text: Raziel looked down at the knife in his hand. It looked worn. It looked plain, an old antler jammed onto the end of that blade, another way to squeeze out every drop of blood. It looked shabby, a tool near the end of its usefulness. It looked like damnation not salvation. Raziel had lead Shing, Eyla and their two daughters out the Wolves’ village in the dark of the night. They found the small boat hidden on the beach. Raziel and Shing paddled them out past the breakers and within twenty minutes they had hoisted the small sail. By the time the sun spread its sparkling rays across the sea, the refugees could no longer see Wolf Island. They caught a nice wind that sailed them across the channel in less than a day. When they reached the coast of Pacifica, Shing and Eyla took the girls up to the tree line while Raziel did his best to hide the boat. He had just finished taking down the mast when he noticed the blood red sail of the Wolves’ long boat on the horizon. His heart dropped to his stomach and exploded into a swarm of wasps. Their time was running out. They moved quickly through forest and found the old hunting cabin. Eyla burst into tears causing the girls to cry, causing Shing and Raziel to cry. They entered a sobbing motley crew clinging to one another. The cabin was the size of a barn, nestled between the folds of a large hill directly behind it. Next to a neatly made bed they found a basket of dried foods, warm clothing and that damned knife. A low whistle from the rafters snapped Raziel back to the now. The new plan was to take the knife, avoid the Wolves, find and bring back help. It was a lie. No help could make it back in time even if it was found. The unspoken reason for Raziel to run was to get rid of the knife. If any run-away thrall was found with a weapon it was a death sentence for all the adults. And for two little girls with no one to look out for them, it would not be good; it would be very far from good. If Raziel could get far enough away, the others could be spared. He would still be killed horrifically but hopefully his friends would only be severely punished. That was the rosiest of options left. He hadn’t asked for any followers, but how do you say no to a young couple praying for their children to be free? He heard the whistle again. Raziel closed his fist around the knife and stepped out of the cabin. A white mist hung low to the ground, blurring the bottoms of the trees, limiting visibility. The beginnings of snowflakes drifted in the wind adding to the distractions. Maybe there was some hope after all. The first corner he turned killed that hope. One of the Wolves was already at the cabin, peering in through a crack in the wood. Raziel couldn’t see what the big, hairy man was seeing but he knew that Eyla and the girls had been discovered. Maybe if he could silence this man, keep him from alerting the pack it would buy them the time they so desperately needed. Raziel had never killed a man before but he was pretty sure talking his way out of this was out of the question. He switched the grip he had on the knife, like he knew what he was doing. Raziel swallowed (gulped) and began to creep toward the Wolf. Every footstep crashed like a boulder off a thousand foot cliff, every breath roared like the winds of a storm. The distance between himself and his target stretched for miles, so much time to be spotted, so many mistakes already made. He could turn around and run for it. They would probably be okay inside, probably? He swallowed hard again and began to look around for any other option. He was losing his cool, about to bolt when the Wolf turned. Without thinking Raziel clamped one hand over the man’s mouth. The man stopped struggling once he felt the knife tip dig into his belly. Raziel looked into his eyes, dark and wide under a heavy brow. He recognized this Wolf from his village. He was cruel to the thralls, despite or because of his own lowly status. A man looking to make a name for himself. Talking was definitely out of the question. The more Raziel hesitated the less his advantage became. The fear left the Wolf’s eyes, replaced with a smug confidence that this lowly coward could not kill him. The man reached for his own knife. Raziel shook his head vigorously NO, NO, NO he pleaded silently. The Wolf, true to his nature bit the hand over his mouth. Raziel pulled back. The Wolf opened his mouth to howl. Raziel plunged the knife into the Wolf’s gut. He felt something pop under the blade as it found vital organs. Instead of pulling it out Raziel pushed it down unzipping the belly like he was unzipping a jacket that was two sizes too small. He stepped back and stared. The Wolf also stared, his eyes disbelieving, his hands clutching to keep his insides inside. There are times in every person’s life where we stand outside of ourselves, seeing a traumatic event unfolding without emotion. This was one of those times for Raziel. Specifically when the Wolf’s internal temperature met the forest’s rapidly declining external temperature. Steam poured from the wound like a ghost, floating up toward the heavens. Raziel wasn’t particularly religious, but this would make even the most arrogant atheist run scared for church. This along with the blood and smell overwhelmed him. Raziel doubled over retching just as a blade sliced the space where his head had been. The blade thumped into the cabin, stalling the hatchet it was attached to. Raziel slid around and surged up, his mouth drooling bile, the knife stabbed in between the third and fourth rib of his assailant. This new Wolf was dead before he hit the ground. Raziel stood there, his mouth gasping like a fish, the stomach acid still burning the back of his throat, the blood freezing the knife in his fist and tears streaming down his face, not exactly the look of a brave warrior. “Raziel”, he heard his name from above. He looked up to see Shing staring down from the cabin’s overhang. “What have you done?” he whispered with urgency. “Run, please, run!” Raziel ran into the mist. His heart was racing; he could feel his pulse thumping in his temples as he fled blindly through the forest. The manacle on his wrist banged against bone causing him to lose focus and almost run head long into the gnarled trunk of a wicked looking tree. He stopped to try and regain some semblance of composure. That’s when the first howl rose through the trees behind him. Raziel’s blood turned to ice water, He bolted like the scared rabbit he was. Another howl floated in from left, followed by another from his right. The nail in the coffin came when he heard a howl coming from somewhere ahead of him. He cried out in frustrated fear as he ran for his life and the lives of his friends. Still yelling he burst through the trees into a large clearing. He shut his mouth abruptly, his bawling seeming sacrilege here. The clearing was a perfect circle; the trees all lined up without a single branch going over an unseen border, as if in respect or... fear. Even the mist held at the edge of the clearing, swirling like a shark amongst the trees. In the center of the clearing was a large half buried boulder. He moved forward, looking around. Floating menacingly just beyond the trees he saw pair of yellow eyes. Raziel stopped and stared and those eyes stared back. The eyes moved forward and a black nose appeared in the mist. Beneath the nose, a snarling snout with long fangs. Beneath the fangs another Wolf’s face appeared. It looked much like the two Raziel had left for dead at the cabin. Heavy brows and beard under the cowl of a real Sea Wolf’s head and hide. Raziel had often wondered why, if these people honored the Sea Wolves so much as to name themselves after them did they hunt them to extinction then parade around in their skins. He doubted he’d ever know as this one before him had not come to talk. There was movement from the corner of Raziel’s eye and he saw another pair of eyes to the right and another pair to the right of that and another to the right of that. They had surrounded him. Four men that played at being wolves stepped into the clearing. No attack came. They simply stood and stared, each at an equal distance from the other. Raziel had seen this before. He was no longer prey. They knew about the bodies, of course they did. Raziel had been elevated in status from a simple hunt to a man worthy of respect. They lined up to challenge this dangerous killer of their kin. Raziel’s death would mean status and they would not diminish that status by attacking him all at once. He was sick of the role they had forced him to play. Sick he had been forced into their bloody way of life but mostly, he just sick of being afraid all the time. If you want blood, you got it. He strode toward the first man on the left. Much violence ensued. After it was over, minutes or hours later time no longer mattered, Raziel stood close to where he had started. The Wolves lay in heaps connected by streaks of red across the trampled snow. Raziel stood gazing at the boulder but only seeing the flashes of what had just occurred. Muted screams, the knife slashing, stabbing and cutting his victims and with each cut a new furrow was carved into his own soul. He wondered how much was left. Then from deep in the forest ahead of him, Thump. Thump. Raziel’s head snapped up. He looked around. Thump. Thump. Raziel scrambled up the boulder for a better view. Thump. Thump. Raziel peered into the forest in front of him and saw a tiny red dot. It grew as it flew toward him. Escaping the mist the dot became a little red bird bouncing across the air. Raziel had to dodge left to avoid being struck between the eyes. The bird paid him no mind as it soared by, disappearing to the woods behind him. The silence that followed was deafening. Nothing moved, not even the air. Thump. Thump. All hell broke loose. The forest before Raziel exploded with a murder of crows following the little red bird. They screeched and cawed as they flew by. Raziel had to throw himself on the boulder to keep from being swept away in the flurry of beady eyes and black feathers. On the ground below him all manner of beast surged like flood waters around his island boulder. From field mice to elk, all ignored the man clinging to the boulder in their haste to flee. When it was over, feathers and tufts of fur floated through the air. Something bad was coming. Thump. Thump. Then the sound of trees limbs snapping, high tree limbs snapping and falling to the earth. Thump. Thump. Thump. A huge moccasin fell into the clearing like a thousand year oak crashing down followed by another earth rumbling shoe. Raziel looked up, past the pillar like legs, past massive torso and neck and looked into the face of a bear? Raziel shook the cob webs from his brain and looked again. I was a man, bearded and dark eyed wearing skins of a cave bear. The giant pulled a sword bigger then he was from behind his back. He raised this broad sword (perhaps the broadest sword ever) above his head, the tip aimed down to skewer the little man on the rock. All Raziel could do was gape up at his impending doom, too petrified to move. “RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!” The giant bellowed his easy victory and stabbed down. Part of Raziel was ready for it, for everything to be over, but the other part, the part that had won each part of this day dodged rolled Raziel off the rock just as the blade came crashing down. The boulder screamed when the blade impaled it. Sparks flew as the stone and iron became one. The mighty sword stopped halfway up its blade and stuck fast. The giant pulled back on the sword, but it did not budge. A flash of panic swept over his face, quickly replaced by rage. He heaved back again with the same result. The giant began to bellow and shriek as he tried to free the blade. “RRRRAAAAAHHHHHHH!” The roar became less intimidating and more pathetic. The beast of a man now had both hands wrapped around the hilt, straining with all his considerable power. His face had turned purple, his eyes bulged. The boulder actually began to lift from its half buried state. Dirt poured from sides that hadn’t been exposed to light in a thousand years, colorless insects scurried for cover. Raziel stood a safe distance away watching with awe. He stood staring at giant’s dismay. He could have easily swatted Raziel down like a fly, crushing him without the weapon, but the giant wanted his sword. Instead of running (which seemed pointless now) Raziel contemplated being a giant boy raised in the violent world of the Wolves. His only purpose would have been to fight, to become the Wolves’ battering ram. He would have been praised when he won, shunned and beaten when he lost. The giant would come to be dependent on the only constant in his life, his sword, his one friend. What would happen if he could no longer win every fight? He would be banished, sent out to face the world alone without his sword. “RRRRAAA...ughhhh” The giant’s roar ended in a gurgled whimper, his mighty hands fell from the sword’s hilt, his arms dropped like felled trees to hang limply at his sides. He went to his knees. Raziel uncurled his fingers from the knife; the top layers of frozen skin were ripped away. He felt nothing and dropped the knife to the snow. He walked toward the giant without looking back. He stopped just out of reach from the big man. Raziel tilted his head to study the giant’s face. Something had popped inside the man’s head. His right eye was the solid red of burst blood vessels, the right side of his face drooped, foamy drool drained from the corner of his mouth. Raziel stepped closer. The giant's left eye streamed tears. Raziel reached out and put a reassuring hand on his would be murderer’s shoulder. The giant let out a tiny whimper. Raziel cradled the giant’s head; he murmured an old prayer and tried to soothe. When the giant began to fall Raziel guided him down to the snowy ground. He laid the massive head in his lap. The giant’s breath became ragged, his left eye rolled back and his huge chest stopped moving. Raziel closed the dead man’s eyes and began to weep. He wept for the giant, murdered by fear disguised as rage. He wept for himself, a murderer by rage disguised as fear. He wept for his friends. He wept for the man he had hopped he was and wasn’t. He may have wept until spring if he hadn’t felt the giant’s head move from his lap. He looked up and saw the face of a Wolf. Raziel did not resist as the Wolf took the giant away from him. He looked over the huge body to see five more Wolves had also appeared from the forest. He looked each man in the eye, some stared back blankly, some in curiosity. One slightly nodded his head at Raziel. Then as one they lifted the giant’s body and disappeared back into the forest. Raziel sat there. His adrenaline was gone. He felt more beaten than ever before. He couldn’t take anymore but there is always more. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Raziel sighed, rose to his feet and turned to face whatever was next. This Wolf was the second biggest man Raziel had ever seen. His headdress’ eyes were ruby against a steely grey fur. The man’s eyes were dark and world-weary; his beard matched the color of his headdress. The Alpha. Without thinking (something he was becoming good at) Raziel stabbed at him with a now knifeless fist. The Alpha caught the fist and twisted it back to reveal the manacle clamped to Raziel’s wrist. The Alpha reached to his waist and produced a key. He stabbed the key into the lock, his eyes locked into Raziel’s. The manacle dropped to the snow much like the knife and like the knife it was left there to rust. The Alpha turned and walked away. Raziel finally began to lose consciousness. As the world faded away he could hear his friends rushing to his side. -Time, a need for heroes and people’s greed have all embellished Raziel’ s story into legend, the legend into lies and the lies into religion. One story had Raziel slaying scores of actual wolf-men with a magical sword pulled from a stone. Another left out the boat entirely and had Raziel walking across the seas carrying his followers upon his broad shoulders. Once a story is told it belongs to the people for better or worse. But you and I know what really happened on that snowy day so long ago...probably.