Emerson Clarke came to us when I was nineteen. They arrived on the coldest day of the year, when the city was buried in snow and the sky was an eternal, cruel navy. Emerson carried nothing on them but a small rucksack and their father's old hunting knife. Their rich brown skin was riddled with scars and caked in grime, and their grey eyes coiled with rage. They were twenty-three and all alone. Clutched in their fist was the severed, crimson-caked head of a blood wolf.
They marched straight into the palace, shoving their way past guards, and dropped the head at the base of a stunned Zach's throne. "I want to work with you," was all they said. The blood wolf head spoke for itself.
-
As soon as Zach became king, he'd set to work reintroducing the old world to Adsophel. A week following the funeral, he had delivered a speech in the palace gardens, already dressed up in his new attire: a black suit beneath a violet-lined velvet cloak. The crown, a delicate wreath of stained glass and crystals, curled around his temples.
"Lovely people of Adsophel, it is now my duty to rule you. I plan to do so with as much patience, goodwill, and benevolence as my father, and his parents before him. I will maintain peace and order along our borders and within our city walls, the very same peace and order he worked so hard for. That is my vow to you.
"I have another vow to make, though. A rather personal one. You see, although Eric was a kind man, and a smart one, there are things about Adsophel that he, sadly, could not know. I, though, do. And I am making it my duty to share this knowledge with all of you. Here is my promise to you, Adsophel: I am going to lead you into an ancient, brilliant new age, the brightest future this country has ever seen."
He told them about finding the old ruins. He told them he'd been blessed by the dragons, by the gods themselves, to deliver this knowledge to them. "Once a week, anyone who is interested may come here to the palace gardens, and I will teach you what I know. I will teach you how to perform rituals and divination. I will teach you how to use herbs and make potions, far more powerful medicine than anything 'modern'. I will teach you about the creatures and spirits that walk among us, the ones so many of us can no longer see. I can teach you how to see them again."
For the first year of our rule, I lived with tense muscles, wary of everyone who came to the gardens. I feared he would be mocked and ridiculed as insane, or banished for his ramblings, or killed. I trembled with fear for him, because I knew he'd never stoop to fearing for himself. But weeks passed, and each time, more people grew curious and visited the gardens to learn. I watched him crouch among packs of children, passing around polished stones. I watched him help an elderly man prepare an herbal tea, and when a single sip eased his back pain, the man wept in relief and declared Zach divine. I watched him ease humble factory workers into a trance state, so they could finally see the secrets hidden in the burning light of the moon.
Thea was given the role of lecture. While Zach gave out practical knowledge or skill, she would tell people about the sky palace, or all manner of old world creatures. It was this, I believed, that most effectively brought people into the old world; it allowed them to realize they'd been interacting with spirits for their entire lives without knowing, and through this realization, it allowed people to see and listen to things they'd always ignored.
Thea gave lectures on the sirens - massive, humanoid creatures that dwelled around the mouth of the bay and lured sailors overboard to their deaths; the fae - spirits who nested within old trees and stole children's souls by asking for their names; the dreamweavers - jewel-tone spiders that fed on one's dreams; and the blood wolves - bloodhungry, cruel beasts that could rip apart stones with their teeth.
Blood wolves still roamed freely around our forests, all the way into the upper living district; they used to circle our house at night, no doubt seeking a way inside. Everyone knew someone who'd disappeared in the woods, and if a body was ever found, it was in pieces. Among all the predatory old-world creatures that Thea lectured about, the blood wolves seemed to catch people's imaginations and paranoia the strongest. They began eyeing the trees with suspicion, clutching their children as they passed. Sometimes, as I wandered the gardens, I'd find whole groups just sharing accounts, whether they be firsthand or a friend-of-a-friend's, about the blood wolves' malice.
It was because of this obsession that, a year after the garden sessions began, Zach put forth a challenge: anyone who could successfully conquer a blood wolf, and prove it to him, would get to join his upper circle and become blessed by the dragons. "Of course, don't go looking for a blood wolf if you aren't aptly prepared. You will die."
At that point, Zach's upper circle consisted of himself, Thea, and me. But I hadn't drank the blood yet. The thought of it made me nauseous; I could hardly look at the vial without my hands shaking, overcome with that prickling, electric sensation that emanated from Zach.
Thea had only waited a few weeks. She came pounding on our door in the middle of the night, drunk and in a temper, and demanded that he give her some of the blood. After some bickering, he agreed and dissolved a single drop of it into a cup of tea. She drank it, and for three days, nothing happened; then came the fever that had ransacked Zach. Once the last of it had coursed through her veins, her eyes, like his, changed. She used to share my pale green irises, but now they glowed and crackled with pure golden light. It reflected her newfound power: she could grow light from her palms.
The first thing she did, naturally, was toss a ball of light into Zach's face, which stunned and blinded him for a solid hour. She found this quite funny. She could also hang them in the air like lanterns, and when tossed at normal creatures - a poor swan in the garden, say - they were potent enough to kill.
I was happy that she was happy, until she began pestering me to drink the blood. "Zach and I ended up with completely different powers. Who knows how incredible yours will be?" I told her no. I never admitted my fear, but I think she knew. Zach certainly did, to a point where he hesitated to even reference his power around me.
But Zach was desperate for a third demigod. At the same time, he wasn't going to share the blood with any random fool. So he created the blood wolf proposition. Anyone who could kill a blood wolf and live to tell about it must possess incredible physical strength, forethought, and daring, all qualities Zach sought to surround himself with. Especially the former, since he loathed dirty hands or sweat, and Thea preferred to be his intellectual companion rather than a glorified knight. It took two years for the right person to meet the challenge.
Emerson Clarke was a wolf in their own right. I learned this on the day they arrived. I'd taken them to our washroom to bathe, and had a maid dig up clothes to fit their broad shoulders. They were quite handsome, with bowed lips and thick, dark hair that they kept in a thick braid. Every inch of their arms were coated in pale scars.
When I'd led them to the washroom, I went through the steps of explaining how to turn on the bath, where all the soaps were, and then held out the bundle of fresh clothes. Instead of taking them, they curled a hand around my forearm. Their touch was warm, and I pressed into it without thinking. "Stay so I can tell you my story," they said, voice husky. "I'd rather tell it to you than him, if you don't mind."
So I sat on the edge of the bath, and once they had settled into the warm suds and loosened their hair, they told me everything I needed to know.
They were from a tiny village nestled deep in Adsophel's southeastern forest. They grew up with three brothers and one sister in their parents' cramped cabin. Their father kept a small herd of goats in their little golden field, which he used for novelty milk and cheese. Their mother made bead tapestries to sell to travelling merchants, who carted them across Adsophel.
As the eldest child, Emerson helped their father mind the goats, and helped their mother organize her vast collection of glass beads. They kept after their siblings, too, whittling toys for the children out of buttery aspen branches. Emerson had always been quick with a knife, which was good, because there were a lot of woodland creatures that might like to sneak beneath the fence and snag a goat. Passing thieves, mountain lions, conniving fae, and, of course, the blood wolves.
Emerson's family had always been grateful for their sight. They found herbs that no one else could, and kept wandering spirits from clattering around in the kitchen at night. They could also sense the blood wolves, and knew when to rush the goats and little siblings to safety. By their teenage years they began practicing with their father's hunting knives in earnest, tracking and killing deer for practice. They were skilled at weaving between trees and underbrush without a sound, knife caught between their teeth until it was time for action. A few quick slashes in just the right places – ankle, eye, maw - was enough. Emerson couldn't be backed into a corner, and they couldn't be tripped. They were unmatchable.
It happened when they were away, of course. They'd gone to a nearby village to arrange a business deal. When they returned, paperwork and hunting knife in hand, they found carnage. The fence was smashed and the field was empty save for a few splashes of blood in the grass. Far worse was the house. The kitchen window was smashed. Massive pawprints tracked flour and dirt across the wooden floor. And on the second floor, where everyone slept, the pawprints faded from dirt to blood.
The only body the wolves left behind was Emerson's middle brother. They wrapped his body, as broad and tall as theirs even at the age of fourteen, in one of their mother's tapestries and carried it to the fire pit in the yard. As soon as the ash settled, Emerson packed a few changes of clothes, some dried food, spare knives, and set off for revenge.
It took six months to find the pack; blood wolves could be elusive when they wanted. It was midsummer, golden sky, and sweat clung to every inch of Emerson's skin. Four wolves were crowded around a horse carcass; they must've dragged it from a farm. Emerson spent a few minutes perched in a tree, studying the wolves' matted brown fur and the gnashing rows of needle-point teeth. Their eyes were roving black pits.
After a while, one of them swished its thick tail and took a few steps, so the full bulk of its body was directly below the tree. In one silent motion, Emerson launched down, landed on the creature's back, and drove the dagger into its neck.
The others yelped and scrambled, suddenly little more intimidating than a common dog, and sprinted away as their fallen comrade twitched and died. Emerson wiped the blood from their blade and, as soon as they were certain the wolf was dead, they walked away. Some scavenger would come by and find a hearty meal; Emerson had no use for it.
Despite their sheer strength and unending hunger, blood wolves were easy to be rid of. If you could kill one, the pack would abandon the area. Revenge for their family, it turned out, had been easy.
Emerson spent the next few years wandering from village to village on foot. There was no one waiting for them at home, so why go back? The blood wolves were behind them. But Zach's proposition found them, eventually. And with news of the challenge, Emerson also learned other things: that the king was spreading knowledge of the old world, that he claimed to be a demigod. All of this intrigued Emerson, but in truth, they would confess, all they really cared about was the glory of the hunt.
They began their journey to the city. Winter was setting in, and travel on foot was grueling. Emerson considered giving up and hibernating in a village for a while, but as they huddled with numb fingers over a bowl of stew in a pub one night, they overheard a farmer complaining about his cattle being picked off at random. "I can't figure it out! Maybe it's them blood wolves the city folks keep yammering about." The farmer said it snidely, but Emerson knew better.
They found a horde of five wolves a few days later. Their body was half-frozen to the tree branches by the time opportunity finally arose, but this kill came as easily as the first. This time, they hacked off the head. They would've brought the whole body, but it was too much to carry through the snow.
"You're very strong," I said when they were finished, and then, before I could stop myself, "I lost my parents, too, when I was a child. Only my sister is left. And... now, I suppose, I have Zach."
"So, you're really the queen?" They asked, using a rough brush to scrub at their heels. The muscles beneath their skin were much more defined than Zach's or Thea's, and it was fascinating to watch them ripple.
"Yes."
"Arranged or chosen? Unfamiliar with how the royal stuff works, sorry. Just curious."
I frowned. "Chosen, I suppose."
"You suppose?"
"I was only fifteen when I said yes." I stared at the crescents of my fingernails. Some of my hair had fallen over the bath's edge. The white strands curled across the water like thick furls of smoke. "Why do you ask?"
Emerson scrunched their nose. "I was trying to gauge how offended you'd be if I told you I think he's an arrogant creep." I wasn't offended, so much as surprised at the speed of their assessment.
When they arrived, Zach and I had been sitting in the throne room. It was council day, a once-weekly occasion where anyone could come to the palace and ask for advice or assistance. Despite the chaos of a severed wolf's head - which, thanks to Zach, many people in Adsophel could now see and gawk at - Zach still had dozens of other people waiting for council. Near-spitting with aloof irritation, he sent me off to "deal with" Emerson. No loss for me.
"What makes you think so?" I asked.
"I didn't think it was difficult to tell, personally." They rose from the bath, water sliding down their stomach and legs, and reached for a towel while I drained the tub. "Only an arrogant creep would send civilians out to hunt a blood wolf. I did it because I knew I could, but a lot of people will try because they think they can, and get killed. I don't respect that a bit." Emerson shrugged, pulling on their fresh blouse and slacks. " If my efforts keep some poor idiot from killing themselves in his name, I'm satisfied."
"He wants you to become a demigod," I said, wringing out my hair. Emerson was braiding theirs back up.
"Alright. What comes with all that?"
"Powers, unique to you. And you'll join Zach, my sister, and I."
"Have you all drank it, then?"
"I haven't."
Emerson tilted their head and hummed. I squirmed at the attention. "What's the endgame here? I've heard Zach is instructing everyone about the old world, but why? People have been doing just fine for centuries. What's the push?"
I sighed and closed my eyes. Shadows shifted against my eyelids as Emerson moved around the room, their feet silent on the marble. I wished, desperately, that I could say nothing. "They want to find a dragon and wake it up," I said.
"Seems dangerous," they said, but I didn't miss the intrigued tilt in their voice.
"Naturally. They don't just want to wake it up." I opened my eyes, met the cold grey of theirs. "They want to slay it and drink its warm blood to make themselves immortal. And you and I will be going with them."