Chapter Fourteen: "Between the Fangs of Wolves"
Yusuf stood astonished before the colossal wall.
His head was raised upward, his neck strained, his eyes widening with each attempt to comprehend the scale of what he saw. The wall seemed to have no end—neither to the right, nor to the left, nor above—as if it were a rampart built to hide another sky behind it, or a dividing line between two worlds that would never meet.
He stood contemplating in silence. His eyes moved slowly from the intertwined roots that embraced the base of the wall like giant arms, to the silent wooden towers atop it like sleepless guardians, to the long thorns that glinted in the sunlight as if made of black glass.
Everything about this place was designed to repel, to forbid, to say to anyone who approached: no further advance.
He suddenly felt that even thinking of climbing this wall was madness. There was no breach, no weakness, no point that could serve as an entrance for those unwanted. This wall was not built to be breached. It was built to endure.
He sat on a nearby rock, tired from the effort of the journey and the weight of questions for which he had no answers.
He closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to plan, to find an outlet, to think of a solution. But every idea shattered in his mind like waves against rocks. There was no way forward. No way back. He was trapped between an endless forest and an impenetrable wall.
He raised his gaze to the sky. The sun had begun to slide slowly toward sunset, the sky turning reddish. The orange hue enveloped the forest like a curtain of dying fire, heightening the awe of the scene. Shadows began to stretch, the trees grew taller, the wall grew blacker. He knew night was coming. And night in this forest did not bring rest.
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He had not been sitting there for more than a few minutes when a strange sound pierced the silence.
A faint neighing at first, distant, coming from the depths of the forest behind him. He thought it was an illusion, that his ears were playing tricks on him after all he had been through. But the sound repeated. It was clearer this time, closer. Then another sound came: the rapid fall of hooves on damp earth, echoing among the trees like war drums approaching.
His body jolted. He held his breath. His heart suddenly began to pound fiercely, as if waking him from a drowsiness he had not felt. He stood quickly and concealed himself behind the massive trunk he had hidden behind earlier. His hands were clenched, his eyes fixed on the gap between the trees where the sounds were coming from.
Then he saw them.
They emerged from among the dense branches as if expelled from them. Three galloping horses, dust flying behind them, their necks stretched, their eyes terrified. They were panting, their sweat mixing with dust, dyeing them a grim gray. On their backs were soldiers. The same soldiers he had seen hours earlier leading the procession.
But their features had changed.
The sternness that filled their faces when he first saw them was gone. There was no trace of that arrogance, that cold cruelty. Panic had seized their faces, a strange desolation filling their eyes. They were panting like their horses, glancing back every moment, as if fleeing from something they did not want to see.
Behind them, the nightmare appeared.
Four wolves. But they were unlike any wolves Yusuf had seen in his life. They were massive, larger than any wolf he had heard of. Their bodies were full of muscles, moving beneath the gray fur like serpents swimming in water. Their eyes were yellow and blazing, like embers that would not die, looking ahead with terrifying focus as if they saw nothing but their prey.
Their mouths were open, saliva dripping in long sticky threads from their long fangs. Those fangs glinted in the last light of the sun, white as bone, sharp as knives. They ran with deadly lightness, as if the earth spread itself for them, as if each step they took was in their natural place.
Yusuf trembled as he watched. His body became rigid, his eyes unable to look away from those yellow eyes.
---
The first soldier at the front shouted, his voice hoarse from exhaustion and the air rushing into his throat:
— "Faster! They're getting closer! Don't stop!"
His horse was ahead of the others by a margin, but the gap was narrowing. The wolves were almost directly behind them.
The second answered, turning back with eyes wide with terror, his voice loud and cracking:
— "Damn it! This isn't a random chase! They can't have chased us this far just out of hunger! Someone set them on us! Someone knows our path!"
His horse stumbled from time to time, as if about to fall. The soldier struck its neck violently, trying to push it forward.
As for the third, at the rear, his horse had begun to slow down noticeably. The animal panted loudly, sweat pouring over its body as if it were melting. The soldier snarled as he resisted, kicking the horse, pulling the reins violently:
— "It's a plot! Those bastards from the Underlands! They don't want us to deliver the prisoners to the Execution Cave! They want us to leave them here!"
The first from the front shouted, his voice louder than any other:
— "Stop talking! The gate is ahead! Focus on survival! Don't look back!"
The gate was close. Yusuf could see it from where he stood, with the two giant wooden statues on either side motionless. But the distance between the soldiers and the gate was still far. And the wolves were drawing closer.
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The forest shook under the pounding of feet. The sound of hooves mixed with the sound of claws, the neighing of horses mixed with the faint roaring of wolves. The trees swayed as if afraid, leaves falling from above as if trying to escape the scene.
The four wolves spread out as if following a precisely drawn plan. Two chased from the front, pressing the soldiers from the sides, pushing them toward a specific path. And two pressed from behind, cutting off any attempt to retreat or stop.
The third soldier was at the rear. His horse had reached its limit. The animal breathed in loud, ragged gasps, its head bowed, its eyes terrified. Each step seemed harder than the last.
The soldier pulled the reins violently and tried to push the horse forward with his feet. He shouted loudly:
— "Move! Come on, you bastard, don't stop! If they catch us, we all die!"
But the horse could no longer manage. Suddenly its front legs buckled, it slowed further, then stopped completely. It stood there trembling, unable to take another step.
The first from the front shouted, his voice distant but clear:
— "Leave it! We can't save him! Ride with us! Abandon the horse!"
But the other two horses were also on the verge of collapse. There was no room for a third rider.
The second swallowed, looking back. His face had turned pale, his eyes watering from the wind or from fear. He whispered in a voice only he could hear:
— "Forgive us…"
Then he turned his face and kept running.
The third soldier stopped shouting. He looked at his comrades as they rode away, then at the wolves approaching quickly. He knew it was over.
He leaped from his horse's back and fell to the ground, his hand searching for his sword.
He stood there, his sword in his trembling hand. His face was covered in sweat and dust, his eyes wide with terror.
But he raised his sword with all the desperate courage he had left. He shouted, his voice hoarse, cracking, as if shouting in the face of death itself:
— "Come on then! You won't take me kneeling! Come on! I'll show you how the men of the Kingdom of Leinhart die!"
The first wolf attacked. It was incredibly fast, faster than the soldier had expected. The soldier dodged with his body, but the wolf's claws tore his face from forehead to chin. Blood flowed profusely, covering his eye, filling his mouth. But he did not fall. He thrust his sword wildly before him, screaming, screaming without stopping, as if his scream was his last weapon.
But the second wolf was faster.
It pounced on the exhausted horse that still stood there, trembling, unable to escape. It sank its fangs into the horse's neck, and a horrific neigh filled the forest. The neigh was long, sharp, mixed with the impact of claws on skin and the sound of teeth on bone. Then it stopped suddenly. The horse fell to the ground, blood streaming from its neck.
From his place by the wall, Yusuf could not move a muscle.
His entire body was rigid, his hands clenched around the trunk he hid behind, his nails digging into the bark. His heart pounded fiercely, but he could not move. He watched. He was only a spectator.
He saw the soldier fighting alone, blood covering his face, his sword swinging in the air as if hitting nothing. He saw the wolves circling him slowly, as if playing with their prey before finishing it. He saw the glowing yellow eyes, the white fangs, the gray fur moving like a shadow.
He muttered inwardly, his voice barely audible:
"How many times will I witness blood being spilled before me? How many times will I stand helpless, unable to do anything? When will this end?"
No one answered. Only the sound of the soldier screaming, the wolves growling, and his body falling to the ground.
---
As for the other two soldiers, they finally reached the vicinity of the fortress.
They were panting, sweat pouring from their faces, their clothes soaked with dust and sweat. Their horses were on the verge of collapse, their necks stretched, their eyes glassy from exhaustion.
Behind them, the other two wolves approached with terrifying speed. They were not just running; they were hunting intelligently, cutting corners, shortening the distance, as if they knew the prey was about to fall.
The gate was close. The two wooden statues stood on either side of it, silent, rigid, as if part of the wall. Yusuf watched them from a distance, his heart beating fast, hoping the soldiers would make it before the wolves got them.
But the wolves were faster. They were only a few steps behind the last horse.
Then something no one expected happened.
The ground suddenly shook.
A faint tremor at first, as if something heavy had shifted in its place. Then it grew stronger, more intense. Yusuf felt it in his feet, in his spine, in his teeth, which chattered involuntarily.
The two giant wooden statues moved.
There was no sound of joints moving, no creak of old wood. They were simply there, still, and then they were moving. As if they had been waiting for this moment for ages.
Their wooden arms rose slowly, their chests opened, and from within emerged colossal axes unlike any Yusuf had ever seen. Their blades were wide, sharp, glinting in the sunlight as if made of solid light.
At the same moment, the roots that had been coiled around the base of the wall shot forward. They were thick as giant serpents, black as coal, covered with long sharp thorns. They suddenly lunged forward, as if waiting for the signal. They wrapped around the bodies of the two wolves in the blink of an eye, sinking their thorns into their flesh.
Yusuf heard the wolves scream. It was not an ordinary howl. It was a piercing cry of pain, high, tearing through the air. It emerged from their open mouths, mingling with the sound of thorns plunging into skin.
The statues raised the axes. Their movement was slow but heavy, as if each axe weighed mountains. They paused for a moment at the apex of their rise, then fell together in a single strike.
The air shook. Iron met flesh and bone. The sound of the cut boomed like thunder in a quiet clearing. Yusuf heard the axes piercing the bodies, then heard them striking the ground beneath.
Dark red blood burst forth. Not just spots. It erupted like a fountain, rising into the air then falling to the ground, splashing the wall, the roots, the statues. The smell of hot iron filled the place, and something else, something like burnt flesh.
Yusuf gasped. His voice was audible this time, even though he tried to stifle it. He felt his knees tremble, felt nausea rise to his throat. But he did not vomit. His body was changing. It was learning to endure.
"If I had been there…" he thought. He did not finish the sentence. He knew the ending. If he had been there, if he had approached that gate, he would now be under those axes just like the wolves.
He remained standing behind the trunk, not moving. He watched the blood drying on the ground, the roots slowly retreating to their place, the statues returning to their eternal silence.
---
After the forest had quieted, after the sounds of the wolves and the soldiers had faded, Yusuf emerged slowly from his hiding place.
The atmosphere had changed. The air had grown heavier, the smell of blood still lingering. The sun had almost set, the shadows had grown very long, as if wanting to swallow everything.
He looked at the place where the third soldier had been. He saw the body cut apart, the armor torn, the sword broken. Blood covered the ground, bones scattered among the grass. The scene was disgusting, but Yusuf did not feel nauseated. A strange change was taking place inside him. Death had become part of his day, like a daily ritual from which there was no escape.
He approached cautiously. He looked at the iron armor lying among the remains. It was still serviceable. It had some scratches, some dried blood, but it was not torn. He knelt and picked it up. It was heavy, cold, the smell of iron and blood still clinging to it. He pulled it around his chest and tied it with ropes made of bark he found on the ground.
Then he looked at the sword. It was heavy, wider than any sword he had ever seen. He lifted it with both hands, raising it with difficulty. Its weight weighed on his arms, his grip trembling slightly. But he held onto it. It was better than nothing. Better than bare hands.
He muttered in a faint voice, looking at the blade glinting in the last light:
— "A heavy sword… but better than a rusty knife."
He wrapped the sword in a piece of cloth he found among the soldier's remains and hung it over his shoulder.
He stood there for a moment, looking at the torn corpse, at the armor on his chest, at the sword on his shoulder. He felt a new weight on his body. Not just the weight of metal, but another weight. The weight of decision. The weight of knowledge. The weight of survival.
He looked at the wall again. Sunset had cast its long shadows, and the colossal wall seemed larger and more terrifying under the departing sun's glow. Darkness was creeping from beneath the trees, and the air was beginning to cool.
He decided to walk along the wall, to the right. Perhaps he would find another passage, another gate, anything. He knew he could not approach the gate he had seen the soldiers at. He knew the statues would crush him as they had crushed the wolves. So he decided to search elsewhere.
He began to walk. His steps were slow, heavy, under the burden of the armor, the sword, and exhaustion. The wall beside him was like a moving mountain with no end. Its shadows drew black lines on the ground, as if swallowing the forest step by step.
He walked like this for hours. Darkness had completely fallen, and nothing could be heard but his footsteps and the rustle of the wind in the branches. The wall still continued, showing no end. He began to feel despair, that this wall would go on forever, that he would walk until he fell.
Then he heard something.
Not footsteps. Not animals. Distant sounds, faint, but clear in the silence of the night. Human sounds. Chants, singing, vague melodies whose words he could not understand. They came from behind the wall. From inside the fortress.
Yusuf stopped in his tracks. He clenched his fist around the sword, his heart beginning to pound fiercely. He knew that night had never brought rest. He knew these sounds might be the beginning of something new, a new danger, or perhaps—perhaps—an opportunity.
He stood there, in the darkness, listening to the sounds coming from behind the wall, not knowing whether he should approach or retreat. He knew only one thing: a new chapter was beginning now.
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End of Chapter Fourteen