Chapter Text
Jaime stood passively next to the entrance of the tent. He knew not to go in any further without explicit permission. It left him standing just next to the flap of cowskin serving as the tent’s door, and a few feet away from Eskender’s desk, facing the bed. The man himself walked further in, tsking under his breath as he swung a fire poker around in his palm. He’d picked it up on the way here.
“I don’t know why we bother keeping you around, little mage,” Eskender said, face contorted into an expression of sorrow. In the light of the oil lamp placed upon his desk, Jaime could see how his eyes still glinted with vicious delight. “You just can’t seem to learn your lesson.”
Jaime remained silent. His eyes followed the top of Eskender’s ear. It satisfied the man’s desire to constantly be the focus of Jaime’s attention, while not “challenging” the hunter with eye contact.
Eskender kept talking. He walked closer and casually dipped the fire poker into the heat of the oil lamp’s flames. The dark, flaky iron glowed a faint orange, then a blistering red. Jaime could faintly feel the heat of the flames from where he stood, just far away enough to still be shivering. It was winter, which was part of the reason Eskender’s tent was set up so elaborately. There was no way to pack up all their stuff onto the few wagons and horses they travelled with with all the snow on the ground. Typically, the hunting party tended to travel light, changing their camping site to keep track of wolf packs without ever being caught.
But they’d struck a goldmine in this valley. A pack with a population of at least a hundred, maybe two hundred wolves. Why would they ever pack up and leave, when there were so many fresh pelts right here?
Eskender was wearing one, as a coat. Another few were piled upon his bed in the back of the tent. And a pair of gloves, as he lifted the poker in the heat. His voidlike eyes flashed from the boiling metal to Jaime’s torso. It was scarcely covered by a thin tunic, the back filled with mending stitches and replacement fabric. Emelina had gotten so excited to whip him that she’d forgotten to take of his shirt. Many times.
Jaime took in Eskender's raised brow and undid the tunic. It was buttoned, so that it never got in the way of his leash. It revealed the near countless pits of mottled flesh across his torso, in neat columns and rows. Burns he already had from the fire poker. One for each wolf which had ever escaped. He had twelve. This would be number thirteen.
Eskender held the poker out between them. Jaime was still several feet away. He nodded encouragingly, false sympathy melting away with the crookedness of his smile. “Come on, little mage.”
Jaime would have to walk into the burning hot fire poker himself.
His feet, bare and already halfway to frostbite, slowly brought him closer to the poker. His arms were at his sides and his eyes stared into nothing. Was it worth it?
Jaime thought of the tiny silver wolf he’d found in a bear trap a few hours earlier. The poor thing’s entire leg was nearly sawed off by the unforgiving teeth of the trap. She whined pitifully when Jaime had opened it just enough to let her slip out. He’d watched the wolf limp off and disappear into the white snow of the forest before he’d had his shoulder roughly grabbed and been dragged back into the camp proper.
He imagined that same tiny wolf, hardly old enough to be anything more than a pup, starved to near death in the enchanted cages and then skinned alive for her pelt. It was.
As he walked, Jaime passed by Eskender’s desk. It was stacked with messily marked up maps and liquor bottles. Tonight, it also held an elaborately crafted dagger.
Perhaps his captor thought him so thoroughly complacent as to not present him even a speck of danger. The sheath was nowhere to be seen. Eskender’s eyes were locked Jaime’s face, wanting to capture every ounce of pain and humiliation Jaime would give him. Even after hundreds, thousands of humiliations, he never got tired of it.
The masterfully crafted dagger’s silver blade shined in the lamp light. It had clearly been recently sharpened and cleaned. It lacked any innert abilities: the hunters hadn’t thought to ask him to enchant any of their weapons other than the cages. Not that Jaime knew how anyway. All that he’d been taught of magic came from the dreamlike memories of the time he spent with his parents, and the lessons given to him by the hunter’s previous mage. The older mage had his throat slit and his body tossed into a ravine the same day Jaime successfully trapped a wolf.
Eskender’s eyes were still focused on Jaime’s face, not the hand he passed over the surface of the desk. The leather wrapping the handle felt smooth under Jaime’s frostbitten fingertips.
Jaime was a mage. Jaime was nothing. Jaime was a murderer, a hunter. Jaime was a plaything. All he felt nowadays was pain and numbness. As much as the hunters beat him and slapped him and raped him, they’d never let him die. The hunters couldn’t keep killing wolves without him. All attempts at escape had only increased the number of scars around his body. All Jaime could do was keep trapping wolves and let the hunters hurt him as the punishment he deserved.
There would probably be a day when they went to far. The hunters would forget to let him use his magic to heal himself and he’d die of his wounds. Or hsi body would succomb to the hyperthermia always nipping at his heels. Or the tiny wolf he’d let escape would notify the larger wolf pack and he’d be devoured with his tormentors.
At least with the latter, he could make the wolves’ jobs a little bit easier.
Jaime numbly stumbled forward, his hands demurely behind his back. Eskender, seeing his shyness, only smirked harder. The dagger was hidden behind Jaime’ thigh as the poker finally brushed his rubs. The mark was way off from the others, and went from a hole to a slash as Eskender’s hand flailed and the man lurched back. His angered yells turned to gurgles as blood seeped around the dagger Jaime had sunk into his neck.
The vicious glee in Eskender’s eyes turned to fear. The poker dropped from his gloved hands as both came up to futily stop blood from pouring out of the wound. He dropped the heated metal bar on his own foot, and his screams heightened as the flesh of his foot turned black and melted away was just a gurgling hiss.
Jaime watched the Eskender flail around the tent until the life left his eyes. In the same moment, the horrible collar around his neck lost its power and fell off. It couldn’t operate if the holder of his magic was dead. The return of his magic was violent and painful, as if it had been punched into his body. He collapsed and gaped for a while until the black specs in his eyes abated.
Jaime would have cried, if he were still capable. After nine years of suffering, he was free, and he could die peacefully.
But he had something to do first.
He exited Eskender’s tent and walked across the camp. It was evening, and the hunters were gathered around a larger fire eating and drinking. Usually, theyd be making a show of it, as just across from them sat the wolf cages. The wolves they trapped weren’t fed; the easiest way to preserve the pelts while killing the wolves was death by starvation. The hunters got entertainment out of the subconscious whines and whimpers the wolves made at the smell of food, and laughed when newly caught wolves tried to inch closer to the smell only to be shocked back by the magic in the trapping cages.
The wolves noticed Jaime instantly and their whining turned to growling. The hunters followed their gazes and looked too. One of them smirked. “Trying to escape a punishment, mage? Hah, and I was just startin’ to get bored.”
The woman stood up and grasped at the flail she kept at her hip. It was Emelina. The flicker in his heart suddenly flared into a raging fire. His emotions felt simultaneously far away and more vibrant than he’d ever felt them. Maybe the release of his magic had done something. The magic itself felt like lightning in his veins fit to burst at the sight of her. Jaime let it flow out.
Emelina had just then started to tilt his head, confused. “Where’s yer collar—“ and Jaime’s magic pulsed and bright red slashes cut straight through her neck and chest and she collapsed into a bloody heap.
It took a second for the drunken hunters to realize what happened and start shouting and running. Then start screaming. The noise rung in Jaime’s ears. His heart pounded heavy and fast. Using his magic again had sent a thrill through him. The same sort of wonder he’d felt when coming into his magic for the first time, ages ago. Barely thinking at all, he let his magic go again. All at once, they were eviscerated. The ones who were fleeing had their legs cleanly sliced away before their guts ruptured. The ones reaching for weapons had their hands chopped and necks sliced.
Anyone who attempted to run at Jaime himself simply exploded into ruptured organs and viscera.
Jaime closed his eyes. His magic ran wild with his emotions, and he barely had to lift a finger. Instead, he stood and enjoyed feeling the chilly wind pass over the newly bare skin of his neck. As his magical reserves drained and tugged on his energy, he folded into a kneel. He’d never felt so relaxed.
He’d never felt so alive.
—
When Rowan came back to the pack, it felt like a miracle. She’d required intense medical care for her torn leg, but Mirza was ecstatic that the pup was just injured, not dead. Even more blessedly, she was able to tell Lada and Khalida exactly where the accursed hunter’s camp was. The camp of hunters who’d been picking of their numbers for months, whose camp the’d never been able to find. According to Rowan, it was cloaked in some kind of invisibility ward. Invisibility wards only worked if one had never seen the true location: now with a wolf who had seen the inside and lived, raiding the camps and getting their revenge was only as hard as organizing a force and charging. And no protection wards would be strong enough to withstand the two hundred members of the Hearthstone wolf pack bearing down upon it.
The wolves around Lada howled as they passed through the invisibility ward, just behind Khalida’s lead. In just a few seconds, the firelight of a camp came into sight. Lada ran harder and faster, imagining the dumbfounded shock on those fuckers’ faces as they finally got their just desserts.
But when the pack came screaming out of the trees into the camp, no one was there to greet them. Whereas Lada had expected to see the hunters milling about, or maybe sounding an alarm at the invasion, all she saw was a field covered in bodies. Most were covered in grievous wounds. Some of the gore was so egregious that she could hardly tell who’s organs belonged to who.
“What the hell is this?” Lada asked. The pack around her dispersed, exploring the camp as howls turned to confused murmurings. “Did some other pack get here before us?”
All of them knew that couldn’t be true. The only reason they were here was because they had the luck of a runaway — no other pack would have been able to find the hunters camp, let alone raid it before them.
“I only smell humans,” Khalida shifted and moved to stand beside her at the edge of the camp, eyes narrowed. She cautiously walked into the clearing of the camp. “There’s no way all of these people could have been killed in just one night.”
Lada was quick to follow her mate’s logic. Dread bubbled in her gut. “…Not without magic, you mean.”
“I can’t be sure. But it means this is dangerous, maybe even more thant we prepared for. We should go in, find our missing people, and get out,” Khalida said, edging into the camp proper. At the Alpha’s lead, more wolves breached into the camp, cautiously walking the perimeter and smelling the air. Khalida looked back at her partner. “Lada, look for the mage. When you find them, call for me.”
Lada nodded and moved to enter the camp, when Khalida patted his shoulder, eyes glancing towards the carnage of the hunters meaningfully. “Don’t revenge stop you from keeping yourself safe. ”
Lada smiled at Khalida, gently shrugging her hand off. “Of course, love.”
She nodded towards Ivan and Galina, who broke off from the rest of the group with her. No matter what the state of the mage was, she wasn’t going in without backup. The three of them shifted and carefully picked their way into the center of the camp.
The smell of gore was even more apparent with a wolf’s nose. Hardly anything rose to the top above it. But, with a hard sniff of the air, Lada caught the other scent hanging around the entire camp. The sharp, electric scent of ozone, only given off by lightning or magic. Lada wasn’t the best tracker in the Hearthstone pack by a longshot, but even she could tell how the scent grew stronger the closer they got towards the center of the camp. Ivan and Galina clearly picked up on it to, as they glanced at her before they all ran in that direction.
Lada could only imagine what the smell could mean, especially considering the state of the camp. A dispute from within the hunter’s camp? Their mage on a rampage over their pay? Hell, maybe even some sort of freak magic accident. Whatever it was, Lada prayed it meant that their pack members were still alive. That Dmitri was still alive.
When the three of them took the bend around the final tent blocking their way, they were met with more blood. A ring of serrated flesh and organs surrounded the largest bonfire in the camp, dark blood lit up a furious red in the light. Their packmates, free of cages and swirling around each other, laying and napping and uninjured. And a man among them all, dull eyes focused on Lada’s face.
—
Dmitri was so emotionally drained he felt he could hardly stand. For days, his body had been supported on anger and anger alone, even as he grew weaker from starvation in the cages. It was the only thing keeping him going, as the wolved around him slowly began to give up. All the despair, hopelessness, and shameful fear that Dmitri felt, he turned into anger. Anger at these infernal hunters, slaughtering his people like cattle. And pure, furious rage at their mage. The one who made it all possible, disgusing the camp, enchanting the cages, and spelling the pelts.
That particular anger abruptly fizzled out, when he figured out who the mage was. The one who was always dressed thinner than the others, smaller and starved and quiet. The only thing that gave it away was when they leashed the man — hardly a man, the boy — to a stake in front of the cages and whipped him so hard that the blood and torn skin reached the cages. The man who did it spat on the boy and said “heal yourself and be up in five, mage, or no meal tomorrow,” before kicking him in the ribs. The mage didn’t move, but very slowly Dmitri and the other wolves watched as the dozens of massive cuts on his back closed up into large, thickly corded scars. Silently, the mage got up and left.
From then on, Dmitri’s anger was supplemented by horror. The horror of watching those around him succumb to starvation one by one, and be skinned for their fur. The horror of watching those pelts be spelled by the tortured mage, who was beaten bloody and raped in front of them every other day, for no reason. Horror of thinking about how little time he had left himself, as he lost the energy to walk, then stand, then move at all.
Then, a few weeks in, the mage appeared, collar gone, and killed every single hunter in the camp. The process took less than an hour, and the mage’s expression was blank the entire time. Those in the cages who could still move backed away from the doors as much as they could. Dmitri thought the man had finally snapped, and would kill them all, wolved included.
But, at the end of the massacre, the mage had sighed and stumbled over to the cages. His body was covered in blood and his eyes were hazy. His blank face briefly folded into a faint smile. With the wave of a hand, the enchantments on the cages were gone. The electric buzzing of the metal bars stopped, the pressure holding Dmitri in his wolf form eased, and the locked unclicked in unison. They were free. But Dmitri was too starved, too close to death to relish in it. He didn’t even have the energy to howl, let alone shift.
He could barely flinch away as the mage focused his eyes upon him, knelt down to his level.
”I’ll heal you all,” The mage started. They all flinched as the mage laid a hand on top of Dmitri’s fur. Up close, Dmitri could see the smaller scapes that the mage hadn’t been forced to heal. A split lip. A deep bruise on his shoulder. A blistering, bubbling burn on his ribs. The split lip seeped blood at the man spoke. “Your pack should be on their way by now. Then, you can all kill me together.”
And that’s what happened. A cold, shimmering feeling seeped into Dmitri’s skin where the mage’s hand touched him, and the howling void that was his stomach stopped aching.Energy flowed into him like he’d never been starving in the first place. The instant he was able to, he leaped up and out of the cage, away from the mage. The man’s eyes followed him. If he chose to attack, even his wolf’s speed wouldn’t get him out of range in time. So Dmitri stayed put, watching the mages every move as he walked through the cages, healing the sick, reinvigorating the starved. The camp filled with the scent of magic.
Soon enough, all the wolves were healthy and free to go. But they found themselves hesitating to leave. The mage was a loose cannon. He had suffered along with them at the hands of the hunters. He’d brutally murdered them the second his magic had been given back. No one was willing to risk setting him off by running or shifting. So, in unison, they hovered around the man as he settled next to the central bonfire, and waited for their companions.
It didn’t take long.
After another hour or so, Dmitri could pick up a familiar scent on the breeze. All of his fellow captives turned their heads East, scenting the rest of the pack. Lada came screaming in just a short while later, with Ivan and Galina flanking her. She paused when she saw the mage sitting in the group. But nothing could’ve stopped them all from howling at the sight of each other, finally reunited. Ivan and Galinka loped up to them, shifting and crying out with relief. Dmitri shifted too, rising to meet Lada as the woman herself embraced him in a fierce hug.
“It’s you,” Lada spoke into his chest. Her word were muffled. Wet spots formed on Dmitri’s shirt. “Dima.”
Dmitri hugged her back just as fiercely. Tearful reunions were happening all over. More and more wolves from the Hearthstone pack came into the clearing, having heard the howls, and broke down with relief. Chatter filled the air, but Dmitri hardly had any attention for anyone besides Lada. He’d missed his older sister. Clearly, she had missed him too.
She pulled her face back to stare at his face. her hands came up to pat at him for injuries. “Are you okay? Do I need to get Ash?”
”No,no, I’m fine, all of us are fine,” Dmitri said. At the reminder of the state of his body, his eyes flashed back to the mage. The man hadn’t stood up with the rest of them, and instead was carefully arranding himself into a folded position on the ground. Lada’s eyes followed his.
Her face scrunched. Her eyes flickered between the mage and Dmitri. Dmitri knew the expression on his face, while not fully relaxed, was absent of any resentment or anger. Lada knew that the mage was related to the bodies around the camp. But her packmates’ healed bodies and lack of fear stopped her from making any moves. The careful consideration that their packs’ second was known for.
A short moment later, Khalida walked up to them, also shifted to human form. Dmitri went to hug her as well, but she placed a hand on his chest to stop him. She smiled briefly. “I’d love to. Believe me, I would. But there’s something I’d like to address first.”
Khalida looked over Dmitri’s shoulder. At the mage, still kneeling on the ground, eyes closed and neck bowed. The final loose end to the nightmare of the hunter’s camp. Khalida moved towards him, but Dmitri grabbed her shoulder to whisper in her ear first. “He’s dangerous,” He started. “I don’t think he’s a threat to us.”
Khalida gave him a meaningful look, and the slightest of nods. She walked straight up to the mage, no back straight and head up. Not just his sister’s mate, but the Alpha of the Hearthstone Pack. The conversations around the camp died down as Khalida approached the silent man, standing over him.
”You are the mage.” The statement was bland, question implied.
The mage hardly moved. “Yes, ma’am.”
Khalida tilted her head. It was usually an innocent, curious gesture from her, but the movement now was dissecting. Examining. “Could you tell me exactly what you’re doing in this camp, mage?”
The air grew heavier. Dmitri abruptly recalled that they were still standing in a ring of corpses. Corpses of hunters, but corpses nonetheless. Dozens of them. The camp had to have had at least forty separate hunters in it, all equipped with silver daggers, spears, bows, and traps. Had the camp not already been emptied out, any rescue attempt would’ve been brutal and bloody. yet it was all taken care off by the skinny man in front of Khalida.
The mage twitched, and his head raised with effort. His face was blank as always, but with a tiny frown. “I don’t see why that matters.”
The pack sucked in a collective breath. Khalida’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
The man shrugged his shoulders. His eyes were wide and brown as they looked at Khalida. Almost desceptively guileless. “You’re going to kill me anyways.”
—
Jaime saw the confusion that filled the pack Alpha’s eyes as the words fell from his lips. The wrong ones, then. He’d hoped that by making the suggestion himself, it would speed things along. He was glad when the wolves all got to reunite with each other. Really, he was! It was unfortunate he had to cut that time short with his presence. But, after they killed him, they’d have all the time in the world to exist in peace. No more hunters to threaten their existence and destroy their families. No more Jaime to ruin everything.
Except, the woman didn’t take the opportunity to punish him for his stupidity. She didn’t command another wolf to drag him away, or push him into the fire at his back, or tear out his throat with her claws. She instead furrowed her brow. “Why would we kill you?”
Jaime hated when they toyed with him like this. Asking him questions just to get him to spell out his own doom, goading him to beg for his own punishement. He closed tilted his head up and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the expression on her face. “Please.”
”Please what?”
Jaime really hated this. But if it was what he needed to do to finally, finally be truly free, he’d do it.
“Kill me.”
It was nice having his magic right at the end. It was just like all those fantasies he used to have when he was young, only freshly captured by the hunters.
He heard the woman’s clothes shifting in front of him.
”No.”
He opened his eyes to see that the Alpha had knelt in front of him. Her eyes, a deep, warm brown, weren’t unkind. They were an olive branch, proding at his soul “The Hearthstone Pack doesn’t kill. Certainly, we don’t punish those who kill our enemies and heal our injured.”
Jaime stared. He could hardly comprehend what she was saying. There was no way that any of this was happening.
”And,” The woman standing just behind the Alpha sauntered up. She similarly commanded attention and respect like the Alpha. Her eyes were colder, but considering. “Ash could do with an assistant. Especially one who can do healing magic.”
When she finished talking, the tension in the air seemed to release. the wolves surrounding him began murmuring, glancing at him with curiosity. No hatred, no revulsion.
“Regardless of that,” The Alpha continued, standing up on her feet. She looked down at Jaime and offered a hand. “We can certainly find a place for you, rather than kill you. No?”
Jaime stared up at her helplessly. He didn’t know what to do with himself. There was no such thing as living for him, after this. His life was either to end at the hands of hunters or the hands of wolves. End of story. He didn’t know what to do. He was a mage. He was nothing. He didn’t make choices.
But clearly, begging for his death anymore wouldn’t go over well. The Alpha’s hand remained offered. Jaime knew better than to not accept.
Maybe, with the wolves, he could be better. Certainly, wolves weren’t going to demand he kill more of their kind. Maybe, they really would let him heal. He didn’t let himself think to hard about it. Jaime simply didn’t get nice things. Didn’t deserve them. The hunters were dead, the wolves were healed now, and that would have to be enough.
At the very least, his collar was gone. If it really got unbearable, it wouldn’t be too hard to slit his own throat.