Wolves That Hunt Fairies

Tale V: Niamh the Wolf-Slayer

Villagers buzzed in and out of Anath and Ilios's home as they aided the grief-stricken wife and her children. Though she had the fire in her heart to attend to her husband and son, Anath continued to make mistakes with each herbal remedy. Finally, her vulgarities became so unbearable that the villagers drove her out of the house so that her family could know some peace.

The villagers had tempered their own outrage with the need to be gentle with wounds and carefully prepare unguents and tinctures. Their leaders would advise them whether to seek vengeance against the powerful Fairies or not.

Soon the chiefs announced that they would hold a village meeting. Though his wounds bedevilled him and woke him nearly every hour of the night, Gantlos fought his weariness and his troubled relatives so that he could attend.

"I must testify," he told his great-aunt Ethelinda.

Ethelinda was also a Witch, like her niece Anath, and she too had little love for Fairies. But she knew how dangerous they were, and she knew how dangerous Lady Medb was.

"What do you hope to accomplish," she began, "aside from riling the villagers? Would you rouse their anger to such a level that they cease to think? We need justice, not revenge, and careful thought, not impulse."

Gantlos clenched his hands and stomped, causing the house to quake.

"Be still!" commanded Ethelinda. "Destroying your family's home will not bring you justice. Very well—you shall go, but I shall accompany you. You shall need someone to keep your temper in check, so that the chiefs do not quiet you themselves and think less of you because of it."

Through grinding teeth, Gantlos agreed and retired for the rest of that evening.

Then the day came, and each chief, sage, hunter, and Witch gathered into the stony temple dedicated to the Great Hunter.

The temple was not their place to gather, though. Traditionally, the village gathered in the Great Square, where conversations on any topic could be discussed openly. The temple was a sacred place, not to be penetrated by worldly matters. But the nature of the attack and the fear that Fairies or Fairy-friends might spy on them rendered Gantlos's people desperate. And after long hours of prayer beforehand, the Witches and the few Wizards of the village confirmed that the Great Hunter and the other gods would allow this exceptional event.

Gantlos came with Ethelinda in tow. To her chagrin, Anath came, clinging to her father and Siduri.

"You need more rest than your son," said Ethelinda.

Anath hissed, "I am well enough to testify, dove-hearted fool."

'Fool' had not riled Ethelinda as much as being called 'dove-hearted,' loving peace to the point of being helpless. But the elder Witch held her tongue, squeezed one of Gantlos's hands, and proceeded into the temple. One hot-blooded magician had been enough for her to control, and two? That made her own blood boil!

Packed with as many people as the temple could hold, an ageing red-haired chief, Cenric, declared, "Let this meeting commence."

Then he sat, and another chief stood—one slightly younger and with blue-grey hair. He was Deorwine, the chief in charge of the section of the village in which Gantlos's family dwelt.

"I stand before the Great Hunter," said Deorwine, "and I swear that I know this to be true: Brother Ilios and Brother Gantlos were attacked. They have said that the attackers were Fairies whom had changed into forest pigs and lured them deep into the hunting grounds, far from help. Their family suspects who the criminals are, but we do not wish to act until we are certain."

Anath hissed under her breath, "You old fool. How uncertain can he be? What an insult—"

Anath's father hushed her as Deorwine continued.

"I ask the Brothers and Sisters who are present: if any of you can remember suspicious happenings before these attacks, say what you know but only if you can swear that you know them to be true."

Each villager to looked their neighbour, but none stood. Most had seen nothing, and the others had but did not want to speak, for they did not know if their memories were true, and they would not speak falsely after swearing to a god.

"If none shall speak," said Deorwine, "then let us hear Brother Gantlos testify."

The young man glanced at his great-aunt before he stood. She nodded and pulled back his cowl. He stepped before the chiefs, sages, hunters, and Witches.

"I... I stand before the Great Hunter," said Gantlos, his stomach clenching, "and I swear that I know this to be true: my father... my... My father and I were tortured by a pack of Fairies. Those of you here who have tended to him know what vile thing was done to him. And I was forced to watch."

Then he pulled up his cowl and turned round.

"Brother Gantlos," said Cenric, "you must give a full account of what befell you both."

Gantlos's muscles stiffened, and his hands clenched. He itched to jump and rock the temple, so that everyone would flee and not badger him describe the miserable things he had seen and felt.

"I shall not say what befell my father," he murmured. "I shall not relive that horror."

A middle-aged Witch with snow-white hair harrumphed, "If you shall not speak of that, then what of you? What misery befell you?"

The young hunter whirled round with a snarl marring his face.

"What of me?" he asked. "What of me? Was what I saw not enough torture for me? Was not watching them use the forest to violate my father enough? Not enough?"

The leaders' backs straightened, and their eyes widened. The villagers cringed as the walls rumbled, and the ground quaked as Gantlos stepped closer to the leaders.

"Obviously that was not enough—no! What was once a beautiful afternoon in our favourite hunting grounds became spoiled and rotten and ugly and... and... horrible! An hour before the sky turned blood-red above us, and after many, many hours of assaulting my father, the most esteemed hunter in this cowardly village, I was abused like an old bull whom could no longer draw his plough and branded like one. And you sit there with your belittling tone, calling my account into question? Like I would lie about something so foul? And use magic to make my wounds and my father's? You—"

Before the young wizard could jump and summon a temple-shattering quake, a black wizard, Teutates seized him before his feet touched the ground.

"Destroying the temple of the gods will not get you your justice any faster," he said. "Her tone was wrong—I shall not deny that, Brother. But I shall not let your need for justice turn into a wild fire that burns indiscriminately."

Gantlos's chest heaved in and out and until finally, he sighed and relaxed in Teutates grip. As he set him down, he said, "Little Brother, I am sad that your wounds have been struck before they heal. But please, we were not there. You do not need to go into detail," he added as he gazed at white-haired Witch with her head hanging, "but we know must some things: things that may tell us the soldiers in particular who attacked you."

Gantlos sighed again.

"I can show you the brand," he said, and then he shed his cloak and showed the mark to the leaders.

As Teutates brushed aside strands of light hair, the chiefs, sages, hunters, and Witches stood and drew closer.

Beneath the root of his neck was a scar in the shape of an 'N,' penetrated by an arrow whose tail faced up and sharp head faced down; and upon the top of the second stem of the 'N' sat a star.

"I know whose mark this is!" gasped a blonde Witch. "It belongs to the Fairy Niamh, who hails form the court of Medb."

"Niamh?" puzzled the white-haired Witch. "I thought that she had perished during the Magnus Wars."

"This is her sign!"

"How do you know that no one has copied it?"

"Brother Gantlos," said the blonde Witch, "who led the attack? How did she appear?"

"Tall," he said, "with short hair as dark as twilight. Her wings shimmered gold like the risen sun, and the wings were lined with orange like the fallen sun. She wore red armour upon her breast and a red skirt, as did her soldiers."

The Witches gazed at one another, and the white-haired one shook her head.

"I cannot believe this!" she snarled. "The devil Fairy is alive!"

"Peace, Sister Frost," said Cenric, "this is no time to revisit old grudges."

"Ah! But the grudge has come to us," she hissed. "Yes! That holier-than-thou captain, she who values Fairy life above all others—are any of us surprised that she was sent? To do this... commit this atrocity?"

As the leaders mumbled among themselves, and the villagers began to spread unfounded and half-founded rumours, Ethelinda joined her great-nephew and returned his cloak to his shoulders.

"My chiefs! My chiefs, please," said the blonde Witch, "I have no love of Fairies, but we cannot in good conscience retaliate against Niamh."

Anath, Gantlos, and those villagers who craved justice gasped and questioned and spat abusive names at her.

"She is—she is much too powerful!" cried the blonde Witch. "And she is ruthless. For one who calls Witches cruel, she draws out of suffering of her quarry, and that is all we are to her—no! We are less than animals, for she would sooner save a mortal dog on Hel's doorsteps than any man."

"What say you, Spomenka?" snarled Frost. "Are we to allow this crime to go unpunished?"

"Dove-hearted fool!" cried Anath. "Your soft-tread approach delays justice. Begone, you Fairy-loving whore—"

Spomenka bristled and shouted, "How dare you—"

"Enough!" bellowed Cenric, and everyone held their tongue.

"I shall not have any members of this village drag the entire village into a war, regardless of our triumph or not. Are you so comfortable inviting Hel to our doors? Are you so comfortable inviting soldiers who torture without a second thought? I want justice. But if your husband and your son with their level of skill and power could not avoid Terror, then we must set aside challenging these particular Fairies until we have a plan."

Frost and four of her colleagues snorted, while Anath turned and marched out of the temple, her father frantically following her. Siduri joined her brother and leaned upon him.

"What shall we do?" she wondered sadly.

Gantlos placed his hand upon hers as the leaders and villagers argued back and forth. Ethelinda had known, he thought. A hot head would only invite more trouble, more misery. His anger had bubbled for so long and finally boiled over that day, but Teutates had removed it from the fire, and his head was a clearer.

"Great sage," he said to the elder wizard, "I am afraid for my mother. Do you think the attack was meant to draw her out? Like wounding two lambs to draw out their worried flock?"

Teutates held his breath and thought for a moment.

"I do not think that was its sole purpose," he said, "for this was meant to terrorise your family more than anything I can think of. But it is likely that... might be the case."

Then he turned to Deorwine and tapped his shoulder, pulling him aside as Cenric and the other chiefs tried to calm the villagers present. After they exchanged words, they pulled Gantlos aside, and Deorwine said, "We must go to your house immediately and convince her out of whatever mad plan she has."

Gantlos turned to his sister and great-aunt and waved a hand to summon them. Then the five hurried out of the temple and hurried to catch up to vengeful Witch.

Disclaimer: The author has written this Winx Club fanfiction solely for entertainment. No money has been made, and no profit in any form shall be gained, from writing this fanfiction.