Chapter 6 – Between dog and wolf

It wasn't his fault. It couldn't be. No way was he to blame for that evil.

He ran, Highweather gasping beside him. Patol, the only survivor among his family, sprinted ahead, silent in his terror.

A nightmare, that's what it was. He was going to wake up back on Voyager, and this time, he would do anything Torres ordered, kiss her feet if she asked, because whatever this dream was about, it couldn't be happening.

How far was the Alpha camp? Why had Pâât decided to move so far away from it? Couldn't be because he wasn't keen to stay close to Voyager crew, surely.

It was all his fault. Poinsan, Jonas, young Pret and his brother, Pâât, his sons, his sister and her mate. All dead, massacred by a bunch of screaming ghosts that had descended on the small camp like a ravenous flock of banshees.

It was all his own bloody fault.

He ran.

###

Upon reaching the top of the knoll, Kathryn slowed to a halt, waiting for the agony in her leg and hip to fade, the result of the relentless pace she had forced onto herself. The trail cutting straight across the valley below had shifted north and merged with tracks coming from all directions. New groups were joining the killers she'd been following — others like them, tireless, fast running. Like the icy rain blowing across the plain, the ghosts never stopped.

The baby moaned, listless against her back.

Naomi. The baby's name came to her, as if it had always been there. And the face of a woman, scared, screaming. Naomi's mother. And that woman, that mother had to have a name. But Kathryn knew only two. Hers and Naomi.

It was a start. A small pitiful start which might come too late to save the baby.

With winter now upon the land, the big fat larvae they had enjoyed just a few weeks before were hidden deep into the ground, out of reach. Most of the berries had disappeared, and the few roots Kathryn could identify as edible were too shrivelled to make a satisfying substitute for breast milk. Naomi needed help she could no longer provide.

She focused her eyes to the east. There was only one smoke pillar now, close to the foothills. It had not moved over the past day. If the people who sat by that fire belonged to the same tribe as the family who had taken her in, they would care for Naomi. They might not accept a crippled and stupid alien among their midst, but they would surely help a defenceless baby.

If it were her own people…

Slivers of memories flashed into her exhausted mind. A young and beautiful woman with ridges on her forehead, so brave and yet scarred by life. A man with skin the colour of night, his features stern, but she knew his heart was true. More faces, young and eager, one with raven hair, the other with dancing blue eyes hiding deep regrets. A large man always at her side, his soothing soul welcoming her and his body so close she could almost melt into him.

She stumbled as more images rushed at her. Explosions against unblinking stars. Screams and smoke. A strange weapon, hot in her hand and soon discarded.

A whole crowd was surrounding her, splotches of yellow and red already covered by dust, and strange aliens, cruelty in their steps, marching them under the harsh planet's sun. A marvellous giant bird slowly took flight, leaving her people behind, bereft.

Her heart sunk. Somehow — she did not know the how and the why — she had been the one to bring about her people's exile. Would they resent her, push her away if she approached them for help?

She gripped her staff and started walking, turning away from the killers' tracks. She had no choice. Naomi belonged to those people. The baby's mother was one of them. Whoever they were, she had to let them know of the menace roaming the land, and above all, save Naomi.

###

"How many?"

"What?" The young woman was trembling, of exhaustion or of terror, he did not know.

"Clara," Chakotay said more gently, his hand on her shoulder. "How many do you think attacked Pâât's camp?"

"Too many. We didn't stand a chance."

Chakotay decided to change tack. The woman was in shock and he needed to make it simpler for her. "A larger group than Pâât's?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps twice as many. It's only because the three of us were on a foraging trip that … We just … " Her face went pale.

"You are not responsible for what happened."

She pushed his hand away. "Those people … all grey with big black eyes, covered in blood. And they were…"

Her eyes widened. "Oh God. I thought the screams we heard were because those ghosts were killing them. But they were already dead by the time we arrived. It was those killers we heard howling."

She dug her fingernails into Chaktay's arm. "Pâât warned us, didn't he, but we didn't understand. He was afraid and now he's dead. All of them are dead, Commander. Patol is the only one who survived."

Chakotay exchanged a worried glance with Ayala. Pâât's warning had been vague, talking about the land being sick, a disease coming their way. They'd never thought the threat would be blood thirsty marauders.

Highweather went on. "For each body, there were two or three ghosts hacking at them. That's how many they were. Twenty, maybe twenty-five. More were coming from over the hills to the north. A whole bunch of them. That's why we ran."

"You did what you could. Thanks to your friendship with Pâât, we knew something was coming. We got the whole crew back together two days ago," Chakotay said. "We've got a better chance to defend ourselves now we know what the warning was about. They might even do nothing when they see our strength."

Anth'Ol shook his head. "I don't think they know how to stop, Commander. They are worse than animals. What they did..."

The man was the shadow of the cocky bastard who had confronted Chakotay days before.

His eyes haunted, Anth'Ol whispered. "Those savages… they cut the top of Pâât's skull off, put their fingers inside his head and then … licked them," he said, his voice raw. "They ate the brains, Commander. And they were all so young."

Chakotay held his breath. Cannibals? Young cannibals? It did not make any sense. "Ask Patol about them. We need all the information we can get."

He hoped his questions would cushion the revulsion he could see on the faces of those present. They could not afford to lose their nerves to panic.

###

"We can assume the grey ghosts will come for us, Commander."

The Vulcan's distaste was almost palpable. Anth'Ol's translation of Patol's words was fraught with confusion but careful questioning had finally ascertained who Pâât's attackers were and the name had stuck.

"We cannot hide from them," Chakotay said. "Making our stand here is our best chance."

Standing by the side of the Vulcan, he watched the hill beyond the camp limits grow hazy in the setting sun.

He'd spent the day consolidating the camp defences, setting up traps around its borders and preparing the crew. The labyrinth of caves, sandstone pillars and narrow gorges he and Tuvok had found was perfect to wear down large-scale attacks, but they needed more weapons.

Chakotay turned to leave. There was still much to do while waiting for the grey ghosts to strike.

"There is a very old Vulcan legend which bear unusual similarities to what the young native told us," Tuvok said.

Chakotay could count on the fingers of one hand the times when the Vulcan had talked to him about something else than Voyager's security or the crew's duties.

He waited.

"A legend about young men and women leaving their families and their people to go and hunt dangerous animals to prove their valour."

"A coming of age ritual," Chakotay nodded in recognition. "My ancestors on Earth hunted jaguars for the same reason. In many parts of Europe, the custom became known as the myth of the wolf-men."

Tuvok lifted an eyebrow.

Chakotay explained. "Adult male wolves were killed in a ceremonial manner, and their flesh eaten. Unlike on Vulcan, it was a ritual undergone by young men only. They believed they were becoming wolves themselves, displaying the animals' strength, intelligence and endurance during the hunt and absorbing those same abilities by eating them."

"If Mr Anth'Ol understanding of Patol's language is correct, it seems that on Hanon, the custom has degenerated into warfare against their own," Tuvok noted. "The future of Hanon society does not look promising if it cannot find a way to curb its young people's appetite for ritual slaughter."

Dusk came and the sentries disappeared into the gloaming. This was the time between dogs and wolves, thought Chakotay, between the safety of daylight and the savagery lurking in the darkness. He felt a shiver run down his back.

"Vulcan history states that the ritual died out as our children became educated in the values of logic and emotional detachment, and as a consequence learnt to control their violent tendencies."

Chakotay reclined against the rock behind his back. Tuvok's calm reasoning was a perfect counterpoise to his uneasiness. "Our path went a different way, according to one of our own legends."

He had recounted a very different tale to a no less attentive listener not so long ago. What was it with pre-warp planets which brought about the telling of stories?

"One year, the leader of a small tribe brought her community together to announce she would forbid participation in the ritual. The seasons had been harsh and they could ill afford to lose their young people for weeks on end to go and hunt dangerous beasts. Bands of young men from different tribes often clashed, sometimes with bloody consequences, leading to animosity between neighbours. Maybe that's how it all begun here too."

He would always remember those blue eyes and splendid smile as understanding had dawned on her of how much she meant to him. Then, they had returned to Voyager and what might have happened had waned into a far away future. And now she was dead and his hopes had never seen the light of day.

He trudged on. "Elders and adults alike argued the soon-to-be men should be allowed to prove their bravery in front of danger. The leader refused to back down, arguing that the worth of a great warrior was in the survival of the tribe rather than individual daring feats. Over the following year, the adolescents stayed put, barred from leaving. More able people meant better hunting and farming, and there were also reduced conflicts with nearby tribes. Their own tribe grew stronger. Other leaders followed suit. The whole society benefited and the ritual died out."

Tuvok remained silent for a few seconds, his features nearly invisible in the encroaching night. "That leader was perceptive and courageous to fight such an established custom."

"Woman leaders are often wise and brave," Chakotay said.

"Indeed, Commander. And when they are no longer with us, we do miss them."

With those words, Tuvok left to return to his rounds.

Chakotay watched the night sky envelop the hill. Anger had taken him to a place where wolves bayed for blood and his sanity had teetered on the edge of the shadows beyond. He had no wish to remain there any longer since his confrontation with Anth'Ol. His tribe needed him once again, and he owed it to Kathryn to protect it to his last breath.

He pushed himself off the rock face and walked to join the rest of the crew.