ryliko.” Uldolf hefted his bundle. “Care to inspect them?”

Lankut walked over, coughed, and shook his head. “I doubt Chief Sejod cares for tribute from you, of all people.” He wrinkled his nose. “And you stink to high heaven.”

“If you think that, you should meet the tanners themselves.”

“Thank you, no.”

“And what do you mean, ‘you of all people’?”

“You’re still Radwen Seigson’s son.”

Uldolf sighed.

“Look, don’t forget that. There are plenty of people, old-timers, who think you should be running things.”

“Günter is doing a fine job without Radwen Seigson’s son.”

Ever since the Germans were driven out of the town, once-Sergeant Günter Sejod had managed to hold things together, largely based on the fact that he was the highest ranking Prûsan under the Christian occupation. The chain of command among the Prûsan soldiers remained intact.

The old-timers Lankut talked about were dissatisfied by the fact that someone who, in their view, had been a German puppet was now chief of Mejdân. Ever since Uldolf had begun working in town, barely a week passed without one of these men approaching him and talking about the grand days of Reiks Radwen Seigson, mentioning the current opportunity to reclaim them. Of course, these old men often saw themselves as having some important role supporting Uldolf, should he make any claims to his rightful position. Uldolf thanked gods both Christian and Prûsan that those old men had no power base of their own to be more forceful in their suggestions.

“If ever you change your mind,” Lankut said, “remember your friends.”

“I will.” Uldolf walked through the gate wondering if Lankut was just teasing him.

“Gedim’s waiting for you,” Lankut called after him.

Uldolf paused. Master Ryliko’s shop squatted just inside the
city gate. And when Uldolf stopped, he had already walked in far enough to see the front of the old man’s shop.

His father stood outside the shop, leaning on his cane, and waved at Uldolf. “There you are.”

Uldolf walked over and set down his burden inside the doorway. “Here I am.”

“You look well.”

Uldolf nodded. “How is the farm?”

“The harvest goes well.”

“Good.”

“We miss you there.”

Uldolf nodded. “You know why.”

“Yes. I understand.” He put a hand on Uldolf’s shoulder. “And you had to make your way sooner or later.”

Uldolf looked down at the leather bundle, feeling a wave of guilt. “I didn’t want to force you to—”

“Look at me.”

Uldolf looked up.

“I told you, this had to happen sooner or later. I only had an independent farm because I was tied to the past, a little sliver of an estate the Order let me keep. After everything, the land doesn’t seem that important anymore.”

Uldolf shook his head. Because he left—because he
had
to leave—Gedim had to negotiate with three neighboring farms. The three families now farmed all the land in common, sharing the crop and the labor. “It was everything you had.”

“You, Hilde, my wife
—that’s
everything I had. Still have. The land …” Gedim shrugged. “I know why you couldn’t stay.”

Uldolf sighed. “You’re not here to ask me back?”

“No. But I’m asking you to talk to her.”

“I can’t do that.” Uldolf bent to pick up his bundle, and Gedim grabbed his arm.

“Yes, you can.”

“Please, don’t.”

“I’m the one who carried you out of that slaughterhouse when Mejdân fell. My brother, his wife, my niece. I saw. I understand.”

“Father—”

“If you don’t do it for yourself, then do it for me.”

Uldolf looked into his father’s face, and realized that it was more deeply lined than he remembered. He saw a pleading look in Gedim’s eyes.

Uldolf asked him, “You brought her here, didn’t you?”

Gedim nodded.

“Why?”

“Because I asked him to.” Her voice came from the shadows inside the shop. Uldolf straightened up and watched as a young woman stepped out into the light. Her hair was red, except for a single white streak emerging from her temple, and she looked at him with deep green eyes.

“Would you please walk with me?” Lilly asked.

ldolf followed her down the road, out the gate, and into the woods. “You seem well.”

“Your mother took good care of me,” Lilly said. She shook her head. “I didn’t expect to live.”

No one expected you to
, Uldolf thought. He remembered his shock when Lankut announced that she was still breathing. Even as his mother organized a wagon to move the injured away from the chaos that was the fall of Johannisburg, Uldolf kept expecting that life had fled Lilly’s broken body.

But she had hung on.

She had hung on, and Burthe had insisted on taking her back home. Even though they knew what she was, and what she had done. Not only was this someone they had already taken into their home,
but all of them owed their lives to her. Uldolf was silent for weeks afterward, as she lay unconscious and healing in his family’s home.

When Gedim told him that he was considering easing the harvest by joining his land with the two neighboring farms, Uldolf decided to find his apprenticeship in town. He had left before Lilly had recovered enough strength to speak.

He didn’t know if he left because he couldn’t face her, or because he couldn’t face his father. Uldolf still had trouble understanding how Gedim could reconcile her nature, and her past, more easily than he could. Gedim’s loss at her hands was as deep as Uldolf’s own. He had lost his brother …

Why was it so hard to accept when Gedim said, “She was a warrior.” Was it because Uldolf could see Radwen Seigson saying the same thing?
She was a warrior, son. In war, people die
.

“I didn’t want to drive you from your home,” she told him as they walked through the woods.

Uldolf shook his head. “My father must have told you. It was going to happen eventually.”

“But it was because of me.”

Because I didn’t want to face you, or because I didn’t want to face my feelings for you?

“My mother was right to take you in.”

“Even if it hurt you?”

Uldolf walked off ahead, staring up at the orange-red leaves. A chill was already in the air, and he could feel the first bite of winter when he took a deep breath. After several moments of silence, he said, “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see this place with you, one last time.”

Uldolf lowered his gaze. He had been so wrapped up in his own discomfort that he hadn’t realized where she had been leading him. There was the pool, reflecting the blazing orange canopy. There was the mossy boulder next to the creek, and there was the oak, the claw marks dried and healing.

He stared at the wounds on the oak. The marks were permanent, but the tree itself lived on, scars covered by new bark. The canopy was as broad as ever, the leaves as vibrant, the branches just as inviting for a child who wanted to climb.

“You came here to find me, didn’t you?”

“I was so confused, Uldolf. I don’t even know if I can put it into words. The girl you found here, she was a part of myself I had locked away. For a long time I thought she had died.”

Uldolf felt the socket where his arm used to be. For the first time he thought back to Mejdân, his first parents, and he remembered clearly without the gasping panic that had plagued him for years. Instead, his thoughts were colored only by a deep sadness.

“I fell in love with you here,” she whispered.

“I—”

“I know you can never forgive me,” Lilly said. “You gave me the happiest moments of my life, and all I’ve ever given you is pain.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, please—”

She sniffed and turned to look at Uldolf. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore. I brought you this.”

In her hand she held a silver dagger by the blade, hilt toward him. He stared at it, and for a moment the only sound was the leaves rustling above them.

“Take it,” she whispered.

he held the handle of the dagger toward him, her pulse thundering in her ears. She could still see the anger in his face, the grief and loss etched there.