Forest of Lies

Chapter 15-The Art of Half-Truths

The resulting ensuing reaction from the Alpha King did not surprise me at all. Pale blue eyes turning a deep ruby red, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he let loose a single gruff order to his wolfen scout.

"Show me, now!"

The obedient scout at once shambled off into the forest, the Alpha King along with him, the green cloaked wolf, and a few other foot soldiers from behind us. We humans, the Scythe, the Hammer, and the Axe watched along with the rest of the caravan. Seeing the small group run pell mell through bushes and over mossy logs. They would no doubt scare any sane animal for miles into holes and caves. Seeking shelter from the invaders crashing through their home.

I pitied the creatures of the wood, but at this precise moment I also have a concern for my own well being, and that of my people. I kick my dark mount into a slow trot, following the path of trampled greenery and broken limbs amidst the ensuing shouts from Orlan and Ezra to come back. I give them no head. They have no idea how important this is, how I must interfere with this new discovery or we shall be at the mercy of my royal mate.

Out here, miles from the hills that keep my village safe, the trees are of pine and towering cedar. No large ancient oaks to be found, only the behemoth living wooden giants surrounded by picked over berry bushes and a fresh carpet of early fallen leaves. The faint sound of crashing water on rock flows on the warm wind coming from the south. The caravan has traveled far enough that a few more hours of marching will bring us to the edge of the Great River.

It has been over a year since I have been in this part of the wood. I haven't been able to due to the memory of that day. A day that began on a summer morning, full of life and promise. A perfect day with the wind blowing soft and cold down from the mountains. A day that ended in the death of the monster and a warrior. The second time I lost someone I loved to the beasts that have made us their slaves. No matter what we are called, no matter if we are their mates. We have no choice, no say but to do what they want.

The sour turn of my thoughts leaves a foul taste in my mouth. The sickly rotten tang forcing me to rid of it from my mouth. A glob of spit flies from my lips onto a chuck of chipped stone. A block carved into the figure of a proud eagle with its wings spread wide. Above its head, just below where the rest of the stone has crumbled away, a line of words in the old language lays inscribed into the rock. E PLURIBUS UNUM. A phrase that in the common tongue means, Out of many, one.

A meaning that I shall ponder over once we have reached the home of our ruler. The ancient peoples that lived in this land before us, before the land was overrun by the werewolves, before droughts and earthquakes killed the great populations of old. Before wars ravaged faraway continents, when the wolves once were one group against the old human kingdoms. Before they began to fight amongst themselves, fracturing their once great partnership into dozens of small kingdoms and empires throughout the lands.

Easing the gentle mare onwards, I continue following the route of crashed foliage and upturned soil that eventually leads to a large clearing of dry autumn grass, and a freshly dug hole. The several wolf soldiers, the scout, and the Alpha king kneeling next to it. Staring down at the remains of his long since deceased brother.

"You should have stayed with the caravan mate," the scowling sad eyed king bites out, glancing up at me as my mount enters the clearing on quiet plodding hooves. "It is far safer for you there than here."

"Indeed Evander," I utter, guiding the gentle stead over to him and his equally towering stallion. "I am safe in the company of your skilled warriors and armsmen, but I wish to assist you in your findings. Part of my training as a future village shaman was to learn of how dead beings have died and when. Be it poisoning, broken limbs, blade wounds, and disease. I would like to help you learn the cause of your brother's unfortunate demise and in doing so, find the culprit."

I see the wolf king's eyes flash for a moment, with uncertainty and perhaps a shadow of grief before he again clamps it down beneath a veneer hardened indifference. "And why my dear, would you want to do so?" the king questions, those ice blue orbs of his raking down my robe covered form. "I know you hold no patience nor kind thoughts for my kind."

"I have done the same thing for many persons throughout my life," I respond, carefully dismounting from the horse and greeting the leaf covered ground with my feet. "Most were to find lost hunters, some from another village whose cause death could not be found out. Though the most distasteful was having to locate the body of a man who forced himself upon a little girl. It was the only time I was happy to find human remains mauled to death by a ravenous bear."

My words it seems are enough to calm him. Without a word he holds out a hand as I approach the hole. I take the offered appendage and allow him to gently lower me down into the hole. My gaze takes across twisted white bones and remnants of once costly clothes. A cracked leather scabbard lies to the left of the contorted body of Prince Mordue. In its sheathe an iron sword lies within, the Royal Seal emblazoned on the hilt, as is the ring on the contorted ring finger of the corpse's left hand.

"Was anyone in your village aware of him being buried here?" the king questions, his gaze following me as I carefully walk around his brother's bones. "How were any of the humans who dwell in the forest and mountains not come across my brother's body?"

"This is a seldom visited area of the forest," I utter, gently kneeling down in the dry dirt, lowering my head towards the pale bones covered in dirt, crawling bugs, dead flies, and a thin covering of green and yellow moss. "No one has been here in a long time. If they do, they don't stay here. This is a place that is rumored to be haunted by angry spirits. Spirits that in life, had their homes taken, promises broken, and their people slaughtered by soldiers from another land. All who live in these parts do their best to stay clear of here. In respect and for fear of the spirits' wrath."

"I see," is all he says. After that, he orders his soldiers, except for two and the scout, to return to the caravan. I continue my perusal of the bones for another handful of minutes before making my declaration of the cause of death. "It seems my mate, that your brother was killed by a weapon made from silver. As we all can see, no blade lies here, but if it did, it would be rare to find any such metal in these woods. Whoever killed your brother, is long gone and the blade with it."

"Very well," the kings utters, lowering his hand down to me before pulling me out of the hole. "You have helped me more than you will ever know my dear queen. Now, return to the caravan and have them set up our camp for the night. I will be back as soon as the bones of my brother have been prepared to be brought home."

I nod in response, biting back the urge to slap him as he places a single burning kiss on my forehead. I slowly pull away, not once turning my back until I have mounted the dark mare and taken off back to the royal caravan. It is a blessing mother taught me the way of words. The way to twist and change the truth into a lie without it being untrue. It is a skill that once again has saved the lives of my people.

The Alpha king shall never know the full truth. Never know the slayer of his brother lies in her casket of wood and flowers beneath earth and rock. The sword she forged herself, forever to lie within her hands. A blade of the rarest silver and crushed diamond. Minerva would be proud that her vengeance will never be tarnished. Her spirit will rest easy knowing that I will never let her kill be ruined by the kin of the beast who took her from her family and people. For she loved me more than her own life, and it is my solemn vow, my duty, my honor to repay that debt until the day my last breath passes through my lips.