One Hundred Years: Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Cuts from a Thousand Razors

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115 

Helen smiled and watched the guards moving around. They were much larger than her, men all of them. The guards wore Kevlar and machine made blue cloth badges with white snow flakes in the center on their shoulders. The guards wore a plexi-glass face shield that distorted their faces. The guards were imposing and well equipped with modern gear.

They normally scared Helen, but today the guards looked scared. The guards were walking quickly and looking everywhere. A wild cat in the bushes would make half of the guards whirl around in alarm when it pounced on a bird or a squirrel. Earlier that day, one guard had fired his shotgun into the bushes on reflex when the man heard a shuffling. The noise had been made by a chickadee that had miraculously survived the buckshot.

Yesterday morning the guards had found the Trojan horse. Yesterday morning the guards had discovered that three of the prison’s five grain silos were contaminated with the gasoline from two of the prison’s four fuel storage tanks. Yesterday afternoon the guards had discovered that roughly a third of the prison camp’s convoy vehicles had their gas tanks filled with cement powder from the construction shed. Yesterday afternoon a guard had died when he opened the door to that construction shed and triggered a crossbow trap that punctured his Kevlar and collapsed his lung.

That was yesterday.

It was noon now and the workers were eating the meager potato soup that they were allotted. The guards were barely even watching them. All the Winter Wolves were watching the woods around the camp. In one day, Helen had watched her captors fall apart in the face of an enemy who had not engaged the guards in a single battle.

She had heard rumors that something had happened in the guard’s barracks last night, but the guards were not talking about any nighttime event. Helen knew better, because some of the prisoners who woke early had heard cries of alarm from the barracks near dawn.

Helen had a counted, and all the guards were present today. She wondered what had happened in the barracks.

Abruptly Helen heard a whistle and then a thunking noise and turned in time to see a single guard fall over with a war arrow through his throat. Most of the guards scrambled around the fallen man trying to administer first aid. Several guards charged into the woods in the area that the arrow must have been fired from. The woods swallowed them up.

Helen heard a second whistle and thunk, and turned her head towards the prisoners in time to see an arrow quivering in the handle of a shovel that had been shoved into the ground when her clansmen broke for lunch. The arrow had knocked the shovel over, but remained firmly stuck into the wood of the handle. This arrow could not have been fired from the same point as the first. There was more than one attacker, Helen realized. Then Helen saw that there was a cylinder attached just behind the arrowhead- and that the cylinder contained a rolled piece of paper.

Helen scrambled from here hiding place. The guards wouldn’t even go near the construction shed after one of their number died there. She ran to the prisoners as Brennan Wallace was reading the arrow’s note.

“Tell Simpson that he’s next.” Brennan read aloud. Several people made noises that ranged from surprise to admiration. Simpson was one of the more violent guards, smaller and meaner and more likely to rape the female prisoners- none of the clan liked him.

The guards were still busy with their injured comrade.

Helen’s Uncle Asher spoke up, “We should tell the guards about this.”

“They may hurt us for bearing bad news.” Brennan said.

“They will hurt us if they find out we didn’t.” Asher said.

“If we tell them, the Simpson might have a chance.”

“And if we tell them and Simpson is killed anyway, it will rattle them beyond all measure.”

“Don’t you think Simpson will try to defend himself?”

“I think he’ll try,” Asher snatched the note from Brennan’s hand and then hefted the shovel- arrow still in it. “I’m not asking your permission young man. I am telling you for your education.”

Asher turned and walked to the guards, stopping about two meters back and calling out to them. When a few looked up, Asher simply hefted the shovel and note together silently. Sergeant Aspen, a weathered man in his fifties stood up and walked over. He took both items and nodded slightly to Asher.

Aspen was a strong man with a mind that reminded somebody of a large truck with a wide turning radius. Aspen’s mind got the job done, but tended to drive over the garden and other people’s toes in order to do so. He scanned the note briefly and turned and bellowed for Simpson. Simpson approached and Helen strained to hear Aspen’s conversation level statement.

“They want you next kid. Get a buddy and get your head straight. You ain’t sharp enough alone.”

Helen could have peed herself laughing as Simpson’s knees literally shuddered. She held her amusement in as Simpson immediately looked furiously at the prisoners as though they were the cause of his problem.

Simpson was looking at Helen. He didn’t look happy. Helen shuddered. Now she was scared again.

* * *

Dolf stood quietly in the doorway of the administration building, watching the guards moving with distaste. The guards were scared- one day and they were scared. His brothers were not incompetent, although Dolf was beginning to think that his guards were. This did not make Dolf happy.



The teams had been sweeping the woods for nearly three hours, and had found nothing. Dolf had somebody else in the woods as well. Nugget was looking for tracks. None of Dolf's team or any of the guards could track like Nugget. Nugget had orders not to pursue the targets, just as the guards did. Nugget's job today was to look for patterns, hides and caches that his brothers might use. Unlike the guards, Nugget was under orders to maintain radio silence unless he needed back up- the was Nugget's standard method of operation.

"Grazhny eegra," Dolf said to himself, which meant 'dirty game' in the Nadsat slang of the novel "A Clockwork Orange."

Widow placed an arm around Dolf's shoulder. Dolf hadn't been aware that she was behind him and managed not to flinch. She didn't say anything, she simply spooned against him as he stood.

"My bratties are clever," Dolf said quietly, "They've spooked our chasso boys in less that thirty-six hours. Our six are good obviously, but the chasso babies are creeching at shadows."

Widow ran a glove clad index finger along Dolf's chin.

"If Nugget finds anything useful, You and Pillbug will join him in flushing them out. Force them into a fighting retreat towards the open camp. I want them loveted between our best and all of our chasso boys. We'll end this eegra with a britva at their throat."

Widow's hand stopped moving, "Pillbug baddiwad bolnoy"

Dolf's voice hardened, "Cheena, I don't care how sick you think he is. I don't keep you around to think. I keep you around for the old in-out-in-out, and because the way you shive people gives me a pan-handle. So don't think- just do those things that make me real happy. You pony what I'm saying?"

Widow's hand dropped away and she didn't speak.

Dolf didn't turn around as he continued speaking, "Tell you that you pony or I'll give you to Ogre."

Widow shuddered backwards.

"Pony," she said quietly.

"Dolf, We've found the guards who went after the targets." Ogre's voice crackled from Dolf's head set.

"Are the gloopy chasso babies alive or dead?"

"The guards are dead. And they are stripped clean, clothes and gear."

"The sodding sods are going to dress like us and shive us while we're blind."

"That would be obvious, but then why allow us to find the naked bodies? It makes that conclusion obvious."

"They're trying to trick us with a baddiwad eegra. Like their horse trick. Use the obvious trick as a distraction. Did Nugget find the bodies or was it the chasso?"

"The guards found the bodies."

"Charlie Cal!" It meant 'priest excrement', and was a curse of Dolf's, "Now the chasso babies will be even more spooked. Even a gloopy chasso will be able to count one and one and get two. They'll know what those missing uniforms mean."

"Agreed. Dolf I think that I should explain our suspicions about your brother's plans. It may be the only way to counter their fear."

"Ogre, If we tell the chasso that we know my bratties are bluffing us, then they won't bluff us. If we don't tell the chasso, then my bratties get another victory against chasso morale. What we need is not a lecture. What we need is one of the targets being sodded by spear in the center of camp."

"We do need them dead on a pike, but we don't have that option. Do I have your permission to give the guards our conclusions?"

"You do what you think will prod the best results from our chasso babies."

"I will Dolf."

One Hundred Years: Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts

Five years ago...
July 14th, 2115

"A horse? You aren't serious? A horse? A Trojan horse? Munin would kill you in shame. Nobody is going to fall for a Trojan horse, its too ridiculous."

Malika was staring in disbelief at Cooper. Pike was sitting quietly looking at his half-brother as Cooper stood grinning at himself.

Cooper stood silently grinning, waiting as Malika stared in disbelief and Pike sharpened his boot knife quietly. Pike always sharpened his knife when he was uncomfortable with something.

"Cooper," Malika shook her head, "If people find a big sculpture of a horse, forgetting of course that we don't have a big sculpture of a horse, but if the wolves find a big horse, they are going to cut it open, they are going to know that its us."

Cooper didn't stop grinning, "Hey, they already know we're coming. And I have a big plan, a special ghost certified plan."

Malika shook her head again, "Coop, I like the fact that Mister Poe taught you his secret medicines, and his spooky secret secret stuff- but I'm a Freeman to the core and I don't believe in voodoo and ghosts and spooks and magic and the secret oil fields of Australia. I generally trust you, but as cute as you are, you can be a total flake some times."

Cooper blushed, "Hey, I've walked inside my own brain, and I've got my own special ghost dealer top hat."

Malika shook her head.

Pike looked up and chuckled, "You look like a dog shaking itself dry Malika."

Malika faced Pike and pointed a finger and Cooper, "A hat is not enough to make a stupid crazy plan work. Your brother is going to end our streak of wins and this time one of us is going to die."

* * *

Helen sat and watched the camp work. Helen was thirteen years old. She had slipped from her bunk in the earlier morning and was hidden under the shed before the workers arrived at the site. The workers had not been at the site long, and had just finished leading the donkey carts full of earth up to the site.

Helen hated watching her clan work. The Wallace clan had been a powerful clan amongst the peoples of the Great Alliance fifteen years ago. But that was fifteen years ago, today the Wallace clan was a tenth of its original size and what remained of the clan was packed into a prison camp. Fifteen years ago the Wallace clan had been conquered by the Winter Wolves, and its warriors were executed and replaced with Winter Wolves. The peoples of the Great Alliance had suspected other tribes and clans of being puppets of the Winter Wolves, nobody had even suspect the Wallace clan. Perhaps that was the Winter Wolves' plan. Slowly, members were moved to prison camps and replaced with Winter Wolves. The Winter Wolves seemed to breed like rabbits, if rabbits approved of raping conquered peoples.

Helen Wallace watched the camp, and watched her clansmen work.

Helen knew that she should be working. She and possibly her clansmen would be punished if the Winter Wolves caught her hiding under the tool shed. But Helen could not shake the fact that as her clansmen were build earthworks and the beginning of a new fort here for the Winter Wolves, they were building the gallows that the Winter Wolves would hang them all from.

Helen was not going to build her own gallows, and she was not going to build one for her clansmen. She was young but she remembered what her great grandmother: Ella Wallace, had read to her.

"At every stage, the oppressor will give you a choice," great-grandma Ella had said, "Go along or risk being beaten and maybe killed. They will ask you to be reasonable, and at every choice the reasonable step will take you closer to your extermination. That is the choice, die now or build your own gallows."

Helen was lying on her belly under the tool shed when a shout went up from the earth works team. Helen scrambled out from under the shed and rant to the edge of the hill that would eventually form the foundation to a quickly built motte and bailey fort. The workers had just walked into the center of the work site and the workers at the center that were yelling.

Helen wriggled between adults until she reached the center of the site, and stared in astonishment.

There was a large, crudely built wooden horse in the center of the motte. The wooden horse stood about ten feet at the horse's shoulder. The horse had been built with the wood that had been left behind at the work site. The sculpture looked ridiculous with a huge belly that the light shone through and clearly contained a chamber with something inside.

Around the horse's neck hung a cardboard sign that read 'Gift'.

None of the workers wanted to get too close to the horse. One of the guards approached the horse and walked around it at a distance of about ten feet. Finally the guard pulled out his sub-machine gun and, as workers ran for cover, sprayed nearly half his clip into the belly of the horse.

Nothing moved inside the horse and there was no sound once the gun was quiet. Then Helen noticed something and pointed at the bottom of the belly.

"It's leaking grain!" She called.

And indeed the horse was leaking grain out of the openings in the bottom of its wooden belly. The guard who had shot the horse grabbed a crowbar from a pile of tools and tore two boards from the horse's belly in short order and then reached in and threw two bags of grain out onto the ground. The bags had been punctured by multiple bullet holes and were leaking grain from their bullet wounds.

Tied to both bags were cardboard signs.

The bullets had mangled one beyond legibility, but the other clearly read, "We're already inside. Your grain was tasty, but I wouldn't eat any more."

The guard read the sign and quickly turned towards the workers. After a moment he pointed at a teenage boy named Niven.

"You, boy get over here."

Niven approached cautiously. The guard grabbed a handful of the grain and thrust it into Niven's hands.

"Eat it."

Niven stared at the grain in horror. His eyes darted between the grain and the guard's machine gun. Finally he drew his hands up to his mouth and put a small amount of the grain into his mouth and tried to chew. He gagged sharply and spat the grain onto the ground.

The guard rammed the butt of his gun into Niven's nose and blood flew as Niven toppled to the ground.

"I told you to eat it boy, not spit it out."

"It's been soaked in gasoline sir."

The guard cursed and began looking around wildly as though he was expecting an attack at any moment. After a minute or so he walked over to the other guards and they began talking quietly to each other. Helen could only catch parts of what was said.

"...has to be our gasoline. They're luddites about..."

"...where did they..."

"...all food compromised, do you think?"

Helen smiled to herself and slipped away from the site while the guards were engrossed in their conversation. She snuggled back into her spot under the tool shed. Somebody was fighting the guards, and they were scared. That made Helen very happy. There were still knights alive and fighting. The Wallace clan would not die on a gallows of their own construction. Helen hoped they were handsome. But more than that, Helen hoped that they would teach her the path of the knight.

* * *

Dolf's team consisted of himself and five others. There were three boys- Nugget, Ogre, and Pillbug, and two girls- Nana and Widow.

Nugget was dumb as a post and thin. He was stronger than he looked, but still not terribly strong. Despite his lack of wit, Nugget was the group's point man. He was fast as deer and nothing escaped Nugget's eyes. He was a master of anatomy, no matter the species, and could kill with the efficiency of a surgeon- only Dolf was a better killer. Nugget kept his head shaved and wore a loin cloth as his only clothing besides sandals and a Kevlar vest.

Ogre was as big as his name suggested. He was also smart enough that Dolf used Ogre as his right hand man and second-in-command. Ogre was slow and clumsy. He knew this, and hated his massive hands. Ogre played the part well, and only the group knew how clever he was. Ogre wore a huge metal breast plate and scavenged leather plates that heightened the effect his six foot seven frame had on people. He carried a huge wooden club; it wasn't for use as a weapon, but as a tool of interrogation.

Pillbug was even smaller than Nugget. His hair was a greasy blond that Pillbug kept in a scraggly ponytail. Pillbug was a scrawny youth who could hide anywhere and who was a better shot with a hunting rifle than most of Maxwell's snipers.

Nana was the group's medic and torture expert. She would have been attractive if she wasn't missing her right eye, lost in training pits. Nana kept her hair in a strawberry blond buzz cut. She dressed in a formal looking grey military uniform that she had bought in the Victoria market.

Widow was the toughest and capable of Dolf's team, and Dolf's unofficial lover. She dyed her hair black and braided it long down her back. Widow fought with two Tokarev pistols, and fought to win. She almost never spoke and enjoyed mutilating her male victims- hence her name.

The team was clustered around Dolf's desk when the report arrived from the work site. The office had belonged to local Camp Director, but Dolf had commandeered it after a quiet conversation with the director.

Dolf was quiet during the report, and after it was done Dolf simply told the messenger to inform the director and tell him to await further orders. After the messenger left, Nugget spoke.

"I don't pony this at all, Wolfman. Why take a britva and shive our toe, then brag about it?"

"They didn't shive our toe to attack us," Nana corrected, " They shived our toe to hurt us and make us creech. This is meant to show us that they can hurt us whenever they want to hurt us."

Ogre shook his head," Not us. This is meant to show the rank and file, as well as the prisoners, that the raiders can attack at will. It is meant to break faith in the leadership and to induce an uprising." Ogre, alone amongst the group did not try to speak like the characters from "A Clockwork Orange."

Pillbug looked around, "You said you know who these lewdies are Wolfman. So who are they?"

Dolf stood up, " The banda is called the Red Snow Raiders. Two of them are my brothers. And so my droogs, we have a very grazhny eegra ahead of us- A very dirty nasty game indeed."

One Hundred Years: Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Helen and the Devil

"Munin flew above the sky and tried to catch a star.
But Jatar said she shoudn't since it was very far.
Munin asked how Jatar knew if she had never tried.
Jatar said that those who tried had failed or even died.
Munin flew out past the sky where stars were said to roam.
And she was gone so long, they thought she never would come home.
But in the end, back Munin came, though with no star to show.
But even though she had no star, the truth was cause to go."

Redwing Tribe Nursery Rhyme

"Once a man has died inside,
No force on earth can oppose him."

Jerome Clan Maxim

Five years ago...
July 14th, 2115

I was born in the prison camp on the day my mother passed away. I am told by my uncle that my father was mad with grief and even blamed me for the loss of his wife. My uncle tells me not to think ill of my father. My uncle says that most people are bound by circumstance, and only the knights can rise above their current circumstances. My uncle says that the knights step into a better future, and then bring that future back to the present for the good of the clan. And so I will become a knight, with the pistols and the boar spears and the leather breast plates, for I have lived all of my thirteen years in a prison camp. And when I bear my children, I wish them to breath the free air of the mountains while I nurse them.

My name is Helen, and my uncle says that I should seek to marry a knight. My uncle says that women do not create the future, they nourish the present like a child. The Winter Wolves have killed of the clan's knights. So unless somebody takes their mantle, my people have no future. My father was a huntsman; not a knight by any stretch, but respected amongst the survivors in this camp. My uncle is a dream speaker, the secret guides of the clan and the knights. The Winter Wolves knew of the knights and killed them in battle or , more often, executed them from afar with high powered rifles. The Winter Wolves did not know of the dream speakers. And so our source of wisdom survives.

But without the knights, my clan has lost the hands with which we act. We have our eyes, but we lack our hands. It is my goal to become the hands of my people and grip the spear that kills the wolves that hold us here.

* * *

Dolf was thirteen now and wore a devil mask. The mask was solid steel, carved and pounded to look like the shimmering blue face of Lucifer. It had long curling horns that wrapped around Dolf's ears and a leering fanged smile with breathing holes punched out of the spaces between the teeth. It attached snugly to his war helmet, but could be worn without the helm. When he wore the mask around Fort Winterheart, Dolf would often wear the mask perched upon the top of his head like a cap.

His father had named Dolf, which meant 'wolf', to make a point of Dolf's lineage. Dolf didn't care about the point his father was making, but liked the name. He also liked the obvious association, which scared people. Certain names would always be associated with savagery and power. Dolf felt that one might as well make use of that advantage. A man could succeed by being clever, by being charming, or by being powerful. Dolf's father preferred to be clever and charming. Dolf wished to be clever and powerful.

Dolf wasn't impressed or concerned by father's dreams of an empire. Dolf still wished to succeed his father as leader of the Winter Wolves. But he has learned some things from his brother Cooper. Cooper had taught Dolf failure. Cooper had also taught Dolf what it was like to be in battle. Dolf was no longer a little boy, puberty had hit and that as well as his training had turned him into a lean  densely muscled young man whose hunger was expressed him every sinew of his body.

Dolf wanted a viking funeral- to live a grand and violent life and die glorious in battle at the head of an army. He wanted to die with his brother, to prove to Cooper that things had changed. To prove to Cooper that he was the better of them. That would be enough.

He worked out every day, mostly by fighting until he could fight no more. He didn't drink or do drugs. Alex of 'A Clockwork Orange' may have done these things but Dolf had more than one mentor. He also found virtue in the words of Lycurgus: the founder of Sparta.

Dolf had his gang, three guys and two girls who would all fight and die for Dolf. They were all older than him and been floundering in the training pits when Dolf entered the pits. They would have died in the Winter Wolf Training Pits- as many children did- if not for Dolf. The five had been weak, but Dolf had seen potential.

He had seen people he could shape and mold. He had been small when he was younger, and had seen that weakness can breed strength. And so he taught them. He taught them that the battle does not go to the strong- they were not the strongest. Instead, he taught them that the battle goes to the most committed, the best prepared, and the most brutal. These five were monsters now, but they were his monsters. They needed Dolf's guidance to survive. Dolf liked their relationship that way. Dolf's Dad wanted to rule the world. Dolf just wanted to rule his own life.

His five had names before Dolf took them. Now they were his five, and he named them accordingly.

Dolf had three pastimes: fighting and reading and researching how people broke.

Dolf had a vicious knife that he called 'The Christmas Tree'. The blade had been filed into four inverted V's that hooked flesh and tore it out when the blade was pulled from a wound.

Dolf liked to perform handstand push ups as a part of his regular workout. He didn't do the push ups for any fitness benefit, but to intimidate people watching him.

Dolf was a rapist at thirteen, something in which he took pride. Dolf only enjoyed sex if it was a battle. He only assaulted women that he knew would be able to fight back- the warriors of enemy tribes were popular. He enjoyed the real danger involved. He had been stabbed during such sexual assaults no less than five times, and made no attempt to hide the scars. He had also raped all five members of his gang. Dolf was heterosexual, but he felt rape was an effective way to establish dominance.

Dolf had considered being a vegetarian. Hitler had been one after all, but Dolf had rejected the practice as unworkable given his circumstances. Eating puppies was too useful an intimidation tactic to give up, besides that he had grown to like the taste of puppy meat. It was tender.

The one chink in Dolf's perfection- as he saw it- was his concern for his mother. He should love nothing, should care for nothing but the fight. But he cared for his mother. He had told himself that he should rape her to cleanse himself of concern for her, but he couldn't. His weakness shamed him and Dolf didn't talk to his mother as a result. He could fully not become the monster he longed to be, as long as he cared for somebody as truly broken as his mother Rose. He knew her story. Dolf knew that she had been a truly promising warrior and stateswoman when Dolf's father- Maxwell- had claimed her. Dolf knew that Maxwell had broken her will slowly, painfully and completely. Dolf told himself that he should respect his father's achievement, but he couldn't. He loved his mother and hated Maxwell for the fear his father had placed in his mother's eyes. He hated Cooper as well. His mother talked about Cooper, her kidnapped eldest son, which such pride. She was actually glad to learn that the Redwing Tribe had raised Cooper. Dolf had read a great deal, and knew that it was typical for the younger son to resent the elder son for the respect parents gave to that elder son. This didn't temper Dolf's jealousy and only fed Dolf's hatred of Cooper.

Cooper was the one his mother loved. Cooper was the only foe he hadn't been able to break. Cooper was the one his father still wanted as successor. Cooper was the boy rebel who was embarrassing the Winter Wolves at every turn. Of, course Pike was there as well, but it was Cooper that Dolf hated- the so called Winter Hawk. One might as well call him Robin Hood and be done with it.

Dolf hated Cooper.

He was sitting in the square reading 'A Clockwork Orange' when his father- Maxwell- found him that day.

"Dolf, get your nose out of that book."

"Don't be a baboochka, Dad. This book is a droog. It's a trusted friend, an amigo."

Dolf spoke like the characters in the novel and saw virtue in their savagery. He sought to emulate them, but temper their savagery with the theories of Lycurgus- founder of Sparta.

"I know what that means, boy. I've read the book as well. You should be reading Xenophon or Clausewitz or Machiavelli."

"Machiavelli is real horroshow Dad, but Clausewitz is an outdated baboochka. I've read them all, and I think I pony the important stuff enough to walk the walk."

"Then 'pony' this: I need your little band of monsters to head out a re-education camp on the western border."

"That is one boring rabbit you're throwing me. Give me something with a little ultra-violent."

Dolf saw his father tense at the shoulders, ready to slap Dolf, and then relax. Dolf smiled. Maxwell had beaten Dolf senseless after Cooper and Pike had escaped. Dolf had sworn that it would never happen again. Now Dolf could see that he had succeeded. His father was afraid of him.

"Listen to me. I am sending you there, because your brothers will be there."

Dolf put down the book.

"And you're just real sammy and want to give me that present 'cause you're my droog? What's the catch? I know you ain't telling me the whole raskazz."

"The catch is that we know where they are going to be, but we don't know when. You could be waiting for months. They have deliberately allowed a map of our territory to be found. It marks five targets. This camp is one of the those targets. They have done this before, they have always hit every target the let us know about. They are mocking us."

"So why not just round up all your millicents and razz-boys and stuff these places with enough pooschkas to level the land around them. Why me, if it's so embarrassing?"

"Two reasons. First, they know that Seattle has sent out raiding parties against The Vancouver Territories and Whistler County. They know that I must defend Whistler. This requires a significant show of force, Lilith does not back down lightly. Second. I do not wish the world to see me lock down five obscure holdings with my best men when faced with my own errant children. You and yours are monsters, good effective monsters. I trust you will be able to follow your brothers after they make their raid. I do not expect you to be able to prevent the raid, just that you capture them after that."

"Why should I do that babooshka? You want like Cooper's Hawk to be king and give him all your bugatties. Bratty don't want to be your kid, don't want to be your banda- I do. Why so gloopy anxious to get him back? He ain't all boohoohoo that you're not around. Besides, they ain't got the yarbles to run this place, not like I do."

Dolf didn't even see his father flex, before the blow struck Dolf- closed fisted in the jaw- and sent the youth flying off the stone bench he had been sitting on.

"Do not confuse my tolerance of your methods, with weakness boy. You are a monster, yes. You are a good effective monster, yes. I am proud of you for these things. You are an excellent sergeant, and an excellent field leader. You are not a politician, you are not a king, you do not have the vision to lead anything larger than a war party. You will do this because I told you to. I will have all my sons with you. All of you belong to me. Then, when I have finished with my plans and my conquests, I will decide which of you will succeed me. It will not be you, or Pike, or Hawk. It will be whoever is the leader that the Winter Wolves need. Do you understand?"

Dolf stood up, picking his devil mask on the cobble stones. "I pony mister razz man. I pony real good."

* * *

Pike, Cooper and Malika sat around a makeshift table in an abandoned barn near Hundred-Mile House.

Pike was twenty-two years old now, and had filled out into a strong muscular warrior. He dressed in typical Redwing warrior attire- brigandine and pants with lace up moccasins. He had let his hair grow out since they left the comforts of the village, and now boasted a long wild mane of hair. He still kept his face clean shaven, and kept a straight razor in a case on his belt for that purpose amongst others.

"So, which one first?" Pike asked, looking at the stolen map of Winter Wolf territory laid out on the table between the three young warriors.

Malika studied the map for a long time. She was eighteen now and retained a slim lean build as she matured. Malika had let her hair grow out as well, keeping them in carefully maintained corn rows. To retain this look, she recruited Cooper's assistance. Unlike Pike, Malika was not dressed like a Redwing warrior. She had not taken the warrior test when they left and did not have the brigandine. Malika instead wore a handmade shirt of lammellar style leather scales. Beneath that she had taken to wearing a black leather kilt she had bartered for several years ago, which had become her summer wear.

Finally settling on a position, Malika pointed to a point far to the west they had circled. "The Pass, Roger's Pass. They can't reinforce it in time. We can move faster than any military unit of decent size, and I don't like the idea of charging people money to walk from one place to another."

Pike nodded, "I can work with that."

Cooper shook his head, "It's too easy. We'll get there and there won't be any challenge, nothing to feed the legend, nothing to weaken the WinterWolves ' image. We don't hit them where they are weak. it serves no purpose anymore, we've been doing that for five years. We have to start hitting them where they're strong, to prove they aren't."

Pike shrugged, "All right Sun-Tzu, where do we strike first?"

Cooper pointed to a small mark on the western edge, but much closer than all of the other markings, "We liberate the prison camp. We make a statement. They cannot hold what they have conquered. Nobody should be imprisoned by our father. We show every tribe not yet on side with Uncle Redwing, that this war can be won, and that it isn't luck the Redwing tribe is still free."

Malika shook her head, "You're cute Coop, but you better have a plan. Because we told them where we were going to hit, and that camp is the closest. It will be the best protected."

Cooper leaned forward, disturbing the large wolfhound beside him and tapped the black top hat he was wearing, causing the raven bones tucked behind the ribbon to shift a little, "I've been talking to the spirits of every Winter Wolf we've killed. You'd better believe I have a plan."

One Hundred Years: Chapter 15

Book 2

The Tale of Pike Vershevin

 

Chapter 15

Sorinesti Jones

From "Discourses by the Invisible", by Sorinesti Jones.
Published by University of New Toronto Press, copyright 2120

We are used to reading about North America from two view points. We read about North America from the books that survived the fall, written by people from North America's golden days. And we read about North America from the point of view of academics in Africa, India or the wealthier parts of Europe- but mostly Africa.

I have read nearly everything that I have been able to get my hands on. I have read many African books. The UNR (United North American Republic) publishes a large number of African titles. I think that they should publish more domestic titles. We have ghettoized ourselves. We have allowed ourselves to begin to think of North America, and ourselves by association, as the Third World, and less valuable than the other parts of the world. We should not judge the value of nations simply based on how well they survived the great collapse.

We have a great history behind us as a region. We have civilizations going back to the Iroquois Confederacy and the Mayans and the Anasazi. We housed the UN through the twentieth century and part of the twenty first. We created the first modern democracy with the Declaration of Independence. We mapped the human genome. We have much to be proud of in North America.

Yes, the region was hit hard by the collapse. Yes, we have much to rebuild- but as North Americans, we need to remember our history and use that as a foundation on which to rebuild our pride. Great cultures have slumped. Europe produced Rome and then hit the Dark Ages. Europe had the Renaissance and then declined. Europe build the European Union, and is once again rebuilding after the collapse.

The Oil Barons of the North American prairies are repressive and represent the worst traits of the Christian Religion, much in the way that many Islamic nations did in the twentieth century. But if the history of Islamic nations is any indicator, then the tyranny with which the Oil Barons are currently ruling will simply be a momentary blip.

The UNR remains a bastion of free speech and relative prosperity, even technological progress. They have extensive tidal power and wind power, they have a strong light rail. Yes, North America has the Wild Lands, the waste land of bandit strongholds in the southern USA, but it also has the UNR and the DRO (Democratic Republic of Oregon).  Even the RNT (Republic of Northern Territories) deserves a mention, as it is not nearly as repressive as the Oil Baronies, even if it does ally with them on most things.

India holds far more prestige than North America right now, because it was able to remain solvent as a nation, where Canada, the United States and Mexico could not. But India is held together with metaphorical sticks and wire. I applaud the Indian government for being able to maintain solvency. But I think that the UNR is a more prosperous nation than India right now. India receives the accolades simply because it survived in largely the same form as before the collapse.

Of course Russia is the bear in the room that nobody wants to talk about or say 'boo' to. And I think that warrants a mention. Russia is publicly applauded for surviving the collapse intact, but let us be honest- that is not a good thing. Russia has become one of the most repressive regimes in the world, but its control of the Siberian farmland and so much of the remaining oil reserves means nobody wants to be rude to them. They are arguably more tyrannical than the Oil Baronies in North America, and yet it is North America who gets lectured to in the United Nations.

China receives the brunt of Russian aggression. Supposedly unclaimed lands that are clearly Chinese, or at least allied with the reunified North China, are annexed on a regular basis by Russia. And although Russian officials insist that there is no proof, it's is an open secret that Russia constantly incites violence between Chinese nations and then sends in peace keeping forces. The area is still considered to be 'at peace' by the UN. More than half of the Great Wall of China is under Russian 'supervision' as of this writing.

I look at Russia's tyranny, and China's fight to maintain control of their resources. I look at India's bureaucratic nightmares. And I think that perhaps North America is judged overly harshly.

Yes, we have large areas that are undeveloped, and dotted with ghost towns. Yes, we have cities like Seattle that are run by warlords. Yes, we have the Oil Baronies and their affronts to science, freedom of religion and women's rights. Yes, we have the Wild Lands. But that is not our whole story. The rest of the world should not judge North America on its problems alone. The RNT has managed to actually raise the per capita income of people living in that region since the collapse. That's right. The per capita income of people living in the RNT is three times what it was during the golden age. The UNR do not have the per capita income of Africa, or even Europe or Russia. But the inflation in the UNR is almost non-existent and the they are energy self-sufficient; one of the few nations that do not rely on The African electrical network.

We have much to be proud of in North America. Our ancestors left us with a crummy hand to play. They refused to switch away from fossil fuels as oil extraction's peak hit. They clung to coal as other fossil fuels declined. They never invested in an alternative to the car. They were not prepared for the mass migrations caused by climate change. This was the hand our ancestors dealt to modern North Americans.

We can look at surviving periodicals from that time and can see that North America, alone amongst the people of that time tried to deny the problems on the horizon. Given that hand, I think all North Americans alive today can stand tall and stand proud. If life were poker, any player dealt the hand our ancestors dealt to us would be out of the game by now. but we aren't out of the game. We've lost a lot of chips, but we're still in the game, and we even win a hand now and then.

Look at who we are with an eye to history and who we almost were, who we (by all rights) should have been, and we should feel very lucky. The collapse could have destroyed North America as completely as it destroyed Australia. With our massive dependence on highways to transport products and the lack of local food supplies, we should have all starved. With our over-dependence on petrochemical fertilizers and petrochemical pesticides, we should have seen the collapse of agriculture in North America and should have starved a second time. When climate change rendered the majority of Mexican land no longer arable, and Mexicans began a desperate migration northwards, it should have meant a full scale war, instead of the local skirmishes that did occur.

By the forties, the UNR and the DRO were up and running. Europe didn't re-establish a proper rule of law until the fifties. And it was 2045 before North China had any coherence. Cuba didn't re-colonise Central America until the sixties. And it was nearly the seventies when southern China unified under the name of Free China. And even in Africa, it wasn't until 2100 that the United Nations re-opened its doors in Cairo.

There is still much rebuilding to be done on all fronts, but I think that North Americans should remember the progress we have made and the victories we have achieved, even as we remain aware of the challenges that must be addressed.

The rest of the world seeks to label us with a single definition and the safely dismiss us. We are more diverse than that, we are more varied and layered than that. There is not one North America, but many, and all North Americans can take pride in that.

Editors Note: The Editors at U of NT Press would like to take this opportunity to point out that the views expressed by Mr. Jones are his and his alone and do not reflect those of The University of New Toronto Press or the University itself.

One Hundred Years: Chapter 14

Epilogue

Book 1

 

Chapter 14

Good-byes

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

Cooper and Pike entered Redwing Village quietly around dusk. They did not enter through the main gates where the traders entered. They snuck in through the back ways, skirting the guards. Pike was a decent scout, quiet and confident, but Cooper was a shadow in the night- weightless, silent and invisible. Cooper could tell better than anyone, where a guard would be. And so the brothers entered the edge village unseen.

They had lived at the village for ten years. And as they carefully packed the things they had left, both of them hesitated a little and dawdled more than either would have done intentionally.

Malika was the one who gave them away. She and Cooper were intensely close and Malika seemed to have a supernatural ability to know where Cooper was at any given moment. Cooper was just stowing the last of his belongings while Pike was finishing a note to their family when Malika pulled back the heavy winter flap on the Vershevin earthen hut.

"I thought you guys were back. Why didn't you tell anyone?" She said with a quick look around at the room.

"Why are you packing? You just got back, you're doing it backwards you know."

Pike and Cooper froze for a moment, and looked at each other helplessly. Pike then shrugged and turned back to his note. Cooper looked back at Malika, who was developing an expression that suggested she knew something was wrong.

"What you guys doing?" She said, more seriously.

Cooper considered, then answered, "We're leaving. Really leaving. We have to. There's no other way."

Malika looked confused for a moment as she wrestled with what Cooper had said.

"Okay, that sounded really heavy epic Coop. What do mean really leaving? Like, as in, not coming back ever leaving? You aren't even a warrior yet. And why do you think you have to, what is going on?"

Her eyes fell on the now finished note, and she stepped quickly forward and grabbed it from Pike.

"To Mother and everyone," he began, "We have found out who our father is. And he has found out where we are. We have to leave or he will destroy the village. He has to know we are not there, and in fact he has to know that if he wants to catch us, he needs to divert his energy away from the village. There is no other way. Everything is on the table, and we have to change the game if we hope to have a chance. We're both sorry. We love you all and will miss you. Your sons in spirit if not in blood. Pike and Cooper."

Pike and Cooper finished putting each other's packs on. and Pike grabbed his spare machete and added it to his sheath.

Malika barred the door, "You aren't going anywhere."

Cooper spoke again, "We have to Malie. He'll look here, unless he knows we aren't here, because we're somewhere else, somewhere so far away that he can't even threaten this village to draw us out."

Malika didn't budge, "Who is 'he'? Who's your dad, and why are you suddenly so scared of him. We weren't even sure your dad was alive before you went out to hunt the old man. What's the deal?"

Pike spoke this time, "Our father rescued us from a snow storm in the mountains. Except he isn't a good person. So we need to run."

Malika still wouldn't budge.

"Who's your dad?"

Copper took a deep breath, "Our dad is Maxwell Winters. And he wants us to join him."

Malika's mouth opened and then closed. She looked from Cooper to Pike and back, clearly hoping for some sign that they were trying to trick her. When neither boy broke her silence, Malika sat down- almost collapsed- in the doorway. She looked dazed.

Cooper spoke again, "Maxwell got Aunt Lana pregnant by force and kidnapped her during a raid. When Maxwell's wife got pregnant with me, Maxwell made Aunt Lana my nursemaid. When she was able to, Aunt Lana took the two of us and ran away, back to the Redwing Tribe."

"You aren't going back to the Winter Wolves are you?" She asked quietly.

Pike shook his head, "No."

"You don't belong there. You belong here, with us." Malika said very quietly.

Pike's voice grew almost angry, "We are not going to the Winter Wolves- ever. We are going to sabotage and raid them along their eastern border. If Maxwell wants his sons, he'll have to move troops away from the village. And it wouldn't do any good to attack the village, because we'll be too far away for that to be a valid threat. We'd never get back in time. It's risky, because we can't help if he actually is that stupid. But he didn't act stupid, so it should work."

Malika nodded, and focused her eyes on the brothers, "Fine, just give me five minutes to get packed."

Pike shook his head, "We're going alone Malika."

Malika shook her head, "Not if I yell real loud you aren't. Even if you get to the trees, not even Cooper can be quiet enough to sneak away from the whole tribe with that much gear. And do you really think Elder Redwing can't track you through anything? Your only chance to get away is to get out before they start looking for you and to put heavy distance between you and them. And that won't happen if you spend time bargaining, or try to leave without me."

Malika looked right at Cooper, daring him to disagree with her. Cooper nodded and then looked at Pike, "We may as well."

Pike's face went through several frustrated contortions before finally flattening into a grimace. He nodded as well.

"Five minutes, or we take our chances with Uncle Redwing's tracking skills."

Malika nodded, turned to go, and then looked back.

"Coop?" She asked, "What happened to your neck?"

Cooper touched the exploded tangerine shaped scar on his neck, "It turns out I have two brothers."

One Hundred Years: Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Old Man

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

The old man lay underneath the overhanging bows of a cedar tree. The snow had weighed down the branches of the massive old cedar and created a sheltered snow cave at the foot of the tree.

The old man had lived on the mountain his entire life, he had been born in the depths of winter. This was years ago, when winters as cold as the current one were more common than today. As the deer grew into the old buck that humans called the old man, he learned how to survive everything, from human hunters, to wolf packs, to sudden snow storms. The old man had smelled the storm well before any other animal on the mountain and had laid down beneath the cedar tree to wait it out.

The snow had piled around the tree, growing deeper and deeper, until it reached a point where breaking out of the snow cave would require serious concerted effort for an animal as large as the old man.

The old man was only a little concerned by this. The storm was at its peak, and nothing but snow and wind were moving about in the open right now. Furthermore, the old man realized that even if a wolf stuck out in the snow had found its way under the old man's tree, it would be foolish for either of them to fight until the storm was over. A storm of this magnitude tended to override all conflicts and force cooperation or a least a truce until the weather had done as it needed to do.

The old man kept his ears down, because the storm was painfully loud. The old man could hear the occasional creaking sound and the occasional snapping sound as smaller trees gave way to the combination of snow and gale force winds. The sound of the wind overwhelmed all but the loudest of the sounds though and so the old man kept his ears down to protect them.

The old man was not sleeping, but was trying to rest, when Pike stuck his head into the snow cave under the cedar tree and stared at the old buck front of him. Cooper's head appeared in the shelter moments later. The brothers stared at the old man. Cooper counted the points on the old man's antlers in disbelief, confirming what both of them already knew. If they hadn't been transfixed by the image of the great old buck in front them, they would have stared at each other in disbelief.

They had been hunting the old man. And now, wounded and battered and almost hypothermic again, the brothers had found their quarry. And they were entirely unable to do anything about it.

The old man stared at the two humans. The old man knew that if necessary he could escape these humans by standing up on all four legs and bolting. But that would involve dumping the entire load of snow on the lower branched onto the old man and it would further mean bolting straight into the storm that these humans were fleeing and the old man himself was enduring.

The old man did not like the idea of fleeing. It might become his only option, but this close the old man could still rely on his antlers if required. Satisfied with his options for the moment, the old man snorted once at the humans and then was still. Let them decide if they were brave enough to share the shelter with one as large as the old man.

The brothers were still staring at the old man. Snow was caked to all sides of them, so much so that one would scarcely believe there were wearing fur rather than tanned leather. The parts of their faces that were exposed were cherry red from the snow and wind and cold. Both brothers were shivering, and neither had taken the time to bind their wounds in a manner that they were satisfied with in the long term.

Cooper looked back at the storm.

"The storm is eating up our tracks. I don't think Dad can track us in this. We should stop here and bind our wounds properly. This burn on my throat still hurts. I'm amazed that I can talk again." He said quietly and gently.

Pike emulated Cooper's tone when he answered his brother, "You still sound like somebody stuffed your voice in a gravel merchant's bag."

"We should stop here," Cooper said, "I think the old man is letting us."

Pike was quiet for a minute or two as the brother's huddled at the entrance, and then answered his brother by carefully crawling into the shelter. Cooper followed as soon as Pike was settled.

The old man smelled the humans as they entered, to take stock of them. They smelled of leather and dirt and grass. They smelled of blood and sweat and that distinctly human smell. They smelled of smoke and pine needles. They did not smell of oil or coal. They did smell of gunpowder, but only a little bit. They did not smell of cows or stink of rotting dairy products. They didn't smell of all the chemicals that civilized humans carried.

The old man was satisfied. Most animals differentiated between two breeds of humans now. There was the quiet human, the hunter who was harder to smell, harder to hear and seemed to move like the other animals. There was also the angry human. The angry human was loud unless absolutely still, every footfall was an earthquake. The angry human also stank of oil and smoke and chemicals and rotting meat and dairy. The angry human moved like a rabid grizzly over the land. If not for the fire stick that the angry human used, letting him kill from so far away that no other animal had a defense against it, no angry human would ever catch dinner.

These humans were quiet humans. They would not be a threat until the storm was gone.

Pike and Cooper settled in on the east side of the shelter. The old man took up all of the west side and intruded a little onto the east side. The artificial cave created by the cedar boughs was nearly packed tight as the brothers positioned themselves facing each other. The three large bodies in the space heated it rather effectively. Cooper took off his outer coat and placed it against the opening on the south side to block the wind, leaving a small opening to aid air flow.

Once he had done that, Cooper turned back and stripped off his under coat and leather shirt so that Pike could clearly see and bandage his neck wound. Pike looked the wound over carefully. He gently pressed against the discolored skin where the boy's younger brother Dolf had scalded Cooper.

"I don't think we should bandage it." Pike said, "The skin is really delicate from the burn and it will probably stick to any bandage I lay on it and tear off when the bandage is moved. I would say you just press snow against it to deal with the burn and leave it at that."

Cooper shook his head, "He threw boiling water on me, this is at least a second degree burn. We both are lucky not to be in shock from our wounds. I agree on the idea of not bandaging it. But ice will be too cold. It might accelerate shock, and either of us could still go into shock from this."

Pike nodded, "Good point, Give me a second I'll get my water skin. We can probably get away with a cold wet compress in here, the heat in here is pretty reasonable."

With that Pike began to rummage around digging out his water skin, quickly used the water to soak a soft leather rag and passed it to Cooper. Cooper tested it gingerly against the burned area of his neck.

"That feels good, I guess we'll find out if this was a good idea by the time the storm ends."

Pike nodded, "Elder Fergus never taught me what first aid to administer if one received third degree burns in a winter snow storm."

"I get the feeling that nothing we do fits easily into an elder's lessons." Cooper answered, "Let me take a look at your back."

Cooper left the compress gently on his neck as Pike swiveled in place and pulled off his two coats, his brigandine armor and leather shirt. The bullet had punched through all four layers but had done the most damage to the shirt on the bottom. The leather shirt was ripped and bloodied and hardly looked like a shirt anymore.

The bullet had just grazed Pike's back, cutting a bizarre and arrow straight line along Pike's right shoulder blade. Cooper examined the cut left by the bullet. It was a superficial wound for the most part. The wound was bleeding visibly, and Cooper quickly wet a leather rag and began cleaning his brother's back. The boys had been out in the storm for less than a half hour, but a large portion of the blood on Pike's back had either dried or frozen. As a result, the cleaning took longer than Cooper expected.

As Cooper cleaned, Pike looked at the wall of snow quietly.

"I'm sorry Coop. You're right, I should have told you about our Dad. I didn't know the whole time you know. I mean I suspected. But I blocked a lot of the memories out. It was a bad time and a bad place. When mom escaped with you and me, I can remember that. I remember the running and I remember the woods and the dark and fear. Other memories from that time are less clear, you know. It's like my brain won't let me remember it properly. Do you remember the  night after Rikki died?"

Cooper didn't answer immediately, he just kept cleaning.

"Coop do you remember the night after Rikki died?"

"I remember everything." Coop answered quietly.

"My brain almost shut down that night. It tried to forget everything so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I didn't let it. I fought it and I won. I started to remember more from before we came back to the Redwing Tribe, and I started to make sense of what I was able to remember."

Cooper finished cleaning Pike's back and the wound itself and tapped Pike on the shoulder, "Move your arm for me, I need to see if this needs stitches."

Pike nodded and moved his arm in a slow circle around the shoulder joint. Cooper nodded, "The wound is opened wide enough I think I need to stitch you up. Ready?"

"Go ahead." Pike answered.

Cooper removed a needle and thread from his belt pouch and began the process of stitching Pike's wound closed.

After a moment of silence Pike continued, " I had a pretty good idea where I thought we had run away from by then. So for my first vision quest I decided to go test my theory."

"We're supposed to sit in one of the sacred groves and meditate for our first vision quest, nothing more." Cooper said.

"I know, so I chose a sacred grove way out far from a village so that nobody would be likely to check. And then I went there, and from there I headed to Winter Wolf territory to see if my memories were right. About half way there I..."

Pike stopped and coughed. He opened his mouth and made a few sounds as though trying continue and then went quiet again. Cooper kept stitching quietly. Finally Pike began speaking again.

"I killed him, but I can't remember most of what happened. I get haunted by that hulking Vanya's face every time I take a vision quest now."

"You told father that Fyodor Vanya locked you in a metal cage and dragged you back to Winter Wolf territory." Cooper said.

Pike twitched, "I just moved the order of the events around. I didn't want him to know that I had sought the Winter Wolves out. He would have read too much into that admission. There was an iron cage. And Vanya did drag me around. He was taking me back to the Fort. I was already in Winter Wold territory though, and he never got to the fort.  That's the only thing that I changed when I told father."

"How much can you remember?"

"Maybe remember isn't the right word," Pike said, "It's more like sharing a cave with a sleeping grizzly bear. You know its there, but you don't breath loud, you don't look at it, you don't shift your weight. Because if you wake it up, you aren't getting out of that cave alive. Am I making sense?"

"Only in the abstract sense," Cooper answered, "You know me. I always need to stare at the sun. It's not in my nature, I will either triumph or I will be consumed. I know other people don't look at things like this, but it's the only way I know how to live."

"You're a warrior Coop, bold and fearless. Father was right to call you cooper hawk. The Cooper's hawk perfectly suits who you are. I don't know that I was named right. I seem to have more in common with a city rat, surviving at all costs. You have a nobility to your thoughts Cooper. I have to settle for pragmatism."

The old man had been quiet on his side of the snow cave while the brothers were speaking, even the sight and smell of Pike's blood hadn't generated any alarm in the great old buck. But in the silence that followed Pike's final statement the old man snorted sharply, shifted his head and raised both ears turning them repeatedly to catch any stray sound.

The brothers went silent and waited.

The report of a pistol echoed through the storm, far enough away that it was slightly muffled by the wind, but not far enough away to make the brothers feel safe.

"Boys! I know you're out here." Maxwell Winters yelled from somewhere down the hill, "You should come back to the school house. It will be better that way. Because if you don't come back with me and take your place amongst the Winter Wolves, I am going to marshal all my allies amongst the civilized peoples and we are going to march that gun wielding, truck driving army up to the Redwing village. And we will burn every hut and kill every wannabe Indian there until I find the two of you. I'm only making the offer here. If you don't come back now, everything that I do to those crows you pretend are your family will be your fault not mine."

The old man turned his great head towards the brothers and locked eyes with them as the brothers stared at the coat covering the opening that lead out of the shelter. There was something in the old buck's eyes that conveyed a message. The old man did not understand human language, but he could read the meaning in the gunshot and the tone of voice. The old man could read the situation in the sudden posture change of the two humans sharing his shelter. And the brothers could read the old man's answer in the tilt of his great head and the cold certainty of the buck's gaze.

Do not go out into the storm. This is a hunter calling for his prey. Do not go out. You cannot win.

Pike swiveled back face Cooper. Cooper's needle still dangled from the unfinished stitching on Pike's back. Pike quickly signed to Cooper.

He'll do it anyways. He hates Uncle Redwing. It's a family vendetta older than us.

Cooper signed back.

But he'll use it as an excuse. It will be our fault. We can't hold back the full weight of any city state's army. How can we hope to survive multiple city armies? They will scour the land and find the home village and we will all die. 

"What will it be boys? Protect your homeland or sacrifice it out of pride? Which would a Redwing do?" Maxwell called and then laughed loudly enough that the boys could catch bits of the laughter even through the storm.

Pike sharpened his gaze.

I am not going back there again. I am not going back to his hell. We will find another way.

Cooper looked at his brother.

What other way is there?

Pike shook his head.

We will find one. I am not letting either of us go back there. You don't remember. I remember. We are not going back!

One Hundred Years: Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Family Secrets and Family Lies

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

Cooper Redwing was in pain. He could feel the skin on his neck bubbling as the boiling water scalded him. He tried not to touch his neck. ignoring the pain as best he could, Cooper focused on his younger brother- Dolf- who trying to kill Cooper.

This would not normally be a problem. Dolf was younger than Cooper- who was ten- and Dolf was also very small. Normally Cooper would have heavily outmatched Dolf and easily overpowered the younger boy.

That was before Dolf had thrown boiling water at Cooper's face and managed to scald Cooper's neck. Dolf had used this as a distraction to jump at Cooper and bury a knife Cooper's hip. The knife had turned against Cooper's hip bone and hadn't done a lot of damage, but Cooper could feel the wound bleeding, and bleeding rather freely. Dolf hadn't hit an artery, but the younger boy had managed to strike a vein. Cooper was losing blood and needed to wrap the wound before it became a problem.

The real problem was that in order to deal with the wound on his hip, Cooper had to ignore the burn on his neck and deal with his brother. Dolf was crouched on top of Cooper with the knife raised above Cooper's throat. Cooper had both of his hands wrapped around his brother's hands, holding the younger boy back. This wouldn't have been difficult normally, but Cooper was also trying to deal with the multiple sources of pain Dolf had already given Cooper.

"Just die. It will be much easier than fighting me." Dolf said, trying to muscle the knife down to Cooper's throat.

Cooper tried to respond but only managed to produce a growl from his injured throat.

"You don't want it. Pike doesn't want it. I'm the one true son of the Winters clan. You aren't necessary."

Cooper focused on his younger brother, trying to banish the pain at his throat and hip and twisted, pulling with his arms and dragging his brother to the ground with him. Cooper sat on top of the younger boy.

"The Winters clan." Cooper rasped, "Isn't. Necessary. They are. A pox. Less than necessary. Won't die for you. Or any Winter Wolf."

"Greatness is our destiny. The destiny of the strong. This land is ours, will be ours in time."

"Belongs to nobody. It owns itself. Can't own land."

"Listen to you. You understand nothing. You can barely speak after my attack. The strong determine what the weak are allowed to do. And I have taken away your speech."

Cooper yanked his hands upwards, dragging the knife and Dolf's hands up above the younger boy's head.

"And. I take. Away. Your smug. Grin."

Cooper drove his forehead down into Dolf's nose. There was a crunching sound as the nose crumpled against Cooper's forehead. Dolf screamed and  Cooper raised his head again, driving it down into Dolf's jaw. Cooper could feel Dolf's teeth cutting the skin on his forehead, but he could also feel his brother's grip slackening. Cooper raised his head and struck again, and again until Dolf was unconscious.

"Teach you. To mess. With a bigger. Monster." Cooper said to the unconscious Dolf.

Cooper knelt by his pack and quickly removed bandages and a compress for the wound on his hip. He stripped off his leather pants and bound the wound after stemming the bleeding. The blood had stained his left leg quite extensively and Cooper was concerned about the effects of blood loss. Still, he could see nothing to do at this point but carry on.

Cooper stood up cautiously. The wound on his hip wasn't preventing him from standing. He applied a burn salve to the delicate raised skin on his neck. The salve helped to soothe the pain and clear Cooper's head. He was carefully hefting his pack and getting his gear strapped on when Pike barreled into the room.

"What happened to your neck? And you leg? Can you walk? We need to go. Dad's isn't dead and he's mad. I stabbed him in the leg. So he's slowed down a lot, but he's still behind me. He's slower now, but he's coming so we have to go. How's your leg. Is that Dolf? what did you do to his nose? Is your neck okay? Can you run?"

"Can run. Can't talk. So well. Grab pack. We go."

Pike looked shocked at Cooper's voice, then took a second to look at the burn on his neck. He nodded, "That should heal, we'll look at it later."

"Where. Do we go? Storm still. Strong."

"Into the storm. We were taught how to survive in a snow storm."

"Never. Had to use. That training. Before. Only this cold. In the mountains. First time we've seen snow."

"So it's good practice. It's better than staying in here with 'Dad' and his big gun."

Cooper nodded. Then he noticed the cup of hot chocolate that Dolf had been drinking. Dolf had set it down carefully to the side before attacking Cooper. Cooper reached down and picked up the cup. He carefully sipped the drink, smiled, and then slowly drank two thirds of the hot chocolate.

"That. Helped." Cooper said, and handed the cup to Pike who downed the last of the hot chocolate.

"You took most of the chocolate." Pike said with a smile.

"You lied. About our father. I know that the adults. Weren't telling me. Everything. You're my brother. I thought I could. Trust you." Cooper said, carefully parceling his breathing out.

"Do we have to do this now? Here? Time isn't exactly on our side right now. Little brother is busted up and Dad is coming. I think Dolf's broken nose will piss him off even more. Do you really want to do this right now?"

"I need to trust. My brother. Before I go into. The storm with him."

Pike was quiet for a moment.

"When was I supposed to tell you? When you were a baby? When you were five? In the beginning you weren't old enough to understand. And when you were old enough to understand, you would wonder why I hadn't told you. I wanted to tell you when you hit thirteen and took the test."

"Why?"

"At least then I could claim that I had waited for a particular event. You know 'Hey Coop, now that you're a man I need to tell you something.' Like that."

"I thought that my. Our parents were dead. You knew. You knew for ten years. Any time would have been better. Than learning it from our worst enemy. Our worst enemy. Our Father. You knew we were monsters."

"No, stop. I knew our father was a monster. Your mom is a nice person that our dad holds hostage, my mom got raped. He's a monster. We aren't monsters unless we choose to be."

"Dolf is a monster. You don't know. If we have the option. To choose."

"Dolf is a kid who only knows what his father shows him. We have other people who raised us."

"What else. Haven't you told me?"

"I didn't tell you about that Winter Wolf who branded my hands. But I never hid the brands from you, and you never asked."

"No I didn't. I thought you would. Tell me."

"Okay, I didn't tell you. What was I supposed to do?"

"Tell me. I told you everything. I told you my colors. My synesthesia. I didn't tell. Any adults about that. Except Mister Poe. And he knew somehow. Besides. I told you. First."

Pike looked down at the fire, and back at the unconscious Dolf. Pike cocked his head and listened for their father.

"Fine. I should have told you. Can we go now? Please."

"We can go. We aren't finished though."