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The Season of the Wolf	By : LadyOfTheSouthernIsles Category: G through L > Hellboy Views: 1435 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellboy or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
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Uileog glanced at the young captaen. What on earth was he up to? The humans were spread-eagle on the ground, face up and still unconscious, whilst Nuada was using his magic to carefully and patiently coax the brambles around them to life. The long, arching canes quivered and twitched, shaking off their winter veil in a gentle shower of ice. Gradually, the movements became more pronounced until, at last, the thorny stems bowed down low to the ground and snaked out over the snow-frosted grass, heading straight for the unconscious men.
Uileog scowled at their inert forms. He was still loath to bring up the subject of the two humans - and the boy as well - though he knew he must. That the prince had returned to the ruins as abruptly as he'd disappeared was nothing remarkable in itself; the instant Nuada had set out after them, every elf present knew the men could count what was left of their lives in mere heartbeats and breaths. What surprised the elven company was that he'd brought them back with him. Alive. According to the king's law, they should have been executed, swiftly and mercifully, though in Uileog's private opinion they deserved a whole fother of pain for what they had done that day rather than any easy sort of death. And given that Nuada was obviously in no hurry to kill them, it seemed he agreed.
But no matter what Uileog thought and no matter what anyone else thought, Crown Prince Nuada included, the king's law was the king's law and no one had the right to gainsay Rí Balor. It was Uileog's duty to remind the prince of this but the younger elf had such a forbidding air that even he, the oldest and most experienced of the warriors and the one whose job it was, hesitated to offer so much as a word of advice.
Then too, there was the matter of the boy. Though Uileog had a great deal of sympathy for him, the young human was part of a raiding party which had killed almost an entire elven village. He should have been put to the sword along with the rest of his murdering kin. Instead, he was alive and under Nuada's protection. The king was not going to be happy.
As he helped Cearul consign the last of the dead war dogs to the flames, Uileog's frown deepened; he would have to say something and say it soon. But before he could think of an opening - one which might spare him the sharp edge of the prince's tongue - a shout from another warrior caught everyone's attention, Nuada's included.
The Elven prince looked up at the sound. Meallán stood a little way off, staring down at the reivers' horde of goods, which was piled up near their horses and the stolen livestock. Even at this distance Nuada could see the disgust on the other elf's face. He turned back to his prisoners and checked his handiwork. The brambles had climbed up over the men's limbs, coiling tightly around ankles and calves, forearms and wrists, and were now burrowing into the cold, hard ground, anchoring their captives firmly in place. Needle-sharp thorns dug into linen and leather and living flesh as the sinewy plants made sure of their hold. Satisfied that the humans would not be going anywhere if they regained consciousness, Nuada took a tentative step towards Meallán. His wounded leg bore the weight, though only just, and he continued on his way, his limp a little more noticeable than before.
"What's wrong?" he asked as he joined the others.
Meallán gestured at the store of goods. "Is there no end to their foul ways?"
Nuada turned his gaze to the pile. At first, he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. Furs, weapons and riding tack were stacked up around a large, weather-worn boulder. There were saddle bags too, made from rawhide and stuffed full of silver ore and other precious metals: stolen goods, obviously, but nothing to account for the revulsion in Meallán's voice.
Nuada looked more closely. The light from one of the fires reflected off something lying amongst the horde of loot and he leaned in for a better view, expecting to see a nugget of unworked silver or perhaps a dull gemstone which had fallen out of one of the saddle bags. A gelatinous eye stared back at him instead, and the strong, earthy scent of cedar oil, underlaid with the stench of decay, rose up to meet him. The expression on his face mirrored Meallán's as he realised just what it was he was looking at.
He drew his sword and reached into the heap. Pinning the rotting head with the tip of his blade, he attempted to hook it free from the rest of the humans' treasures. It didn't come away as easily as he'd expected and he soon discovered why. The half-frozen lump of mouldering flesh and bone was attached to a thick rope of twine… along with three other severed heads. Dark, gaping holes grinned up at him, shrunken lips baring yellowed teeth and shrivelled gums. Lumps of gristle were all that were left of the noses and in one case, not even that; the blackish-grey, withered remains of what had once been a living, thinking mind sprouted out of the fleshless orifice. Only three eyes – staring and unseeing - still sat in their sockets: pulpy, viscous orbs held precariously in place by half-decayed nerves. Patchy hanks of hair stuck to putrefied skin, grey, green and black with rot. It didn't seem possible that the filthy, crumbling things had ever drawn breath.
Nuada and the other warriors stared down in disgust. Several of the madraí cogadh pushed in past their elven masters to sniff at the grisly remains. Uileog ordered the dogs away and Nuada slid the flat of his blade under the twine and picked up the hideous necklace, holding it out at arm's length. Firelight and moonlight threw the rotting heads into sharp relief.
"By Aiglin!" The words burst forth from Nuada's lips, unbidden. He had thought – assumed – they were all human but he recognised one of them as a lubber fiend, and his face twisted with renewed loathing for the man - or men – who had killed the harmless magical creature. There was truly no end to their foul ways, not that he needed any further proof of it; he was glutted enough already. Heedless of the pain in his leg, he swiftly crossed to the nearest fire and flung the grotesque trophies onto the flames. Saffron fingers crackled and leapt and set about cleansing the bones of all flesh and brain matter, finishing off what the corruption of death had started.
Nuada turned away from the fire and his eyes fell on Treasach again. The boy had raised a tear-stained face and was staring at the unmoving figures of his father and clansman. He was cradling the dead baby elf in his arms.
Nuada's gaze caught on the still, tiny form and his conscience set to work with a vengeance. He had been so certain he would get the baby back alive; even now he couldn't believe that he hadn't. What had he done wrong? How could he have so badly mishandled the situation? A suffocating weight pressed in on all sides, threatening to crush him. Failure! The word resounded in his mind. He looked away from the small, silent body but though the sight of her could be banished, the memory of her death could not and a creeping sense of shame began to gnaw at his gut.
Uileog had no idea what Nuada was thinking; he only noticed the prince's hesitation and so took his chance. "An Ridire! A word, if you please."
Nuada swung around to face the older warrior. He winced as the sudden movement sent a sharp stab of pain shooting through his leg. Even despite that, he was glad of the interruption this time... the distraction. "Yes?"
Uileog crossed over to where the young captaen was standing, and lowered his voice. "Need I remind you of the king's edict?"
Nuada knew exactly what the other elf meant and likewise kept his voice low. "Those two will meet their deaths - eventually," he said, nodding at the unconscious men. "As for the boy, there is no honour in killing him. Besides, he did his best to help the baby. He cannot be held accountable for the actions of his kinsmen." To Nuada's annoyance, he sounded defensive - yet another sign that he was second-guessing himself.
"Those two should be dead now and so should the boy, regardless of what he did or didn't do," Uileog reminded him. "And as for honour, Rí Balor sees honour enough in such an execution. He will not be pleased if you disobey his decree." There was a hint of hesitation in Uileog's next words. "It is not too late to rectify the matter. If you give the order, I will see to it."
"No!" Nuada found himself the centre of attention. He lowered his voice again. "I will not order any of the Cosantóirí to do what I am not willing to do myself. In any case, the boy is blameless; he does not deserve death. I'll answer to my father for my actions."
Uileog was secretly relieved at the reply but he could not give up without one last attempt. He opened his mouth to speak again.
Nuada held up his hand and cut him off. "The king will be duly apprised of your objections. I take full responsibility for what I do. Now, is there anything else you wish to discuss?" His words were once again shaded with impatience.
The older warrior finally admitted the argument lost; Nuada could be as intractable as his father. All Uileog could do now was ensure the prince had given some thought to the details. "What will you do with the boy?" he asked.
The reminder of his earlier quandary brought Nuada up short. He hadn't had time to consider the matter further. "I - I will…" His voice trailed off.
"Yes?" prompted Uileog.
Nuada scowled at him. "He can come back to Bethmoora with us."
A troubled look settled on Uileog's face; the pitfalls of that idea were immediately apparent. "But what is there for him in Bethmoora? What will he do there?"
Nuada's scowl grew darker as he scrambled for an answer. "Perhaps – perhaps one of the human families who live in the forests beyond the citadel will take him in."
"Perhaps," muttered Uileog, clearly unconvinced. "But you will more than likely find Rí Balor puts him to death long before you get the chance to make enquiries."
"My father would not do such a dishonourable thing!" exclaimed Nuada hotly. Once more, he attracted the attention of the other elves… and of Treasach himself this time.
"Your father is the most honourable elf I know," agreed Uileog. "But he has his reasons for his laws and I doubt he will change his mind."
"I know my father too," replied Nuada, "and I know he will not kill the boy, not now that I've guaranteed his safety."
Uileog couldn't help but notice there was less heat - and less certainty - in the prince's voice. "Will he not?" Giving Nuada no chance to answer, he pressed home his point. "Have you ever known your father to rescind a law? I have not and I am more than four thousand years old. The king is one of the most ancient and powerful of us all, and has walked this earth for far more years than you can imagine. He has seen things, done things – has knowledge – that no one else has. Only he knows his reasons for his laws, and we must trust in him. Are you absolutely certain he will not have the boy put to death once we reach Bethmoora?"
Nuada stared at Uileog in frustration; he was not at all certain. In fact, the more he thought about what the other elf had said, the more he knew it to be right and he was forced to concede the point. "It would be a hard thing to deliver the boy up to death having promised him protection," he murmured at last. "I cannot leave him here though. That would be equally fatal."
As if to punctuate his words, a ravening howl rose up from deep in the forest on the far side of fields. The elven warriors glanced towards the trees whilst the war dogs growled threateningly.
"I'd forgotten about the wolves," murmured Uileog.
"I had not," said Nuada. His flame-gold eyes skimmed over the bodies of the slain humans lying scattered around the enclosure before settling briefly on the two unconscious men by the bramble patch. A sneer flickered across his face before he turned his attention back to the matter at hand. His brow creased in thought as he searched for an answer to the dilemma of the boy.
"Perhaps his own village…" suggested Uileog.
Nuada's frown deepened. He had seen and heard enough in the humans' camp to get a good idea of how Treasach was likely to be treated by his remaining kinsfolk but he could come up with no better alternative. "I suppose it will have to be that," he agreed reluctantly. "I will take him back there after I've dealt with those two." He nodded at the sprawling men once more.
Uileog cleared his throat. "Before might be better," he suggested with a pointed look at Treasach.
Nuada immediately saw the sense – and compassion – in the other elf's words. He gave a curt nod. "You are right. I'll return him to his village first."
"I can deal with the prisoners whilst you're gone," offered Uileog, his voice hard as he glanced towards the two unmoving men. Theirs were deaths he would happily see to, and in the back of his mind was the thought that in this matter, at least, he could ensure the king's orders were followed.
"No!"
The terse reply cut through the air like a knife, startling the older elf.
Nuada found himself the centre of attention yet again. "No," he repeated. "They are mine."
Uileog realised he had reached the limits of the prince's patience; there was nothing more he could say or do. "Very well, Captaen sir. I await your command."
Nuada knew exactly what needed to be done whilst he was gone. "Load up the humans' horses with the goods that were stolen from our people today. Then get the livestock ready to travel and bring up our own horses from the forest."
"Yes, Sir!"
"When I return, I will see to those two and then we can leave this accursed place."
"After we have performed the deasghnátha naofa," murmured Uileog, thinking out loud.
"We will not perform the sacred rites," Nuada said. "At least, not in this place we won't."
"But what of the baby?" asked Uileog, surprised. "And the land?" His brow furrowed in confusion.
Even though Nuada was determined, and even though he knew the questions were only to be expected, he hesitated once more. How to explain it? As he tried to order his thoughts, he looked around the ancient fortress. His eyes rested briefly on the towering, weathered stones which had stood watch here through the ages, and then turned to the fields and beyond, where the tall trees of the forest – living sentinels – stood watch in their turn. It was the custom of his people to leave their dead where they had fallen, or close to where they'd fallen, and to cleanse the land with the fire of Elven magic. The life-sustaining Earth deserved no less, he knew. What he was about to do went against everything his father had ever taught him - against everything he believed in and held dear. But to do otherwise… that went against every instinct, and every instinct told him he was right.
"I will take the baby back to the village with us," he replied. "She should lie with her kinsfolk - not alone, amongst the rotting corpses and bleached bones of her murderers! And as for the land…" He paused for a moment, and drew a steadying breath. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and hard with menace, and there was no hesitation, no uncertainty – no self-doubt – in anything about him. "I will not stand in the shadows, hiding behind justice served unseen… What good is justice – Elven justice - if we are the only ones who know it has been done? Let the stain of Evil remain on this place. Let it serve as a clear warning to any human who passes by. Let him, or her, feel the sorrow… the darkness… and know that any wrong against any one of our people will be avenged." He pinned Uileog with a look that brooked no argument. "You have your orders. See that they are carried out." With that, he turned away and limped over to where Treasach was sitting.
Uileog stared after him in dismay; things had just gone from bad to worse. Rí Balor's edicts were falling like blades of grass beneath the scythe of Prince Nuada's vengeance and as sure as the world turned, there would be a reckoning of a very different sort when they got back to Bethmoora.

References:
Captaen: (Irish Gaelic) captain.
Cearul (KAR-ul): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'fierce in battle'.
Cedar oil: an essential oil obtained from certain types of conifers, mostly belonging to the pine or cypress families. Cedar oil from true cedars was used in the embalming process by the Ancient Egyptians because of its insecticidal properties.
Celtic Cult of the Severed Head: arguments have been advanced for the existence of a Celtic Cult of the Severed Head based on surviving Celtic mythology, extant carvings, and the writings of early Roman and Greek historians. Diodorus Siculus writes of the Celts in his 1st-century History that: "They cut off the heads of enemies slain in battle and attach them to the necks of their horses. The blood-stained spoils they hand over to their attendants and striking up a paean and singing a song of victory; and they nail up these first fruits upon their houses, just as do those who lay low wild animals in certain kinds of hunting. They embalm in cedar oil the heads of the most distinguished enemies, and… display them with pride to strangers." Such information needs to be treated with caution however; Siculus writes from a second-hand source rather than from direct observation, and there is still much scholarly argument over the existence of such practices.
Cosantóirí Bethmooran an Fae: (Irish Gaelic) The Bethmooran Defenders of the Fae (the army).
Deasghnátha naofa: (Irish Gaelic) sacred rituals.
Fother: Medieval measurement of weight – a cart-load, or about 191/2 hundredweight (8 stone = 1 hundredweight.) Also means 'a huge amount'.
Lubber fiend: (English folklore) a helpful creature, similar to a hobgoblin, who will do domestic chores in exchange for a saucer of milk and a place in front of the fire. Usually described as a large, hairy, man-like creature with a tail.
Madraí cogadh: (Irish Gaelic) war dogs.
Meallán: (Irish Gaelic) possibly means 'lightning'.
Rí: (Irish Gaelic) King.
Ridire: (Irish Gaelic, from Old Irish ritire – "rider, knight") Sir (nobility – knight).
Treasach: (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'warlike' or 'fighter'.
Uileog (IH-lig): (Irish Gaelic) name meaning 'resolute protector'.
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The Season of the Wolf