Wolf Ascending

Old legends tell of Faeries that used their magic to save humans from mortal wounds. But such tales have faded, shrouded by the mist...and now, no one knows what this 'saving' entails.

Poor Brendan.

Hahaha. This is the most I've written in one shot in as long as I can remember.

Don't be afraid to point out my flaws!

I don't own The Secret of Kells or any of its characters; Cartoon Saloon does.

"Brendan!" Shouting, near his ear.

…?

…Brother Aidan?

"Brendan! No, d-don't fall asleep, please—" Begging. Screaming. He had never heard Aidan's voice filled with such terror before.

Something hot was pouring down his front. There was something on his neck…in his neck.

"Brendan, please stay with me, I have to—oh, God, please, I have to take you back—"

…his mentor's voice was far away…

I'm bleeding, Brendan realized dimly. He couldn't remember why.

Everything…hurts…

The feeling was fading fast.

The ground was cold.

If he went to sleep, maybe he'd be warmer…

No, I can't…

…I have to…I…

"Brendan! Bren-!"

(formation)

All Aidan could hear was his own ragged breathing, accompanied by the muffled thumps of his feet hitting the snow-covered ground.

Cursing his body, he glanced back towards where he had left Brendan lying. Though in better shape than most men of his age, he wasn't strong enough to carry a near-teen as far as they had managed to run.

He nearly fell through the trees, just barely spotting the cracked grey walls of the Abbey ahead. Smoke still billowed high. Panting, he slid to a halt just outside the shattered gate.

There was no sound.

He flinched when something brushed against his leg, then let out a sigh of relief. Pangur had followed him. She leapt onto his shoulder, rubbing against his cheek with an aura of gentle confidence and support. "Thank you, girl," he whispered.

He stepped into Kells and couldn't stop from cringing back.

Everything was destroyed. The walls had cracks from the top to the ground. The huts were all burnt to cinders. The roof of the Church and the scriptorium had burned away or possibly collapsed—he couldn't see where he stood.

Cautiously, he went in further. There was a chance—a low chance, but still a chance, that there was someone left. "Hello?" he called.

His footsteps seemed to echo. The walls looked almost terrifying, the remains of the scaffolding smoking, looking like the bones of a giant smote long ago.

Nothing was untouched. Nothing except… the tower.

He slowly tread through the broken village, carefully avoiding every pile of ashes that were in his path. Most were clearly huts, but some were…some were much too small.

"Aidan?" He jolted, looking toward the tower. "Brother Tang?" He could barely believe it. "You're alive! How?"

"…I must ask you the same thing," a faint voice asked.

"Cellach?" Aidan ran to the foot of the only remaining building, craning his neck to see Tang moving out of the Abbot's way.

The man looked awful. He was covered in soot and blood, and his eyes were bloodshot beyond belief.

"How-how are you here? The scriptorium—the fire-" Cellach broke off, looking dazed.

"Sit down!" Tang said, tugging on his sleeve uneasily.

Cellach ignored him, shaking himself back to reality. "The scriptorium was invaded, the roof caved in. How are you alive? Brendan—is Brendan alive-?"

"I don't – I don't know." Aidan took a shaking breath. "I need - I need supplies—he was attacked—the Vikings were in the forest, and they attacked and Brendan was bleeding but I c-couldn't get him back here—please, do you have any bandages left?" he begged.

Cellach looked sick.

"We don't have anything," Tang said feebly. "There was nothing to patch the Abbot's wounds either. We had nothing but old cloaks, and that was barely enough." Cellach let out a weak cry and slid down the edge of the doorframe.

Aidan felt the color drain from his face. "Oh…oh, no. No." He looked towards the forest, then back to Cellach. "Brendan…"

Cellach's voice was helpless. "Find him. Please, Aidan…at least…at least bring him home." His voice broke.

Aidan squared his shoulders and ran.

His legs and chest burned, he hadn't slept in nearly three days, he had eaten next to nothing that morning, and he was undergoing more stress than anything he had gone through in the past eight months, and still he refused to stop.

All else he could do was pray. Please, Lord, let this child live.

He tore through the forest, ignoring the branches slapping at his face and clawing at his clothes.

Let this one, wonderful, gifted child have his life.

"Brendan!" He slowed only to make sure that he was following his own tracks back.

He is the most amazing apprentice I have had. Please, take my life in return. Just…

He saw the clearing ahead. He came to a dead stop, breathing hard. His heart thundered as he crept through the brush, glancing around desperately.

…let Brendan be alive.

And then he saw the blood.

Obscenely spread around the snowy clearing, bloody hand prints showed that Brendan had awoken briefly and tried to move—was he looking for me—why did I leave him alone?— and paw prints of many wolves littered the snow around where he had lain. Smears of red where they had stepped into the pooling blood led into the trees.

Following the gruesome trail, heart slowing to a near stop in icy fear, Aidan found red-stained scraps of Brendan's cloak in the bony claws of low-lying branches. They waved in the newly wailing wind like twisted wraiths.

…No.

There was nothing past that, nothing but the gaping maws of the trees, the accusing glare of mistletoe berries surrounding him.

He was a fool.

He had left his most admirable—most loved student, bleeding badly, in the icy cold forest that he knew was filled with wolves.

"Brendan…" the strangled whisper fell from his lips.

There was something left on the ground in front of him, half buried under the falling snow.

A single broken goose feather, fallen from Brendan's pocket, tip still stained emerald green from the design he had drawn only a few hours before.

Hand shaking, Aidan bent to pick it up. His feet slipped and he fell to his knees, the wind blowing the feather into his face.

Aidan wept.

-/-/-/-/-

Brendan heard Aisling's voice without thinking much of it. He wasn't entirely conscious, and he'd become used to falling asleep in the forest during his many visits in the past summer and autumn.

"Brendan? Are you awake?"

"I'm getting up," he tried to say. What came out of his mouth was a strangled whine, and his tongue hit teeth that hurt.

What-?

His eyes opened to Aisling's nearly luminescent wolf form, silhouetted by the stormy grey sky.

"Aisling, what's happened?" he tried to ask, but what came out was merely a harsh yelp.

He tried to stand, falling once he caught sight of his hands—or rather, paws. He howled in fear and disbelief, flailing uncontrollably.

"Brendan! Stop it!" Aisling's voice ordered. His mind didn't register the words, but his body stopped thrashing and dropped down.

"Listen to me!" His ears pricked up of their own accord. "Your body's really tired now. It needs time to rest or you won't be able to do anything. You nearly died, you know." she stated matter-of-factly. "That was pretty stupid. If you'd only waited a few more minutes my wolves would have eaten them before you got hurt."

She lay down next to him, flicking him with her tail. "Now calm down." she told him in mesmerizing tones.

He stared at her with wide blue eyes. He felt himself slowing. It was terrifying—but he wasn't afraid. He didn't feel nearly as stressed after Aisling's order of 'calm down'.

In his strangely relaxed state, he could mull things over more thoughtfully. Aisling could control the wolves of the forest—and he was likely a wolf as well. But why? He couldn't quite remember.

He thought back. He'd been leaving quickly. From Kells. Running. From…a fire? There was fire, but—no. Not just from the fire. The Vikings had finally struck. But someone else was with him…not his uncle. A discontented whine slid out through his teeth. His uncle had fallen with an arrow in his chest.

Aidan.

He remembered Aidan running ahead, nearly slamming into a Viking standing in the trees.

He remembered it tearing the satchel containing the Book from his mentor's shoulder, and then…

…and then Brendan had leapt up, trying to snatch it back. And the Viking shoved a hidden blade from its sleeve deep into his neck.

He remembered sliding bonelessly to the ground as it took the cover, letting the raggedly torn pages fall around and onto his body.

He remembered wolves snarling and leaping from the brush amidst the Vikings' thunderous roars of pain and shock.

He remembered hearing Aidan begging him to stay awake, tying his white cloak around Brendan's neck in a fruitless effort to stop the blood.

He remembered tears running down his cheeks, his mentor whispering something inaudible and running. Not away, towards the flickering flames of Kells.

Aisling's tired green eyes angled towards him. "Brendan, you're shaking." She concernedly lifted her head.

He looked down at his paws and saw that they were. Though calmer than he would normally be, his experiences of the past day had hit him rather hard.

"…Alright, then," Aisling sighed. "You're too nervous to sleep." She stood up. "Come on; we can walk a little to make you tired."

He stood beside her…and fell. He tried again…and fell again.

Aisling's amused giggle rang loudly in his head. "You look funny!" She demonstrated it herself. "Here, like this."

Slowly, he did what she had. He put his front legs out in front of him, letting them push him up like arms. Carefully, he slid his back legs under himself and was soon standing completely, albeit shakily.

"See?" She started off at a slow pace — slow for a wolf, that is. Her ears and tail were drooping, but she was still several times faster than Brendan.

He wasn't particularly concerned with that, though. He let out another distressed growl, trying to communicate.

The faerie turned back towards him. "Huh? What's wrong?"

The sunset-colored wolf folded his ears back, whining desperately. How are you doing that?

"Are you sick-oh, right. I forgot, you're a human." Her snout wrinkled in slight annoyance. "You don't know how…you need to send your thoughts to me."

Brendan tilted his head at her. Like this?

She just kept staring at him. Okay, not like this then.

He thought hard. He wanted to ask about Aidan, so he thought of his mentor—how he looked, what he did, how he acted when he was tired or happy, who he was—and stared into her eyes. Is he alright — did he get hurt — did he get back — what happened to Kells — did he come back-?

"Oh? Your…Brother Aidan, then?" she asked, sounding puzzled.

He nodded, relieved that at least something had gotten through. "He came back a little while ago, but I had already taken you over here." She indicated the circle of bushes they were in with her muzzle.

His rush of relief was matched by a rush of worry. Did Aidan know where—what he was? He staggered back towards Aisling intending to ask, only to find her lying down again. This is no time to sleep! he thought even as he stumbled, his legs giving out completely.

"It took a lot of my magic to save you, you know." She punctuated her statement with a long yawn. Unwittingly, he did the same. He looked at the darkening sky and heavily falling snow nervously.

"And your body was strained by the change, too. Don't worry, Brendan." Aisling's cool green eyes seemed to smile. "It's safe here." She looked directly into his eyes. "I promise. Now, please, Brendan… sleep."