Wolf & Raven Read online

  Wolf & Raven

  By Dallas Jessica Owen

  Amazon Edition

  Copyright April 2018 D J Owen

  Amazon License Statement

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover licensed under CC0 Public Domain

  Original cover photograph here http://maxpixel.freegreatpicture.com/Weapon-War-Vintage-Knight-Battle-Design-Sword-2791188

  Table of Contents

  Wolf & Raven

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Excerpt from Banshee

  Contact Me

  Wolf and raven

  Chapter 1

  “Ho young wolf! Come on in, it is time for dinner.” He watched the young woman who practised with the sword. He had made it for her, and he knew it had been an indulgence. Women of the village were expected to know how to use a sword and axe but other duties called to them. Wife, mother, baker, crafter, all these and more were left to the woman whilst the men hunted, protected, farmed and looked after the village. Weapons were owned by the family to use, not by the individual.

  Still, his daughter was gladness personified to him and when she had told him she was going to be a great warrior, known in story and legend he had laughed and held her and treated it like any other dream. Yet she had been determined, following her dream with a single-minded determination that surprised them all.

  When the other village children had teased her, she practised harder. When the men had mocked her, she challenged them to fight and when she got knocked down, beaten and bloody; she got back up smiling from blood flecked lips. And when she had finally surpassed all in the village and was counted the best warrior they had, he felt pride.

  Sunlight arced through the air as his daughter moved, her arm swinging and he smiled to himself once more. How could one not have joy at such a daughter?

  “You have spoilt our child you know.” He turned to see his wife coming towards him with an equal smile on her lips. Although grey was beginning to show in his beard and the cold settled in his bones more frequently, the sight of her still lit a fire in his blood. “She will think she is destined for great things rather than the life this village can offer her. No good will come of it York. Mark my words.”

  His wife was also gladness to him. She was strong and proud with hair the colour of winter hay. Snow settled in it now, but he loved her still. Strong and proud she was and he fought to win her heart, not with the strength of his arm but the strength of his love. On her finger still sat the betrothal ring he had made when he was still an apprentice. Purest gold with silver banding, it had her name inscribed around the inside. The letters of her name entwined with runes that had been brought together in a protection spell weaved by the village shaman.

  He had presented it to her and while many warriors had fought for her attention he had won her heart many moons ago with the strength of his art. “We all train with a sword and axe so we can defend the village from raiders Isolde. No one is exempt from that duty, woman or man alike. It is no great shame to me if my daughter can wield her own weapon better than all the men in this village.” His grey eyes watched his daughter’s movements as she went through drills. “She is meant for more than this village. I am sure of it.”

  “That maybe so but I worry York. She is past the age when she should be wed. Twenty-two summers she has seen and have you seen her with any boy? She practises each and every day and the few hours she is not practising or helping you in the forge she spends with that darkling Kari.”

  Isolde frowned, “Much as I am proud of her, she sends every man that would pledge their troth to her away with sharp words and if need be a sharper edge. At this rate she will never know the love of family or,” her hand tightened on York’s arm “The desire in the dark of night.”

  “She is still young, and you worry too much my love.” York turned to his wife and felt happiness in his heart despite her worried words. “When the right one comes she will know and she will know all we have and more. First though I suspect she has great deeds to accomplish.”

  “Well, that is for the spirits to decide and not foolish old men who dote on their daughters.” York felt her hand on his arm pulling him away. “Come husband. It is time to eat. She will come in when she is hungry enough.” He looked down into her eyes as she spoke. “I remember well what it was to be that age. She will come in when she is tired of it.”

  Together they walked back into the lone stone long hut in the village. Standing next to the forge it was a great honour to be the blacksmith he knew and he brought honour to the village as best he could. For fifteen summers York had been the blacksmith and had become well known for the finesse with which he crafted his goods. His hands seemed to work magic and his tools lasted longer, his weapons never seemed to break and his jewellery had caused traders to come from far and wide.

  Yet with all he had created, he considered his finest work to be not the ring with which he gained the love of his wife, but the sword which he had made for his daughter. It was lighter than a normal blade and made to fit her then tall eighteen year old body it shone with the skill with which she wielded it.

  Months he had searched for the right ores, the right materials. Silver to be added in the forging which normally would have made the blade brittle became stronger when he chanted the smith's songs. From the fire it came, reflecting the sun and glowing with the fire of its birth and when it was done had spent many more nights working on the blade. Inscribing, sharpening, chanting, it had been a labour of love and when finished he wrapped it in a clock of pure black to keep it from prying eyes.

  At her age of adulthood ceremony, he presented her with the blade. “The blade is named Sun-fire,” he had told her “A named blade for a legend to be.” At her touch, the blade had blazed with light and in her eyes he saw that same light reflected.

  Yes, he thought to himself as he walked back to the home he shared with his family. I may dote on my daughter, but I know she is meant for more.

  The young woman smiled as she heard her father’s call. I am no wolf yet she thought as she went through the steps taught to her long ago by the village headsman. Maybe one day I will be worthy of that name but not yet. Still, the nickname made her smile and redoubling her efforts she strained to perfect her balance, her stance and her warrior skill knowing that one day the raiders would come again and if they did she would be there to stop them.

  When she was young, she had dreamt deep and long, dreamt of a wolf with eyes of grey and a fight against shadows that she could not see. On awakening she knew that was her fate, to be a protector of the village, a wolf that would keep the darkness away. It was her everything and she had dedicated her life to it.

  Moves that were known blended seamlessly with moves she had created on her own and she moved in a dancing
rhythm known only to her. Her blond hair braided in one long rope swung around, sometimes gently and other times violently as she twisted and moved in circles. Grey eyes scanned the floor for enemies only she could see and muscles toned from long hours practising bunched and moved under her tunic.

  “Yngrid,” She heard the low smoky voice of her friend and concentration breaking she turned too sharply. Losing her balance she fell to the ground and felt her ankle complain bitterly at her treatment. Looking up she scowled in pain as night dark eyes stared at her from feet away.

  “Kari, you surprised me!” Where Yngrid was fair and bright with hair the colour of the sunshine on fallen snow, Kari’s hair was unique in the village. It was the colour of the moonless night and it flowed down her back like a waterfall of starless skies. Yngrid had her father’s grey eyes yet Kari had neither her mother’s nor father’s, being shadowy enough to keep secrets and covered with lashes both long and dark. Yngrid was toned and muscled like a warrior; Kari was thin and willowy like smoke.

  They were as different as could be and yet Kari was her only real friend. They had grown up together, and Yngrid had watched Kari suffer for being different, had become fiercely protective of her friend. Now she felt out of place around the slight young woman knowing that compared to her she was big, clumsy and rough.

  The men of the village unsettled her when they came sniffing around her skirts. She was no innocent, had seen others in their act of wooing and it was something that had not called to her. Yet there was a pull to Kari she could not describe. It felt like something just out of reach and for once in her life she was afraid.

  Getting to her feet Yngrid slid Sun-fire into the scabbard made for her by her mother and rubbed her ankle. “You had better train harder. I doubt raiders would call out your name in warning. Not unless they wanted to pledge their troth to you.” There was no mockery in the voice that spoke to her, and she saw Kari’s mouth curve upwards impishly. “I heard you sent Wrolf the millers son away yesterday with a black eye. Do no men in this village meet your standards then Yngrid?”

  She shrugged as if it were the smallest thing in the world. “He would not accept my decision and pressed his troth a little too hard. I had to persuade him otherwise. As for the rest of the men in this village,” she smiled, “Why would they want a warrior for their wife? I am not one for crafting cloth or leather into goods after all and will likely die in glorious battle.”

  “Well, I can see why they come. You are certainly beautiful to look at Yngrid, like the sun on fresh snow.” Kari coloured and blustered “Well at least that is what I have heard the men say anyway.”

  Yngrid laughed out loud. “Now that is both of us flustered Kari.” Then she shook her head “I am not beautiful. My mother is beautiful. I am just a prize to be plucked for some of them so they can have access to my father’s goods. Not one of them has ever made me feel like I was worth fighting for. I am my mother’s daughter though and I will not be an afterthought.”

  Kari scowled “If they would treat you as an afterthought then they are truly not worthy of you.” Then she smiled and it looked like the passing of a storm cloud. “Anyway do you not remember the pact we made?”

  Nodding Yngrid dusted off her leather clad legs. “Indeed. I was to protect the village, and you would protect me from death. We were going to have songs made of us.” Reaching out she clasped Kari’s shoulder, felt the young woman tremble slightly “I am older now. I know no one can save you from death if fate wills it.” Dropping her hand she stretched and felt her muscles protest “Now what can I do for you Kari? I doubt you came to see me to talk about the men of the village.”

  Kari nodded and her face went serious. Yngrid suddenly felt hot and scratchy in her simple tunic as Kari took a step closer to her. “I have news. Raven has called me finally. I am to apprentice to the village shaman.”

  “Well, this is good surely? One day you will be a woman of power, of influence in this village. You have already made a name for yourself as a healer of the body. Now you will learn to heal the spirit as well.” Yngrid felt excited for her friend’s good news and yet confused at her friends distressed look. “Everyone knows you are Ravens. You were born with his colouring after all. Why does this not excite you?”

  “It is good Yngrid yet there are things I must say and yet find I cannot. I begin my training in two days time. Before that, I would like to speak to you in private. Can we meet tonight in our usual spot?”

  “Kari, you know you can tell me anything. I am your friend. If you need to speak, then speak and speak plainly.” It was not an unusual request. They had met many times, using a spot they both knew to give themselves some privacy as they talked and played like friends did. Kari looked like she was about to be sick and suddenly Yngrid felt apprehensive.

  Kari took another step closer and their bodies nearly touched. She could barely breathe as Kari stared up at her with eyes that bored into the centre of her. “Please, it’s important, and I think I will only have the strength to say it once. Meet me tonight when the moon is full in the sky and I will tell you then. Promise me.”

  “Of course,” she promised in a whisper. Her heart beat like the shaman's drum in her chest as Kari nodded once and turned, walking away quickly. Her long dark hair seemingly fanning out into wings as she escaped and Yngrid felt a moment of relief before scowling unhappily.

  “What was that about?” Speaking out loud she shook her head and turned towards home, limping towards dinner and accompanied by thoughts she could not escape.

  Chapter 2

  Kari sat on her stool and brushed her hair carefully. Below the loft she could hear her parents raised voices and sighed. They always argued, and it was always about her. Marked by Raven at birth her fate was sealed. She was different, other to the village children that she had grown up with and not even her parents could escape the fear of her. Tonight it was her mother’s spirit that was obviously broken, allowing Raven’s touch to mar his beautiful girl. Other times it was her father’s weak seed that allowed that touch. She tuned it out; tired of the arguments she had heard every day of her life.

  It is just fear that makes them argue she repeated to herself yet again. Fear that I am not their little girl. Fear that I have powers and that I know things I shouldn’t. She could feel it in the air around her, taste it almost. It was the same fear that the children in the village developed as they grew up and realised the difference between them. The same fear she felt around everyone. Everyone that is, except her friend Yngrid.

  At the thought of Yngrid, she blushed wildly and swallowed. Now she had to go into the wilderness and learn Raven’s ways. Ways that she had been born into. Before that, she had to do something that would push Yngrid away. Her hand moved as she pulled the brush through her hair once more wanting to make it shine like the moonlight on a quiet lake. With every stroke her hands shook, the brush causing tangles and she put the brush down. In and out, repeating the mantra she slowly breathed deeply and brought her pounding heart under control and started again.

  The movement of the brush against her hair and the rhythm of her hand became hypnotic, and she fell into the trance, the moment between moments that had become so familiar to her. Slowly her heart beat fell and she daydreamed about tonight. She had wanted to tell Yngrid for so long, knowing that the warrior, her friend, was destined to be someone’s bride someday but wanting, no needing, to tell her all the same.

  She needed to tell her how her face beautiful and fair as it was, haunted her dreams. Often Kari would wake from those dreams, her skin flushed and her body aching to be touched. Sometimes she touched herself, bringing that ache to fruition before immediately feeling shame that she thought of her friend this way. Sometimes she silently cried knowing as she did that Yngrid could not possibly be hers.

  She needed to tell her why whenever she was near, Kari felt her heart beat so fast it felt like it would burst from her chest. How her blood ran with the same fire that lived in Sun-fire and how she
wished to be by her side just as her blade was. How if things were different and Yngrid just held out her hand, Kari would weep with joy before throwing herself into her strong warrior arms and never let her go.

  But they could not be together. She knew that. She was to be a shaman to the village, married to the Raven and not allowed any other distractions. Yngrid’s fate was either to fall in battle as a warrior like she dreamed or to be married raising a fine brood of children for the village. It was the wolf's fate; something they could not fight, should not fight.

  So why did she have this need to tell Yngrid now? To try and explain how she felt now? Better to let it be and just forget about the fair-haired warrior and her face that reminded Kari of the sun. Yet she knew she could not. She had to go to Raven with an open heart and no fear she had been told. How could her heart be open when Yngrid ruled it? No. It was better to release that love and tell her friend. Better to go to Raven as he demanded even if her heart broke knowing Yngrid would not look at her the same way again.

  Putting the brush down Kari felt her hair fall down around her shoulders. Donning a warm dress of woollen purple, she took another calming deep breath. Her eyes stared without seeing anything as she worked out her thoughts.

  Remember, I want nothing from this but to confess. Ignore all hope for nothing can happen. I was Raven’s before I was born and now he has called, I am his. She told herself this over and over again and yet at the core of her, hope would not die. The thought that her friend may feel the same way was a foolish one she knew. Yngrid was a warrior, and she would need a warrior to tame her. What could she give her? She was not strong, not muscled. No, I cannot hope she told herself again.

  Sighing softly she stood and walked over to the edge of the loft. The pallets where they all slept were arranged here and as her parents argued downstairs she climbed down the ladder that led to the main living space. As her feet touched the ladder she heard her parents fall silent and she turned to them. “Raven calls me,” her voice was soft and she saw the fear in the eyes of her parents like a knife.