Hedoen: A Wolf's Tale: Agent Wolf

By David Green

"This boy has a terrible destiny. I have witnessed it. He will see the end of the Vukodlak."

Two boys, brothers. Twins. Different in many ways, but with a bond which can never be broken.

Separated by Fate, only one of them can become Alpha and lead his people against the most dangerous threat they have ever faced.

A tale of love and loss, conflict and betrayal as the Vukodlak struggle for their survival.

 

Hedoen: A Wolf's Tale.

The eagerly anticipated prequel to Agent Wolf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Green
• Release date: Oct 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393125815

David Green

David Green was born in Lincolnshire and grew up reading pulp science fiction and watching Hammer horror films. He worked for the Yorkshire Ambulance Service for over thirty years and now lives in South Yorkshire with his wife and two dogs.  His literary heroes include Isaac Asimov, J.R.R. Tolkien, Jim Butcher, Charlaine Harris and, of course, Terry Pratchett. His favourite films include Blade Runner, The Rocky Horror Picture Show and An American Werewolf in London. You can connect with him on:   http://www.greenhouse.me.uk  https://www.facebook.com/jackal.man.963  

Book preview

Prologue

The boy crouched in the darkness of the cave. Dry bones crunched beneath his feet.

The wolves encircled him. Between him and the exit stood the Alpha. Its breath misted in the cold air. Saliva moistened its fangs. He could smell its breath.

It took a slow step towards him, and he knew it was about to bite. Soon it would all be over.

Chapter 1

The twins were born in summer.

The name of the month was an irrelevance in their culture, but the birth came just after the seventh moon.

The year was, likewise, not a matter of note but the news had recently reached the camp that the members of their nomadic group had just become subjects of the newly established Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Isolated and self-sufficient, they cared little for the affairs of the outside world.

Side by side, the boys did not resemble one another in the slightest. The elder was heavier, by several pounds and boasted a thick mop of blonde hair which extended down his back. His fingernails were almost ready for trimming at birth.

His sibling, by contrast, was slimmer and pale of skin with wisps of black hair thinly spread across his scalp.

Their mother loved them both equally, but as their father proudly displayed them to the rest of the tribe, he smiled with satisfaction that his firstborn was the more robust of the two.

Andrija. His mother softly spoke the name of her elder son as she stroked his golden mane. He squirmed and gurgled slightly before settling back to sleep.

Pulling the rough blanket up under his chin, she turned her attention to her other child. Lifting him from the basket he shared with his brother, she pulled down the front of her dress and tried, once more, to persuade him to feed.

As he scowled, coughed and spluttered, desperation welled up inside her.

She caressed his forehead, brushing the few dark strands of hair to one side, and whispered in his ear, pleading with him to take sustenance.

Be a good boy, Nikola. You need to drink, or you won’t grow up to be strong like your brother. Can’t you be more like your brother?

She had no idea how he would learn to hate that question as he grew older.

More tired than she could have imagined possible, she wished she were in her own tent with her husband. Instead, according to custom, she must spend forty days isolated from the tribe.

For company, she had only the other women who had recently given birth, the midwife, and a wetnurse.

It was to the latter that she turned, tears of frustration coursing down her cheeks at her inability to feed her infant.

Don’t fret, Irena, the girl reassured her some babies just take longer than others to learn how to feed. Here let me take him, while you get some rest. The other feeds enough for the both of them.

She handed over the protesting child with a mixture of reluctance and relief. She felt guilty, both for her failure to suckle her weaker son and for the ease with which she had been persuaded to surrender the task to someone else.

Rearranging her dress, she settled down beside the babies’ basket, tucked in under the angle where the sloping canvas sheet attached to the wagon met the dry earth below.

She pulled a fur up around her shoulders and, ignoring the hot tears on her cheeks, closed her eyes to sleep.

––––––––

When she awoke, it was still dark. She listened intently. She could hear the sounds of the night insects and, far away, the call of an owl.

But there was another noise she couldn’t identify. It was a whistle, like air being forced through a straw, or a flute with no reed. It came and went regularly, like someone breathing, but infinitely softer.

Panic gripped, her. Reaching into the basket, she lifted out her smaller son and put her face to his. His skin was cold, and his breath came in long slow struggling wheezes.

Radmila! she screamed Help me. Help him.

The midwife was at her side in a moment, carrying a candle.

By the flickering light, they could see the child’s face was almost blue.

His ribs sucked in, as he struggled to draw air into his body.

Radmila took the infant from his mother and placed him, face down across her lap.

Gently, but firmly, she began to pat the limp child in the middle of his back.

His mother stood, horrified, with one hand over her mouth, eyes wide with fear.

Radmila turned the tiny body on its side and inserted the little finger of her left hand into the baby’s mouth as if feeling for something.

Shaking her head and muttering to herself, she returned the lifeless form to the face-down position and began to pat again.

Irena began to shake her head No. Nonononono. She fell to her knees and put both hands over her eyes.

By this time, the other occupants of the tent were awake, crowding around to watch the spectacle as it unfolded. Two of the girls put their hands on Irena’s shoulders, offering support.

A baby began to cry, and Irena looked up, desperately hoping that it was hers. But in vain.

The wetnurse comforted the crying child, taking it out into the night, glancing over her shoulder at the midwife’s frantic efforts to save the struggling infant. She shook her head, sadly, as she ducked under the tent flap.

Radmila stopped her patting.

She lowered her head as if straining to hear the baby’s breathing.

Irena could hear nothing. She held her own breath, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Nothing.

Radmila looked up at her. She opened her mouth to speak, then stopped, lost for words. Her eyes dropped to the still form in her lap, then lifted slowly to the face of its distraught mother.

Irena... she started to say, then stopped.

The tiny body twitched.

The head lifted, and the baby arched its back.

Then, with a cough, he filled Radmila’s lap with sour-smelling vomit.

He began to cry.

The sound was pure and loud and joyous.

Radmila held the baby at arm’s length, looked at the pool of puke on her dress and laughed, tears streaming down her face.

Irena rushed forward to retrieve her son from his saviour’s grasp.

Nikola. My baby. Oh, thank you. Thank you, Radmila.

She held her son tight to her breast, oblivious to the smell, and swore to herself that she would never let him go again.

Chapter 2

The remainder of Irena’s confinement passed without incident.

Nikola still fed poorly, compared to his elder brother, who was thriving.

Irena would wake in the night, listening for his soft breathing before drifting back to sleep. She felt guilty that she spent the majority of her time fretting about her weaker son but could not erase the image of his lifeless face from her dreams.

The sun rose on the forty-first day, and she gathered up her bundle of clothes, placing it outside the flap for collection later.

Her sister, Jelena, had come to escort her to the river. Lifting Nikola in his sling, Irena smiled at her as she hefted the weightier bundle containing Andrija.

Andro, Jelena cooed such a greedy boy. and beamed at her sister.

Side by side, they walked down to the river bank where the elder, Morana, had gathered the rest of the community to witness the purification.

Irena prayed the water would not be too cold. She had not been outside for over a month and was feeling the morning breeze.

She scanned the waiting crowd for her husband’s face. There he was at the front, with his brother, his face glowing with expectation. He waved, and she returned his smile.

As they grew closer to the crowd, Morana raised her staff and called the group to silence. She brushed aside a wisp of thinning grey hair which hung in front of her deep-set raven eyes and regarded Irena sternly.

She relieved Jelena of her burden, her thin arm supporting it as if it weighed nothing. Lifting the babe from his wrappings, she walked slowly into the water, testing her footing at each step, then turned and indicated that Irena should follow.

Irena cradled Nikola, dropping his sling beside that of his brother, and followed the old woman.

Her dress billowed in the water, and she gasped as the ripples rose past her knees.

Morana turned, her face serious.

How do you name this child? her voice echoed across the water to the ears of the onlookers.

Andrija. Andrija Volkov, Irena replied, swallowing as she tried to force her dry throat to match the volume of the older woman.

Morana leant forward, dipping the tip of the baby’s head in the slow-flowing water.

His hair spread across the surface like a golden wave.

As she brought him upright, he blinked at the cold water running down his face and began to cry.

Andrija Volkov, she intoned cleansed by the river which gives us life, we welcome the child you are and hope for the man you will become. One of us. She raised her voice and faced the crowd We are Vukodlak.

We are Vukodlak! they roared in reply, raising fists into the air and cheering.

Morana offered Andrija back to his mother in exchange for his smaller sibling.

She paused for a moment, scrutinising the baby’s pale face and dark eyes, before repeating the ritual with Nikola.

He did not cry when dipped in the water and, once upright, just gazed into the face of the old woman.

As the second round of cheering subsided, Morana beckoned Jelena to take both children, quickly handing over the black-haired child.

She signalled Irena to come and stand before her, facing the bank.

Irena Volkov. You have done your duty. Thanks to you, the Vukodlak will endure. Then, quietly Hold your breath, girl.

Almost before Irena had time to react, the bony hand of the elder gripped the back of her head and forced her face-first into the water and held her there.

She was beginning to panic but forced herself not to struggle. She was aware of Morana’s voice, above the water, but could not make out the words. The blood pounded in her ears as she prayed silently that the crazy old witch didn’t drown her by accident. Finally, she could hold her breath no longer and exhaled, bubbles roaring past her ears as they rushed to join the air above.

At that point, the pressure on her head ceased. Coughing and gasping, she broke the surface only half aware of the cheering from the shore. Her husband splashed through the water towards her, spreading a blanket in which to envelope her.

She submitted gladly as he swept her off her feet, bundled her up and carried her to the bank, kissing her forehead with each step.

I missed you, Ena. he laughed.

And I you, Petar.

Stopping before the crowd, he took both children from Jelena and handed Nikola to Irena. He hefted Andrija at arms’ length and grinned

This one has grown like a baby bear. holding him aloft he shouted My Son and Heir. Andrija Volkov

Andrija, Andrija. was the chanted response.

Irena peeled back her blanket and tucked Nikola within, close to her body.

Petar’s brother Goran detached himself from the exuberant crowd, followed by his daughter. He pointed to the blonde child in Petar’s arms.

See, Tanja. Your future husband.

The girl looked unimpressed.

I want to see the other.

The runt? Why?

He shrugged his shoulders and strode forward to embrace his brother and examine his new nephew and future son-in-law.

Irena crouched as her niece approached. She was a petite child of some four or five years of age. Her hair was blonde, like Andrija but with a subtle hint of red which flashed like a flame when the sun caught it from a certain angle. She pointed to the bulge under Irena’s blanket.

May I see him?

She was the only person who had shown any interest in Nikola. Touched, Irena turned down the corner of the blanket to reveal his pale face. His hair had begun to thicken and grow longer and matched his dark eyes which now gazed up at his cousin.

He’s beautiful Tanja whispered, and reached out to touch him. A white hand, so much smaller than her own, emerged from within the blanket, and she offered a finger. Gripped by his diminutive hand, she turned her eyes back to his face where his own dark pupils regarded her, unblinking. She stood, transfixed.

I don’t want to marry Andrija she declared I want to marry Nikola.

The pale hand released its hold, and she turned and ran back to her father.

Chapter 3

Irena’s homecoming was not without its difficulties. Never a patient man, Petar had spent forty days pleasing himself and the reintroduction of his wife, along with two babies, into his self-indulgent routine strained his composure.

They argued frequently.

She woke him in the morning to fetch water.

Why do we need more water? he groaned.

"I have to wash the babies and their clothes. You didn’t fetch any last night.

I was hunting with Goran and the other men.

I know. You came back just before sunrise and woke Nikola. It took me forever to settle him.

And that’s why I’m still tired. Why won’t he sleep like his brother?

She looked across at the baskets. Andrija was still snoring. So long as his belly was filled regularly, he was content. Nikola was awake but motionless, watching the conflict between his parents.

Petar lifted the edge of the canvas and looked out. There had been a hard frost. Winter would soon be upon them. He grabbed at his furs.

I don’t see why you can’t go. You’re the one who needs the water.

Fine. So you’ll feed and change the babies?

I’m going. I just hope the water will rinse away the stink of sour milk and shit I wake up to every morning.

He did not drop the flap as he left and a chill draught reminded Irena that she would have to light a fire to heat the water on his return. 

Chapter 4

The depths of winter were bleak times.

Irena struggled to find fruit and vegetables to feed the now-weaned boys.

Petar complained about the smell of the soup she kept bubbling over the fire.

It stinks. It’s not fit food for Vukodlak.

Some meat wouldn’t go amiss.

You’re not ruining good meat by doing that to it. They’ll have meat when they can catch it and kill it themselves.

So she carried on boiling the meagre supply of vegetables. The boys now had teeth, Andrija more than Nikola but still not enough to eat raw food. Not that there was much of anything substantial in the broth, but it sustained them. Nikola was almost half the size of his elder brother, but at least he was growing.

Chapter 5

Winter over, spring came early, and Irena was able to bring the boys outside on the warmer days.

Tanja would leave the other children playing and come over to watch her cousins. Andrija had just learned to crawl and required constant supervision.

Irena was glad of an extra pair of eyes as she turned her attention to changing Nikola. Once cleaned up, she sat him at the centre of the blanket she had spread on the ground. She waved a wooden rattle in front of him then dropped it a couple of feet away, just out of his reach. She waited, to see if he would attempt to crawl after it.

The rattle was one of the few toys he had. His father had carved it, along with a wooden animal that looked like a cross between a horse and a dog. He looked at the rattle and raised a hand in its direction. He waved his hand as if the rattle might come to him, but it stayed where it was. As did he.

He turned and looked at his mother. There was no anger or frustration in his face, just a mildly quizzical expression.

He looked back at the rattle, raised his arm again and opened and closed his fist.

The rattle did not respond.

His mother encouraged him.

Go on, Nicksa. Get the rattle. Good boy. Crawl for Mama.

Looking back at his mother, he blinked his enormous brown eyes and repeated the word Mama.

She gasped.

Oh, my clever boy. Tanja, did you hear? Say it again, Nikola.

Mama.

Tanja laughed in delight before turning her attention back to Andrija, who was sprinting on his hands and knees towards the river.

Chapter 6

The stink of horse excrement assailed his nostrils as Nikola struggled to move. Small, even for a four-year-old, his arms remained pinned to the ground by the boy, three years his senior, sitting on his chest.

A handful of dung hovered just above his face as his assailant looked to the jeering crowd of onlookers for encouragement. Mostly older, they clapped their hands in time with their chant.

Horse..shit.Horse..shit.

Nikola closed his eyes and held his breath as the still-warm droppings moved inexorably closer. Something moist touched the end of his nose then it was gone, the weight lifted from his chest in the same moment.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to one side to see his tormentor face down in the mud, another smaller boy on his back, fist knotted in his unkempt hair as if he were riding a wild horse.

While the crowd of children laughed and clapped, his rescuer was shouting at the bully, punctuating his words by plunging his face into a puddle of horse piss.

Don’t. Pick. On. My. Brother.

With the final word, Andrija jumped from the bigger boy’s back, kicking him deftly in the crotch before leaving him rolling in the mud and striding over to his brother. He held out a hand and pulled Nikola to his feet. Standing beside him, he towered over him by almost a foot. He turned to the gang of onlookers, Nikola hidden from their view behind his broad frame, and glared, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He growled like an animal, ready to take on all comers.

Before anyone could respond, a large hand grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him off the ground. It spun him around, and he found himself face to face with his uncle Goran. A broad grin spread across the man’s face.

What do we have here? he laughed, glancing down at his daughter Tanja who stood by his side.

It looks like a Vukodlak, only smaller.

Andrija flailed in his grip, arms and legs punching and kicking as he fought to free himself.

Goran pulled him closer, into a bear hug, his face becoming stern.

You want to fight me, cub? You want my position?

He looked down at Tanja again.

You want my daughter?

His smile returned, and he planted a kiss on the forehead of the struggling child.

Come back in a few years, when you have grown some more.

With a laugh, he unceremoniously dumped the boy on his backside, turned and strode off.

Nikola’s attention was not on his uncle, or his brother, but on his cousin.

Taller than both he and his twin, her hair had darkened as she grew, the blonde giving way to the red which she had hinted at as an infant. Her green eyes returned his stare, and she smiled. He studied her for a moment longer, his dark eyes unblinking, until her father noticed the interchange and took her wrist, pulling her around to walk beside him, in the opposite direction.

Nikola watched them go, ignoring his uncle’s warning backward glance, then ran to his brother.

Chapter 7

Through closed eyelids, Nikola sensed the passage from light into shade and back again as the cart jolted along the rough track.

As the days lengthened, the sun was beginning to regain some of its warmth, and the ground had dried out enough to allow easy passage to the nearest town.

Up front, Andrija sat beside his father, chatting. Nikola was content to lie on a piece of sacking in the bed of the cart, inhaling the scents of the forest, still damp deep between the trees.

It was their first trip beyond the confines of the encampment. Their father had warned them to stay close, to keep their eyes open and their mouths closed.

We have little need of anything from the ‘autsajders’ he had growled, but your mother says she wants some cloth, and the horses’ bridles are in need of some repair.

Nikola had watched as his father and Andrija had loaded the grinding wheel into the back of the cart. Sharpening knives and shears would earn enough to cover their purchases.

He noted, in a matter-of-fact way, that his brother, now nine, was almost as tall as his father. He didn’t begrudge his brother his height or his developing muscles. Nor was he envious of his closeness to their father. He always felt more comfortable in the calmer, relaxed presence of his mother.

With a command, his father brought the horse to a halt. The cart tipped backwards slightly.

A horse whinnied. Too far away to be his father’s. Nikola heard voices. He opened his eyes and sat up, adjusting his position to see between his father and his brother.

Ahead of them, blocking the track, was another cart. Two men sat on the front bench and one in the back.

The two at the front wore embroidered black waistcoats over longsleeved white shirts, tied at the cuff. Dust covered their voluminous black trousers, and the man holding the reins wore a flat round cap, red on top and bordered with black. Matching droopy moustaches gave them the appearance of brothers except that one’s chin was recently shaven.

Both were taller than his father and heavyset.

He could see little of the man in the back apart from his fur cap which matched a fur waistcoat over which he wore a diagonal belt with pockets. Nikola was particularly struck by the man’s weight. Among the Vukodlak, he had never seen an obese person.

Well met, Marko. called his father.

I’ve met better. came the response from the cart driver You’re in our way, Petar Volkov.

His father smiled.

The path is wider, six feet behind you, Marko. If you back up a little, we’ll soon be out of your way.

The driver of the other cart looked to his companions, the tassel on the back of his cap catching the wind as he turned. What do we think, boys?

The man in the back scratched his head before replying.

I don’t much like the idea of yielding to Vukodlak scum. His companions laughed in agreement.

No need for insults, Marko, Petar said, coolly. I’ve known your family for many years. I was a friend of your father.

And my grandfather too. Replied the other, scowling How can that be?

Nikola was puzzled. The man in the other cart looked older than his father. He didn’t understand the exchange.

There’s something not right about your family, Continued Marko.Or your whole stinking tribe, for that matter.

The man in the back made a gesture, as if to fend off something evil, then spat into the bushes.

"Now back up, like a