The Archan Chronicles - Chapter 1 - The Boy and the Anka

The sun shone brightly over the seaside village of Nogune. Its rays sparkled and shimmered as they danced on the surface of the crystal clear ocean. The waves lapped the shoreline, tickling the toes of children playing in the sand on the beach outside of town.

The town of Nogune, which rested at the water’s edge, was a typical western town on the island country of Archan, where the moon is nearly always full and the nights are full of activity. A few shops served both the residents and the occasional traveler who passed through the Nogune Peninsula, for which the town was named. Traders came to Nogune on a monthly basis, selling wares from all the regions of Archan, from the Soron Desert to the Rothen Mountains to the Resan River Valley.

Of all the regions beyond the Nogune Peninsula, the most feared is that of the Forank Forest. Stories are told of the Anka, a strange, wolf-like race, that dwell there. It is said that if you cross an Anka’s path, it will kill you before you can even scream for help. There has been much hostility between the humans that inhabit the majority of the regions and the dwindling Anka for the past century and a half, and tensions between the two seem to grow constantly.

To the humans, a good thing about the Anka is that they are seldom seen. They often keep to themselves. That is, unless a human wanders into their region. And when the Anka travel outside of their own region, they keep a low profile and don’t usually meddle in human affairs.

Yet, on this particular spring morning, no one knew that an Anka was watching one of them. The Anka was a tall, strong female covered in a coat of brilliant grey fur with a white furred stomach and legs and a semi bushy tail. Green diamonds painted onto her front legs marked her high rank in Ankan society. Her coal black nose picked up any scent, warning her of any possible danger. She knew that she was not welcome in this place, as humans everywhere despise the Anka. But the Anka did not care about much right now. Her eyes, deep blue like the ocean beyond the town and slightly larger than was natural, intently watched a boy tending shop at the town’s edge.

The boy was no more than fifteen years of age. He was of medium build and did not look very athletic. His short, brown, unkempt hair stuck out in odd places and in those places it would never lay down. His eyes, green like that of the newest grass, had a certain degree of seriousness in them, but that did not hide a feeling of sadness and loneliness. The area around his nose had a few red and white bumps that stood out like a white cat in a grassy field. There was a stripe of grey hair at the back of his head, which the boy had always attributed to stress. He was in the typical garb of Archan, which included a pair of pants, short-sleeved shirt, and a vest in any color a person wanted, along with brown leather sandals. In every respect, he seemed to be quite normal except for the fact he was the youngest in his village to have a job. This boy was sorting items onto various shelves when the keeper of the shop came up to him.

“Racnel,” the shopkeeper said in a gruff voice to the boy, for Racnel was the boy’s name. When Racnel was paying attention, the shopkeeper handed Racnel a few bags full of food and clothing. “Take these to that sick man’s house on the other side of town. Do it quick, and I may add another copper coin to your wages for today.”

Racnel took the bags and shot off across town. The Anka followed him, unnoticed, around the outskirts of town, using the bushes and long grass to shield itself from view. Racnel entered the house, met with the sick man, and set down the bags in the kitchen. After the man said thank you and gave Racnel money for the cost of the goods, Racnel returned to the shop, the Anka still trailing him unnoticed.

The shopkeeper did not award Racnel the coin he said he would possibly give him and ordered Racnel to get back behind the register. Racnel was not bothered by the shopkeeper’s response. This sort of behavior went towards him every day for the past three years. Racnel worked at the register until the store closed in the evening. The shopkeeper gave Racnel four copper coins and told him to go home.

Racnel’s one room home was towards the center of town. He opened the door and went inside. Somebody had stolen some firewood and a piece of meat. He ignored this and began to make a fire in the pit at one end of the house to cook his evening meal. The smoke drifted out a hole at the top of the house and disappeared into the night sky, clear but as dark as obsidian.

After he ate, Racnel sat in a chair, looking at a picture of his mother that had been drawn by a traveling artist a few years ago. She was no more than forty-five, with blonde hair and green eyes. When she was alive, she was vivacious yet stern and focused when she needed to be. She had died three years ago at the hands – or rather, paws – of an Anka that had attacked her when she was talking with some friends in the town square. Because of the viciousness accredited to the Anka everyone in the town of Nogune believed that Racnel would be next. But no one wanted to stand up to help Racnel, so they ignored him. The shopkeeper, fearing he would be killed after Racnel, sometimes did not give Racnel his pay of four copper coins, hoping to further connections with him. He was shunned by other kids, who often stole from him.

But that was how things worked around here. The Anka were condemned, so families who were attacked by the Anka were condemned. They were isolated from the community, for the residents of Nogune, as well as any other human settlement, believed that a curse had been placed upon the family attacked. The person attacked or his or her relatives would gain wolfish characteristics, or simply change into an Anka themselves. But Racnel showed no visible traits of wolves. Nor did he change into an Anka. Because of this, it was believed he was friends with the Anka, and thus most of Nogune thought he was a demon. Besides, he had some affiliation with the Anka besides this attack, but no one truly knew what that affiliation was except for the occasional rumor that sprouted up after the attack, so they further condemned Racnel. The only way the shopkeeper had let Racnel get a job at the shop was because Racnel’s mother was a friend to him. Other than that, nothing went right for Racnel. He sighed and put his mother’s picture back where he found it, feeling very lonely.

The Anka that had followed Racnel that day watched sadly as she saw him extinguish the fire and go to sleep. He looked so depressed, so lonely, that the Anka wanted to go and comfort him in any way she could possibly do so. However, the legends told of the Anka would make the boy fear her rather than accept her presence and attempt to drive her away or call the town guard as a result. But the boy would be lonely no longer. The time had come, and the moon was full. And evil would soon approach the seaside town.

Knowing she could do nothing at that moment, the Anka disappeared into the shadows of the sparse forests outside Nogune. She would come back later, but now she had business to do at the entrance of the Nogune Peninsula.

Late that night, Racnel awoke from an odd dream about a wolf with shining grey fur that seemed to be speaking to him. His tan shirt and brown over shirt were stained with sweat, and his blue cloth pants were wrinkled from having been worn to bed that evening.

From somewhere far away, a long, mournful sound like that of a wolf’s howl rang through the night. The first thing he remembered was the stories of the Anka. How they would attack people late at night, when they were asleep. How they would take people away from their homes and their families. Not that it was better or worse than being ridiculed all his life, but maybe the idea of the curse was true. It could end his life, thus ending the ridicule. But he wanted to live a full life anyway, despite the bad things that happened to him.

The howl sounded again. But, to Racnel, it was not a call to others to mark the beginning of a hunt. It was not one that proclaimed victory over some unfortunate animal or person. Rather, the mournful sound seemed to be warning the town of Nogune that danger was on its way. For a fleeting moment, Racnel could swear he heard his name somewhere in the haunting yet strikingly wonderful call, as if the howl was specifically warning him.

But why would Racnel believe such things? The Anka who lived to the south were vicious, from what he had heard and was told. They attacked and killed his mother without warning. Why would he believe an Anka’s warning call? Looking at the window, he decided to attempt to see the Anka so that he could tell the guard. They would kill the Anka, and maybe the residents would leave him alone. Maybe they would forget about the curse that supposedly rested on him.

Racnel went to the window and threw open the wooden shutters. He looked out beyond the town’s edge, through the forests, and onto the hills beyond Nogune. But he saw no Anka on the hilltops. Only an army of orcs staring maliciously down at Nogune.

The orcs were large creatures. They were the height of a large sapling and weighed as much as three full grown men. It was said that all orcs were humans once, but they had been twisted by their rage and the arcane arts. Now, they were a shade similar to jade green, covered in warts, and putrid smelling. Deep inside each of them was an unfathomable rage. A rage that led them to kill everything in their path. The stories of the Anka seemed tame compared to the stories of orcs who burned down entire settlements and senselessly slaughtered everything in their range of sight. At the moment, about two hundred orcs stood on the hills overlooking Nogune, armed with torches and crude swords and armor. From somewhere far off, Racnel heard the deep, guttural cry of the orc leader, and the troop began to march on Nogune.

Racnel panicked. There was no way the feeble town guard of Nogune could stand a chance against an army of orcs that size. The members of the guard were experienced fighters, but the sheer number of the orcs would overpower the guard. Racnel stood where he was, paralyzed with fear.

A bang on the door made Racnel spin around, eyes wide open and breathing heavily. There were a few more bangs, and Racnel jumped backwards and onto his bed to avoid being hit by the door, which flew off its hinges. When the dust cleared, Racnel saw a large wolf, not much smaller than his waist to the floor at its shoulder, staring at him. Its grey and white fur shone brightly in the moonlight flooding through the doorway.

“Come with me, young Racnel,” the wolf said in a feminine voice so sweet and so coaxing that Racnel almost obeyed it without question. “I am here to protect you.”

Racnel gasped, realizing what exactly was talking to him. The wolf had just spoken. That meant that it was an Anka, for no normal wolf could talk. He did not care that it knew his name (it had probably forced it out of a villager). He began to panic even more, for the Anka was blocking the only visible way that Racnel could use for escape.

“No!” he said, voice shaking as much as his body as he remembered the ridicule. “You killed my mother! You turned me into a demon! Get away from me! I want nothing to do with you!”

“You don’t understand,” the Anka said, her voice quite tender and wounded by Racnel’s words. “I am not here to hurt you, but the orcs that are marching towards here are. I am trying to get you out of here before they can hurt you. That will be impossible if you don’t believe what I am telling you right now.”

Racnel looked out the window. The orcs had come much closer now. They had begun to throw their torches at the houses, setting almost all of Nogune on fire. People were shouting in the streets, and those who did not run fast enough were slaughtered by the orcs. It seemed to Racnel that there was no way he would get out of this alive. Escape seemed futile, what with around two hundred creatures after him. But Racnel was too panicked to think.

“If you won’t get away from me,” he said, his voice shaking, “I’ll get away from you.” He jumped out the small window at the back of the house, and began to run for his life through the streets of Nogune.

Racnel ran for the beach to escape the heat of the flames, but the Anka caught up to him, and stood in his path. It seemed to be trying to talk to him, but Racnel was in no mood to listen. He turned tail and ran through the burning city, swerving between houses, burning to the ground, to avoid orcs or the Anka that was now chasing him.

Racnel saw the wooden poles marking the entry of the town and realized he had almost escaped the attack alive. I am actually going to escape, thought Racnel. I have almost left town without a scratch! I’m about to escape and I’m still alive!

But a group of orcs surrounded him before he could exit the town. They closed in around him, blades raised. Racnel dropped to the ground and rolled into a ball, shivering with fear as he waited for the pain.

So this is how it will all end for me, Racnel thought. This is how I leave this world.

The end never came. Racnel remained curled up, shaking, for a few moments. No blade touched him. Fearfully, Racnel uncurled himself and got up, knees buckling underneath him.

Everywhere he looked, the orcs were dead. All the orcs that had surrounded him and attempted to kill him were lifeless. They were nothing but a torn up mess of blood and iron. On the other side of town, he heard the guttural cry of orcs calling each other. For the moment, as he looked out of the town, he was safe.

Racnel heard a dog bark behind him. He turned around slowly, fearful of what he might see.

The Anka that had broken into his home was behind him. She began to trot towards him, sighing thankfully. “Thank goodness I found you,” she said, a look of relief on her face. “I was afraid you were killed by those orcs. Are you alright?”

Racnel panicked once again at the sight of the Anka. He bolted in the direction of the forests outside of town.

“Where are you going?” the Anka cried out desperately to Racnel. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

Racnel ran and ran and ran, fearing for his very life, fearing the possible lies the Anka was telling him. He tore through the undergrowth, ignoring the pain from where the branches of bushes scraped and scratched his skin. He ran into low lying branches, and pushed others out of the way. But no matter how fast or how long he ran, the Anka kept up with him.

Racnel swerved and zigzagged through the trees, eventually losing the Anka, coming to a clearing in the middle of the woods. He sat down out of exhaustion, attempting to catch his breath before the Anka returned. The brightness of the moon allowed him to check his wounds and see blood seeping through the scratches on his leg where the branches had poked through the skin. He took a leaf from a bush and attempted to mop up some of the blood on his leg.

Suddenly, there was a noise out in the forest. Racnel looked around to see that he had chosen a bad place to hide, as there was no exit except for the entrance to the clearing, from where the sound was coming from. Racnel got up, feeling a pain in his leg, and watched the entrance to the clearing.

The Anka walked out from the shadows. Racnel seemed ready to fight, and began to pick up small stones he found on the ground. He constantly pelted the pebbles at the Anka, which sat there, taking the pain, looking at Racnel with a sad expression on its face.

The late hour, the long periods of running, and the throwing of pebbles soon took their toll on Racnel. He fell backwards, exhausted. He could not pick up one more stone. And even if he had been able to, he would not have had the strength to throw it. Racnel heard noises which, though in reality were very close, seemed far away. He could see the Anka rushing to his side, calling his name over and over again, as his vision faded and he blacked out.

For a moment, Racnel did not open his eyes. He did not want to. Some fear deep inside kept him from looking around. From what he felt he was flat on the ground with his arms spread out a little bit. Birds twittered and flapped their wings around him. Something next to him was crackling. After a few moments of nothing but the crackling noise and twittering of birds, Racnel decided it was safe enough to open his eyes.

Racnel found himself in a clearing in the woods outside the town of Nogune. He was lying flat on his back, staring at the sky, on the forest floor. The early morning sun shone through the tree limbs and leaves, lighting his face. He sat up to get a better view of his surroundings to see the wounds on his legs gone and a fire built close by the entrance of the clearing. He did not remember how he had gotten there. He decided that if there was a fire that he did not build close by, there must be someone who could tell him how he got there.

A twig snapped by the fire. Racnel turned to face the noise, but it had stopped and nothing more could be heard. A few moments passed before Racnel heard another twig snap. Then, a bush shuddered and shook violently. The branches of the bush parted to revel a large wolf head with deep blue eyes, carrying a small and slightly burnt brown satchel, popped out from a bush.

Racnel began to remember the events of the previous night, and jumped as he remembered that the Anka now looking at him was the one that had pursued him here.

“No worries, Racnel,” the Anka said gently as it set down the satchel. “You are safe and sound here. The orcs are still wandering around the Peninsula, and this clearing will provide cover until they pass.”

Racnel contradicted this idea.

“You tried to kill me,” he said, “as you have killed my mother. You led those foul beasts to Nogune to try and capture me and kill me. You planned the attack out. You are no better than they are.” Racnel wanted to attack the Anka, but a surging hunger gripped his stomach. He had not eaten for half a day and had no energy from his morning devoid as of then by no breakfast.

The Anka noticed Racnel’s hunger and carried the bag towards Racnel, dropping it next to him. She pushed it towards Racnel with her muzzle, essentially motioning for Racnel to take the items inside.

“I found it when I went to look around the ruins of Nogune,” she explained. “There is enough food for you for four days. If we travel quick enough, that should be enough to sustain you until we reach my city, maybe longer.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. This food is probably poisoned, too.”

“It’s not poisoned. Taste it for yourself.”

Racnel awkwardly reached into the bag. He pulled out about ten pieces of bread, three small containers of meat that was probably somebody’s leftovers from dinner the previous night, and a few thin containers of fresh water. Racnel cautiously ate some bread and meat and drank some water. It all tasted fine.

The Anka laughed. Racnel thought that it sounded slightly malicious and jumped backwards to avoid anything that could come his way. But the Anka’s deep blue eyes were full of amusement, which confused Racnel.

“Don’t believe everything you hear about us Anka,” she said in a voice so kind and so convincing that any and every fear of the Anka left Racnel as fast as a rushing river. “In reality, we Anka are very nice and hospitable and only attack when we are defending others of our kind. Those stories of viciousness were twisted by some man attacking an Anka first and provoking another to attack to save the first.”

“If that is so, then why did that one Anka kill my mother three years ago? Why, when I was only twelve, did it take away the only thing I had in my life? Everything in my life has gone wrong since then.”

The Anka thought deeply about this. She sensed that Racnel did not know very much about events outside of the Nogune Peninsula, nor about the regions of Archan. She looked at Racnel.

“I am afraid I cannot answer that question.”

Racnel began to get angry with the Anka.

“Is it because you don’t know?” he asked, annoyed.

“Not that. But, with your current knowledge, anything I tell you would go over your head. You would not understand what I am talking about. What I will tell you is complicated.” The Anka’s voice gained a mysterious quality as it continued. “There is more out there than just the beaches of Nogune and the Nogune Peninsula. There are the lands of the Anka and the royal city. There are such forests and rivers and deserts that you will never see in your life here in Nogune.”

Racnel sat, intrigued by the power of the Anka’s words. The talk of far off lands interested him, but to talk about it with such gusto was unheard of.

“There is a lot you must understand about these lands. But in order to explain them to you, you will have to leave home and experience them for yourself.”

“My home!” Racnel said, remembering the fire last night. Taking the bag of food, he ran to Nogune, wanting to see if, somehow, his home was left unscathed.

“No!” the Anka cried after him, as they ran through the forests. “Don’t go back! It is all burned to the ground!”

Racnel ignored her. He kept on running, as fast as he could, to his home. He wanted to see if Nogune escaped the majority of the fire. He ran, weaving his way through the bushes, to the edges of the woods.

The sight shocked Racnel and filled him with despair. Not a single building had left unscathed. Most of the buildings were completely in ruin. Most of the buildings were mostly together, though blackened and broken in places.

Racnel walked slowly through the town, the Anka following him without trying to restrain him. Every once in a while, he remembered a place that now lay in a pile of ashes. Here was the shop he worked at. There lay the swim shop in ruins. In another place the school Racnel attended for seven years was merely a pile of dust. And in another place lay his house. There was nothing left of the place he called home. Nothing that he could remember the place by.

A gleam of color under a burnt plank of wood caught Racnel’s eye. It was the picture of his mother. It was the only thing that was not harmed during the fire. There was no hole from a burn. The edges were not singed. The face looked as pretty as it had been when Racnel looked at it before.

“I understand how tough it is to lose your family,” the Anka said, walking up beside Racnel. “My mother and father were killed, as well as my brother and sisters. I was alone for about five years, at which point I found an old seer who took me in. I have still never gotten over the loss of my parents and siblings.”

Racnel was sitting in the midst of the ruins, sobbing and ignoring the Anka’s words. Everything that happened during the past three years of his life had gone completely wrong. First his mother was killed. Then the people accused him of being a demon. Next there was his rejection by society. Now his town was burned down. Nothing for the past three years was right. He put his arms on his legs and began to cry completely. Everything had been torn away from him.

The Anka got under Racnel’s arm and began to rub her head affectionately on his side, trying to cheer him up.

“There, there,” she said in a low, gentle voice. “You haven’t lost everything. It is true that you have lost your mother, your home, and even your old life. But you have a new, full life ahead of you. You have your life, the most important thing that has not been lost. And you have me. Without me, you would not be here.”

Racnel patted the Anka’s side. It was trying to comfort him, and he knew it. But nothing was as hard as leaving his town. Leaving his town was leaving his childhood. It was leaving his life. It was leaving his mother. However, something inside Racnel told him that it was his time to go. That it was his time to have an adventure. That it was his time to leave. That this was inevitable. He looked at the Anka.

“I feel like I am not ready for this yet,” he said. “But, if it is what I must do, then I will go wherever you lead me, even though I do not fully trust you yet.”

The Anka smiled kindly at Racnel.

“I am sorry things had to turn out this way,” she said to him.

“I wish this never happened to me,” Racnel said. “I wish the orcs had never known of this place. I wish my mother had never died.”

“But things like this must happen. It is required of all living things. Of man and Anka. Even you would have been kicked out of your home to find your own, new lifestyle. An Anka must learn to survive on its own, even if it is within a community. And I had to learn that the hard way.”

“But it seems a bit forced to just be kicked out of the life you come to recognize as normal.”

“That is true. We never want to leave the home, but nature forces us to fend for ourselves. But there are those who will help us after we leave. And so, whatever happens, I will stay by your side, and protect you as I did last night. After what happened, it is probably best that I travel with you, for something tells me that you have a long road ahead of you.”

Racnel was very grateful for the company. Now that he had lost everything, he was happy, at least, to find someone who could comfort him in his current traumatized state. But, he just did not know where to go.

“If I am to journey beyond the Peninsula,” Racnel said to the Anka, “then I need to ask you where to go first.”

The Anka thought about this. Should she tell him about the... no. She could not tell him now. There was someone out there who could tell it better than she could.

“That old seer I told you about would be a good start,” the Anka said. “She knows a lot about the world as it is, and could tell you where to go better than I can.”

They sat there in silence for a while.

“Why is it me that these things are happening to?” Racnel finally asked.

“The truth is darker than you think,” the Anka replied. “You are the center of a chain of events about to be unleashed upon Archan. All these events are focused on you.”

“If that is so,” Racnel said, fear coming back into him as he got up and backed away from the Anka, “then why are you not killing me now? Wouldn’t all these events just be stopped if I never existed?”

“There is no way I would do that,” the Anka said, stepping closer to Racnel. “I need you. The Ankan race need you. The human race need you. The entire country of Archan needs you. For you are the one to stop the chain of events. I know it seems imposing, but once we get to the seer, she can tell you more about what you must do.”

Racnel remembered the stories of the Anka and was beginning to shake with fear. He stepped back even more, fearing the Anka had just thrown at him a plethora of lies that he’d just believed.

“Is that why you came here then? Are the stories of taking people away from homes and families true? Are you here to tear me away from everything I know?”

“Remember what I told you earlier. We Anka are not as vicious or as evil as we sound. In fact, we have protected the Peninsula for the last seven years. No such case of an Anka taking away people has ever occurred. The person left of their own accord.”

Racnel was calmed a bit, but not much. The idea still scared him. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the Anka was lying to him. But it had not been lying to him thus far. He decided to trust the Anka once more, but not put his full confidence in it. He slowly, cautiously, walked back to the Anka.

“Everything will be alright,” the Anka said. “I am here to protect you, not to harm you. Do not worry for your safety. Have you not heard a word that I told you?”

Racnel stopped shaking. The fear had gone out of him again. It had taken a little longer than last time, but it had left him.

“Go back to the camp,” the Anka told Racnel. “I want to check out the area and see if the orcs have left.” With that, she took off into the forests to the south. But, as Racnel watched, it seemed to stop on a hill overlooking Nogune for close to no reason.

He began to walk to the woods, back to the “camp” to wait it out until the Anka said all was safe. He turned back to look at the burnt ruins of his house one last time.

A metallic glint from under a piece of wood caught Racnel’s eye. He went over to the glint, and pulled the metal out from under the wood.

What he saw amazed him. It was a dagger. Its blade, one and a half times as long than the distance from the tip of his middle finger to his wrist, slimmed down and curved to a point to look like one of the Anka’s claws. The wooden handle, which was very hot, was painted black and the handles were wrapped with red cloth that was burned in places from the fire. He remembered it as something his mother gave to him before she died. Racnel found a sheath for the knife in the pile of ashes near the wood and put the blade in the sheath. He then followed the path from the entrance of the town to the camp. So nobody would notice it, he put it in the brown leather bag of food. From then on out, he waited until the Anka returned.

Late that evening, a little before the moon rose, the Anka returned to the camp in the clearing, where Racnel was eating some bread and meat for dinner. She seemed a bit relieved from her search.

“The orcs have left the Peninsula,” she said. “Since it is getting late, we shall rest up here tonight, and leave for the region of Forank tomorrow.”

Racnel watched the Anka curiously and with amazement as she dug a small hole in the earth. She then put some twigs and sticks in the hole, and then fallen tree branches. The Anka bent low over the hole and mumbled something that Racnel could not hear. Suddenly, there was a roaring flame in the fire pit, which quickly settled down, leaving a warm and friendly glow in the increasing darkness of the forest beyond, as well as warming Racnel in the cool night air.

Racnel fingered the blade and sheath in the bag otherwise filled with food. The Anka did not know about his discovery. He had not informed her of the blade yet.

“You were quite amazed at something back at the ruins,” the Anka said after it finished making the fire. “And it seems the interest carries back to camp. What else did you find at the ruins of Nogune, besides the picture of your mother?”

Racnel hesitated. How does she know? he thought.

“I won’t do anything to you,” the Anka said coaxingly, trying to get Racnel to do what she asked without question as well as earn his trust, for she knew that Racnel was still fearful of her. “You can tell me, or show me, anything. Besides, I saw you pick something up before I left for the entrance, so don’t try and hide it.”

Racnel hesitated more. It was a minute before he decided to show the Anka the dagger.

“I found this dagger in the ruins,” Racnel said, his voice quavering as he pulled the dagger out from the bag and out of its ruined sheath. “My mother gave it to me a month before she died, when I turned twelve. She said she got it from my father, who got it from his father, and so on. From what she told me, it has been in the family for about 200 years. She said that, in giving me the dagger, she recognized me as a young man.”

The Anka inspected the blade carefully. Suddenly, her eyes lit up and her face reflected the joy in her mind at what she saw.

“That is no ordinary dagger,” she said. “That is a blade made by Ankan blacksmiths.”

“How can a wolf make a blade?”

“If they can transform into a human, which we can do through a ritual that can take place when the Anka turns 19. After this, an Anka can switch from human to wolf whenever it pleases.

“Anyways, that blade was made by a family of Ankan blacksmiths. The most recent stopped making them fifty years ago, so there are very few out there. The blade is known as the Steel Claw because the end is in the shape of a wolf’s claw.”

“But what would an Ankan blade be doing in a human city, specifically in my house, when the entirety of the community hated your kind?”

“You may not know it, but the Anka and humans used to live peacefully.”

Once more, Racnel was captivated by the power of the Anka’s words.

“Tell me more,” he pleaded.

“I do not know the full history, but the seer can tell you more about that as well as the history of how you came to be involved in this struggle about to grip Archan. Now, go to sleep. It is getting late, and we have an early start tomorrow.”

The Anka laid down across the fire from Racnel, head on its paws. It was watching Racnel and he knew it. Eventually, the Anka closed its eyes. For a while, it did not open them, so Racnel assumed that she was asleep.

Racnel sighed and flopped down onto the grass. The previous twenty-four hours had been quite strange. He laid down in the grass, thinking for a while. It wasn’t about one certain thing, but about a lot of things. He thought about his life in Nogune and what possibly could happen to him. He thought about the stories of the Anka and how the Anka laying across the fire from him defied the behavior accepted by his town. He thought about what the Anka had told him as they walked through the ruins.

The Anka soon opened its eyes. It had not fallen asleep, as Racnel had thought, but had been thinking, as Racnel had been doing. It walked over to and sat down at Racnel’s head, looking into his eyes. From what Racnel could tell, it seemed concerned about something.

“Are you alright?” she asked. “You really haven’t said much of anything.”

“I’m just thinking about the past day,” Racnel said. “This has just all been so confusing. I still don’t know what to do, what I am supposed to do, and why I am supposed to do this. I tried to fit some pieces of this confusing puzzle together, trying to see if it meant anything, but I came up with nothing.”

The Anka looked at Racnel with a solemn expression.

I feel so bad for him, she thought. He seems so lonely. Even when he tries to mask it, I can tell he is lonely and depressed. I wish there was something I could do for him.

Racnel looked at the fire, then back at the Anka.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Why do you ask?” the Anka replied.

“I would just like to know. Besides, if you’re leading me to Forank, it would be better to know your name so I can call you by who you really are, and not just by an Anka.”

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” the Anka said understandingly. It knew what Racnel was going through. “Is that why? If you know my name, it puts us as equals, and makes you feel safer knowing that there is someone here besides you.”

Racnel sighed. He truly did feel lonely and depressed, as the Anka had said. His mind kept going back to the fire, to his mother’s death, to him being shunned by society. All this time, all he had really wanted was someone to keep him company. Someone that wouldn’t run away at the sight of him. He nodded.

“Very well,” the Anka said, its deep blue eyes looking into Racnel’s, piercing his very soul. “My name is Okita.”

“Okita...” Racnel said, thinking really hard. He was sure he had seen this Anka somewhere before, but could not remember where. Only after a few days of thinking would he finally remember.

Okita walked around and laid down with her back next to Racnel, who was staring at the skies, lit with the tiny, distant fires of stars. The moon’s rays lit up the clearing, and made Okita’s fur gleam in the moonlight.

Racnel later fancied he heard Okita singing. She seemed to be singing in the common tongue, but it was so low that Racnel could not hear what the Anka was singing. From hearing her voice rise and fall, it seemed like the tune was empowering and reassuring. Racnel flipped onto his side in an attempt to hear the Anka better. She stopped singing, and Racnel began to get annoyed, fearing his efforts at listening were in vain. But the Anka began to sing again, and this time, she was loud enough for Racnel to hear.

When night eclipses all you know,

When darkness obscures what light should show,

Know that you are in my sight

And I’ll help distinguish wrong from right.

My power is with you wherever you go.

I’ll walk with you through rivers or snow.

Through darkness and pain, we shall persevere

Through despair and sorrow, I shall adhere

Through death and destruction, we shall prevail

Till morning casts back the devil’s veil.

Through trial and turmoil, I shall be there

To guard you and protect you from evil in the air.

Fear not, my friend; do not be discouraged

For though through fear your lands are ravaged

I shall stay by your side till morning light appear

And dark shall never win so long as I am here.

The haunting melody entranced Racnel, along with Okita’s voice. Somehow, maybe by the way she sang it, Racnel felt that the Anka was trying to tell him something through this song, this ballad. It almost made him fall asleep on the spot, or ask Okita to sing it again.

It was not for a while, though, after Okita had stopped singing that Racnel fell asleep, for he was trying to decipher the meaning of the song until his energy gave out, and eventually he was asleep next to Okita in the grass of the forest clearing.