Although more than a century ago he’d planned to travel directly from Walburg to Castle Hill, that’s not what happened. No, his instincts had set a different path under his feet, one that led him westward, back to the land of his childhood. All these years had passed and still he hadn’t hidden his mother’s prophecies, their aged crinkled pages beginning to fade. So he’d done two things: First, he picked out the lines of text that seemed the most important, the true prophecies. He inked those on his own skin permanently. Now they can never be lost, so long as I am alive, he’d thought. Second, he hid the original copies in two places—the Dead Isles, an uninhabited island off the western coast; and Citadel, Calypso’s city of scholars. Instinct had guided him to these two locations.
From there, he’d headed back north, trudging over the Mournful Mountains to avoid the border fighting at Raider’s Pass. Then he turned eastward to Darrin, where he’d once again avoided the fighting by providing fresh meat for the army. He lived a life there, and then departed, heading back west, from shore to shore, all the way to Blackstone, where a naval battle with the west had broken out. He was no seaman, and no one tried to recruit him, despite his size.
The war for the Four Kingdoms had stretched over a century, with no evidence of ending anytime soon, and was now being called the Hundred Years War. Tales of the marked warriors from each kingdom doing battle continued to swirl through pubs and markets, until it was all anyone seemed to talk about. Many of them had been killed, but were quickly replaced by new marked births. The only exception remained the west, where any marked children were slaughtered as soon as they were discovered.
Bear kept his list, updating for those born, those killed. For what purpose, he knew not, but it felt better keeping track.
He stayed in Blackstone, biding his time, until his lack of aging became a problem once more.
Why am I here, Mother? he wondered. What is my fate? Where is the peace you prophesied about?
He waited and waited and waited.
And waited.
Finally, in the year 482, an inner sense told him it was time, and he turned toward Castle Hill at long last. The Undefeated King, Wilhelm Gäric, and his wife Queen Ida, had just given birth to their second child, a son, Wolfric, who was now the crown prince.
Bear knew what he had to do, though he didn’t know why.
Eighteen years passed slowly, with Bear gradually making his prowess as a hunter known to the stewards of the royal kitchens, until they offered him a position as castle huntsman, replacing an aging man who was struggling to keep up with meat quotas.
More fatemarked were born, though hardly anyone used that term anymore. Most called them skinmarked, while in the west they were the sinmarked, no better than demons. In the south, however, they referred to the marking as tattooya. Three years earlier, in Phanes, Emperor Jin Hoza had a son born to him, his first. The babe, named Vin, was marked with a chain around his neck. No one knew what power it would give him, but the royal marked birth sent tremors of fear across the Four Kingdoms. In the east, a man bearing the ironmark, Beorn Stonesledge, was singlehandedly devastating Calypsian armies along the border of the Scarra Desert. The north had one of the skinmarked, too, a tall, narrow-eyed man known as simply the Ice Lord. Though the king himself was lauded for his skill in battle, most knew that the Ice Lord was the real reason for his success in protecting the northern borders.
Hardly anyone spoke of the Western Oracle anymore, her legend fading into a past that was no longer relevant.
She foretold all of this, Bear thought as he approached the hunting lodge provided to him by the throne. And she foretold what comes next, too. Yet no one cares. Their ignorance will be their downfall. His latest companion, a beautiful snow-white wolfhound named Serenaia after his mother—though he called her Naia most of the time—trotted beside him. Years ago he’d given up the practice of naming each dog Sir. They were so much more than replacement companions to him, after all. They were his best friends, his confidantes, the only ones who truly knew him.
He opened the thick wooden door, sucking in a quick breath of air when he realized his cabin was occupied by another. He shook his head, laughing slightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Princess Zelda?” he said.
The square-faced girl squinted at him. “Father says I have a gloomy disposition.” Though the only daughter to the king was only eight name days old, she was already broad of shoulder and thick of limb. She was also slightly odd, and yet Bear tended to look forward to her regular visits.
Before Bear could respond, Naia, tail wagging furiously, sprinted up to the princess and jumped up on her, licking at her arm. Zelda scratched her behind her left ear, her favorite spot.
Bear said, “Gloomy? I wouldn’t say you’re gloomy exactly. More like…somber, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Regardless, you tend to cheer me up when you come around.”
“Really?” Zelda sat on Bear’s bed, patting Naia when she jumped up beside her. The princess picked up a hatchet, playing with it in her lap, one of Bear’s older ones that he rarely used anymore.
“Would I lie to you?” Bear stamped the snow off his boots and then slipped them off, leaving them outside. He closed the door behind him.
“Everyone lies,” Zelda said matter-of-factly. She ran her finger along the blade, which was too dull to cut much of anything anymore.
Bear couldn’t deny it. So much of his life was a lie. Frozen hell, no one even knows my real name. He changed the subject. “Where are your brothers?” He hoped far away; both princes had a mean streak a kingdom wide. Lately, the crown prince, Wolfric, had taken to growling at Naia, laughing when she flinched back. Unlike many of Bear’s previous wolfhounds, Naia was a gentle soul, though even she had limits.
The crown prince, Bear mused internally. The truth was, Wolfric was only heir to the throne because his eldest brother, Helmuth, had been born maimed, one of his legs practically useless. His nickname had swiftly become the Maimed Prince. Five years ago, the king had finally made the decision to skip over Helmuth in the line of succession. A year after that, Helmuth had run away. The rumor was he’d left a note behind promising to return to get his vengeance one day. He hadn’t been heard from since, four long years later.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Zelda said. Bear chuckled, which made the girl frown. “It wasn’t a jape. My brothers can get stuck in a snowdrift for all I care. They are buffoons at the least, and village fools at the most.”
Trying not to laugh, Bear placed his hunting satchel on a table and lit the hearth. “Would you like some tea?”
“Tea tastes like snake piss,” she said without blinking. “Though mother once told me you could read the tea leaves after you finish drinking and they’ll tell you your future.”
“We could try it if you want.”
“But then I’d have to drink the tea!” Zelda said.
“Not worth it?”
Zelda shook her head. She held the hatchet over her shoulder with one hand, pulling it back. Then, before Bear could stop her, she flung it at the door. “What are you—”
Thump! Bear twisted his head to look. The hatchet—despite its dull edge—was stuck firmly in the wood. Wait. No. It was stuck in the direct center of a dark brown knot in the wood. Bear’s eyes widened in amazement. “Were you aiming for that?” he asked.
Naia barked in appreciation.
Zelda shrugged. “I’m good at throwing things. I hit Wolfric with an iceball from a hundred paces away yesterday. You should have seen his face! All red and angry.” She laughed. “He stomped around looking to see who had thrown it, but I was already hidden. What a buffoon!”
Bear didn’t know what to make of her, except that she was so different to her elder siblings. Where did you come from, princess? Bear wondered. “Well, just be careful what you throw. Don’t hit anyone. Other than your brothers, of course.” He offered a wink, which made her laugh even more.
Naia leapt to the floor, barking her head off. A moment la
ter, fists pounded on the door. “Open up, you mongrel!” an angry-sounding voice hollered through the wood.
“Ugh,” Zelda said. “Speak of the village idiot.”
It was Wolfric’s voice. How much of our conversation did he hear? By the anger in his voice, all of it, Bear thought.
He opened the door. The crown prince glared at him, his brown eyes as icy as morning snowfall. “Morning, Prince Wolfric. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” He tried to keep his voice even, rather unsuccessfully.
The eighteen-year-old brushed a strand of long, dark hair away from his face. “I’m looking for my sister. Stand aside!”
Bear barred the entrance. Behind him, a low growl rumbled from Naia’s throat. “This is my home. I decide who enters.”
“Provided by my father.”
“Correct. So if your father would like to come in, he may do so. You’ll require my permission.”
Somewhere inside, Zelda snorted out a laugh.
Wolfric gritted his teeth. “Stand aside or I will make you, and take pleasure in the act.”
“Is that so?” Bear widened his stance, rising up to his full height.
“Am I supposed to be scared?”
Naia’s growl grew louder.
“No, you’re supposed to be smart. Never fight someone twice your size.”
“He’s not smart,” Zelda said from inside.
“Come out, you little urchin,” Wolfric said.
“Maybe later,” Zelda said.
Wolfric bit the side of his lip, contemplating his options. To Bear’s surprise, the prince ducked his head and charged, smashing his shoulders and head into Bear’s midsection. Bear released a breath, taking a step back. But that was as far as the prince was able to push him. Before he could peel Wolfric’s arms off of him, however, Naia sprang forward, through his legs, unleashing a snarl and a flurry of snapping jaws.
The prince cried out, falling back under the onslaught. Naia’s head shook back and forth as she bit at his arm.
“Naia release!” Bear commanded. Grudgingly, the wolfhound let go, backing away, but not all the way inside. She stood at the threshold, guarding it, her hackles up.
Wolfric, his face as white as the Frozen Lake, stared at his arm. Blood seeped through his shirtsleeve. “She bit me! The bitch bit me!”
“You threatened her home,” Bear said, but he could feel the emptiness in his words. The hollowness. He knew what would come next.
The prince scrambled to his feet, gripping his bleeding arm with his other hand. “Father will hear of this,” he said. “I could’ve been maimed, like my fool of a brother, Helmuth.”
Bear said nothing. There was nothing to say. The deed was already done, the consequences etched in stone. You didn’t injure an heir to a kingdom and walk away unscathed.
He watched the prince go, and then stepped inside, beckoning Naia to follow.
He closed the door.
Zelda had left a while ago, telling him she would speak to her father. She would be a witness to what had happened. She would fix things.
Bear had learned long ago, when his mother was in prison, that you couldn’t fix the unfixable. And this was unfixable.
He considered running, leaving the cabin behind and fleeing into the wilderness. He could return in the future, once everything had blown over. Naia would be safe.
Something stayed him, however. Something more important than his life, or his wolfhound’s. The same something that had guided him for the last century and a half of his extraordinarily long life.
So instead he cradled Naia’s head in his arms and scratched her behind her left ear. She groaned appreciatively, not understanding why she was getting so much affection.
A while later, a knock came at the door, echoing through the cabin with a finality that made Bear’s heart sink into his abdomen. Naia was already on the floor, growling. Back on guard duty, like the faithful pup that she was.
Bear walked over and opened the door a crack. The king looked back at him, his face weary and sad. Wolfric was behind him, wearing a sneer on his face and a thick bandage on his arm. Zelda was notably absent, though there were several soldiers in full armor. “Bear Blackboots,” the king said. “You are a faithful servant to the crown, and this doesn’t change that. If you will stay on in your position, we will gladly have you.”
“I will,” Bear said.
The king nodded thoughtfully. The sadness in his eyes, however, remained. “But we must take your dog. I’m sorry.”
Bear pursed his lips, breathing deeply through his nose. “I understand,” he said. “I hate it. But I understand the position she’s put you in.” He didn’t look at the prince, whose eyes were surely gleaming with victory.
“Zelda argued well for the hound,” the king said. “It’s the first time she’s seemed to…care about anything in a long time. Other than antagonizing her brothers, that is.”
“I’ll be sure to thank her,” Bear said.
“It’s time.”
Bear opened the door wider and stepped back into the warmth. Naia’s head was cocked to the side, her teeth no longer bared.
Bear picked her up.
Carried her outside.
Instead of growling, she whined when she saw Wolfric. “Not so tough now, are you, bitch?” he said.
“Son!” the king said. “That will be enough of that.”
Chastened, the prince clamped his mouth shut, though the sneer remained.
The king turned back to Bear. “It’s your dog, you can choose the manner of death.”
“Father, I want to do—” The prince’s words fell off a cliff as the king shot him a sharp look.
“I will do it,” Bear said.
“You are a man of honor,” the king said.
Bear didn’t know about that. All he knew was that it didn’t feel right for anyone else to be involved. He knelt down in the snow, holding Naia close to his chest. Just like with his mother, he felt helpless. Alone. But he wasn’t that boy anymore. No, he’d grown up years ago.
He drew his sharpest knife from its scabbard, simultaneously stroking his dog’s back.
When it was over, Bear sat in the snow for a long time, until the king, his son, and the soldiers had departed. Just holding her. Kissing the top of her head.
His tears froze on his cheeks and in his beard, but he didn’t feel their chill.
He would never forget what the prince had done.
Never.
Eighteen years later
A knock on his door woke him from a deep slumber. It was winter, after all, and Bear tended to be groggier this time of year.
He stretched and yawned, shaking away the cobwebs. His cabin was cold and empty. After Naia’s death, he’d decided not to get another dog. It was safer that way.
Another knock, more insistent this time.
“Coming,” he grumbled. It was still dark outside, enormous snowflakes falling in sheets, piling up around the windows. Who would be calling at such a time?
Just before he reached the door, he stopped, as if he’d been frozen in place by the Ice Lord himself. A tremor ran through him from scalp to toes, though he wasn’t cold. The voice came a moment later.
Your time begins, his mother said.
“I—I—” he stuttered, but she was already gone.
He flung open the door just as a fist tried to pound on it once more, catching him in the jaw. “Oops,” Zelda said. “Sorry.” She was a lady now, and though her visits had become less frequent since her father’s death and her brother’s coronation, Bear still looked forward to them.
But tonight something was different, he could tell that much from her expression, which was unusually harried and flustered, even for her. And she carried something in the crook of her arm, wrapped in a black blanket. It looked to be about the size and shape of—
A baby.
The truth was revealed when she peeled back the corner of the blanket. A pale face stared out at him, his lips sealed tight. Bear
didn’t have much experience with babies, but weren’t they supposed to cry? The way the boy was staring at him seemed…unusual. And why would Zelda have a baby anyway? She wasn’t even preg—
Wait. Frozen hell, can it be? It was the queen, Sabria Loren Gäric, who was pregnant. She was supposed to be due any day now…
“The prince,” he murmured, in awe. “What have you done?”
“The queen has a favor,” Zelda said.
“What favor?” He glanced at the baby once more. Those eyes…something’s not right about them.
“Travel to the Mournful Mountains. There is a cave there, the directions are in a scroll I will provide. This child will be waiting for you.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Protect him. Raise him. And, eventually, unleash him on the world. On his father.”
Bear shook his head. After all these years…everything was moving so fast. “Why would the queen do this? And why this child and not the other two?” The queen had already provided two heirs. Annise, now four, and Archer, who had recently reached his second name day.
“She believes in a prophecy. And this child is marked, while the other two were not.”
Marked? Oh Wrath, it’s happening at last. “The Western Oracle,” he whispered.
Zelda’s eyes narrowed. “You know of her? Most have forgotten. And those that haven’t believe her to be fiction.”
“Yes, I know of her.”
“How?”
“She was my mother.”
A sharp intake of breath whistled between Zelda’s lips. She didn’t even question how old that would make Bear. She instantly believed him. “This is no coincidence,” she said instead.
“No,” Bear agreed. He gestured to the child, who was now sleeping. “Do you know his name?”
Zelda nodded, her eyes alight with fire. “He is Bane. And, one day, he shall kill the king.”
Suddenly, like lightning flashing in the dark of his mind, Bear knew what role he had to play in the fate of the Four Kingdoms.