Ander - Part 6: Subchapter 44
44
Dorin felt like a huge weight was slowly melting off his shoulders. He was never one for fancy speeches, but... he thought that one went okay. Maybe a bit long, especially after he said there wouldn't be any more speeches, but... okay.
The choice is theirs now. I've done my part. And if they refuse, well... there is still the second path.
Dorin massaged his aching, burning wrist, feeling the warm metal slide beneath the wrappings.
But please... don't let it come down to the third path. I don't know if I can do something like that again...
Dorin didn't even want to look up, he was so scared. He was terrified of what he might see. Pity, anger, hatred? Maybe the worst of all would be indifference. So he looked down at his knees instead, down at the puddle of Lana's blood, growing and shrinking, shifting in and out of existence, flickering between blackish red gore and pure white snow, and he listened.
At first there was nothing, not even soft whispers or mutterings. Everyone was completely still. Then he began to notice the other sounds; the breeze sighing through the teeth of the wall, rattling the skulls against the gates. The fearful chirping of winter birds, unseen, hiding from the coming storm. He could hear his own ragged breathing and his heart pounding in his chest, making his wrist ache and throb to the tune. And then...
It came from the right, a steady crunching rhythm known to everyone in the village, from youngest pup to senile elder. It was the sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the snow, coming closer and closer.
"Look at me, Dorin."
Dorin smiled. "Not calling me 'Sai' anymore?"
"I said look at me!"
Feeling a heavy ball of dread settle in his stomach, Dorin did as was asked of him. He raised his head and was not at all surprised to see Thoka standing before him, seething, his fangs bared, his hands curled into fists. Truthfully, he would have been happier facing Wardo. At least that was a Wolf he didn't feel any responsibility towards.
"Yes, Tho-"
"Shut up!" He screamed it so loud that the tendons in his neck stood out like ropes of twisted rawhide. "You don't deserve to be called 'Sai' and you don't deserve to be head of the warriors either! You don't deserve to be a warrior at all!"
Dorin had seen Thoka this angry only once before, and that was when they both had their hands tied, waiting for death but receiving mercy instead. He had to believe that there must be hope for all Wolves, but it was all too clear that the truth could have very different effects depending on who it touched. Thoka's view of the entire world (and by extension, himself) had been challenged, and this was the only way he could think of to cope with it.
"It's just as the Chieftain said!" Thoka screamed, perhaps trying to convince himself just as much as everyone else. "You're sick! You caught something from Nilia and the others and it wormed its way into your head! But I won't become like you, you hear me!? I'm strong! Stronger than you! I won't fall to this... this weakness! This disease! This thing that's making you act so crazy and different! I defy it, you hear!? I defy it outright! I won't let it touch me! I won't let it affect me at all! I refuse it! I reject it, and I reject you, Dorin! I am a warrior, but I am no longer your warrior. I am my own warrior, and I am the Chieftain's warrior, and I am the Cora's warrior, but not yours! You hear me!? I said, do you hear -"
"I hear you, Thoka."
Thoka was breathing hard and fast, twin spouts of steam issuing form his nostrils with every exhale. He looked like a small child trying his very best not to burst into tears in front of his friends.
He's afraid, but he doesn't understand what he's afraid of. He wants to fight back somehow, but he doesn't know where to point his fists. He's just lashing out blindly, trying to make everything go back to the way it was.
Too late for that, Thoka. There's no going ba -
Thoka hawked back a rope of phlegm, making a disgusting guttural sound from deep inside his throat, and spat in Dorin's face. It struck his forehead, thick and slimy and warm, but the winter air quickly reduced it to a freezing spot of wetness slowly running down his face.
"I reject it!" Thoka said one final time and marched back into the crowd, garnering a rather mixed response. Some Wolves gave him a hardy clap on the back and muttered encouragement, while others avoided him like the plague, giving him just as much berth as they ordinarily would have reserved only for Shekka. Others still seemed incredibly confused, scratching and shaking their heads, frowning at each other in bewilderment.
Most of them, though... most of them still had that look of angry determination in their eyes.
Dorin reached up to wipe the spit from his face, and when he did, he saw that his hand was red and dripping. The pool of blood was back in full force, seeping through his clothes and into his fur, dripping from his fingers in thick, runny lines. He could even smell her all around him. He could taste her scent.
I already told you, Dorin. They're all animals. There is nothing you can do to change that.
Looking through the bars of his bloodstreaked fingers, he saw them all staring back at him. He saw the looks on their faces.
It was a look that said, quite clearly...
I am hungry.
Torjo stepped forward and spat in Dorin's hair. That was all it took to trigger the rest. They came in droves, jostling each other to reach the front like a swarm of angry bees, spitting and cursing. Dorin felt their hatred striking his body in rapid succession, blobs of wet warmth quickly freezing solid against his fur, and he wasn't the only one. Denko and Ivio were doing a good job not showing any reaction, but Aisa was a different story. She bent down and covered her face, trying to shield herself from their filthy barrage, but that only made them target her even more. They stood over her, spitting onto her back, into her hair, on her ears, everywhere.
"Leave her alone!" Dorin yelled, but it was no use. They completely ignored him and just kept spitting. One cretin was even so bold as to step forward and rub his sputum directly into her hair, all while she hunkered down with her arms over her face, cowering like a tortoise in its shell.
And Wardo... he was watching on with the biggest smile on his face, perfectly content.
"I know my people better than you do, Dorin," he said. "I still can't believe you thought this would actually work. Did you learn nothing from Ander's trial?"
Dorin glanced at the gates. They were shut, and that's the way they would stay. No one was coming to help him, but neither would he let his people march through them.
One way or another, he would make sure of it.
"I did learn from Ander's trial, Wardo. Much more than you did." He scooped a great handful of snow from the ground. To everyone else, it was simply a clump of frozen ice crystals and a bit of dirt, but to him it was a red, soggy mass of blood and gore, laced with shreds of dead meat. He could feel something soft yet solid pressing against his palm, hotter than coals. It pulsated inside his grip, pushing against his fingers, pumping torrents of blood in rhythmic bursts. He didn't want to look at it. Instead, he fixed Wardo with the most intense glare he could muster. This was the Wolf who had destroyed so many lives, the Wolf who manipulated others into destroying themselves.
The first path had failed. Hopefully, the second would not.
"Wardo! I, Dorin, head of the warriors of this tribe, do hereby challenge you for the title of Chieftain!"
Before Wardo's eyes could widen in shock, Dorin hurled the sticky hot mess with all his strength. It sailed past ranks of stunned Wolves, missing them by mere inches, and in that moment, that single moment as it spun through the air, Dorin was able to see its true form.
It was a heart covered in thick, pulsating veins, still pumping even though it was clearly dead. There was a thin slit right in the middle, squirting blood with every beat, a slit no doubt made by an evil knife.
Lana's heart is what truly started him on this path. It was only fitting it would appear again at this crossroads.
It struck Wardo high on the cheek, erupting into an explosion of gore. Blood splattered all over his face in a fine spray, dripping from his fur in sticky red ropes. He blinked stupidly, his cowardly little eyes peering out from beneath a mask of blood.
Dorin stuck out his bloodred hand and closed it into a tight fist, heedless of the pain tearing through his arm. "And this time," he said, "I will not give it up."
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