Chapter Text
Here is where our story begins. It tells the tale of Hola of Claw Island, a Wolpertingess who was not unlike any other Wolperting. She was good at combat, strong and swift, and naturally talented when wielding a weapon. Though there was one difference to any other Wolperting: She was the first Wolpertingess to see a Silver Thread.
The day she stood before the tall cast-iron gate was sunny and warm, not a cloud in sight, so her spirits were soaring. Before she could knock somebody called: “What do you want?”
She looked up the massive city wall towards the barbican where the guard stood; it didn’t even take her a second to locate the other Wolperting. “I am Hola of Claw Island! I am a Wolperting and would like to come in!”
The bodyless voice replied: “Sure thing! I’ll be with you shortly.”
Before her the city gate was lifted and she slipped through under it. On the other side stood a Wolperting with the traces of a Rhodesian Ridgeback. The droopy ears didn’t deter from the regal expression in their face and their mahogany-coloured fur contrasted nicely with the beige suede vest and pants they were wearing. “Hello”, the guard said, “I’m Raborra of Blenheim, your designated city friend. I am here to show you around and help you get settled.”
“That sounds fantastic, thank you. I believe the first stop is the mayor?”
“You’re well acquainted with our customs, it seems. How does that come? Most new arrivals have no idea what to expect.”
“I met a fellow Wolperting in a tavern somewhere around Loch Loch, his name was Tsacko of the Red Forest, he told me all I needed to know.”
“Tsacko! What a lovely surprise! We went to school together, you know, a bit hot-headed sometimes but amiable nonetheless” Raborra reminisced. “How is he? We don’t exactly have the habit to stay in touch once we leave Wolperting.”
Hola chuckled. “I’d say he was doing pretty good. Was on his way to the coast to catch a boat. He said something about Yhôll if I remember this right.”
“I wonder what he’s up to there”, Raborra murmured. She had guided them toward the inner city where the bustle had picked up. A couple of Wolpertings waved when they passed them.
“Showing a Johnny-come-lately around?”, one of them, a tiny Wolperting with fluffy milk-coffee brown fur, asked.
“Aye, that’s Hola of Claw Island. Hola, meet my friends Erol of Wheatfield”, she indicated the Miniature Poodle, “and Bass of Little Wheatfield.” The other one was a large canine with massive brown fur who exposed a lolling blue tongue when they smiled widely.
Hola raised a hand to wave, then they proceeded towards the town hall, on their way crossing the torrential Wolper. A sign beside it said that swimming here was forbidden.
“Who tries to swim anyway? We can’t!”, Hola said in disbelief when she spotted the sign.
Raborra laughed. “Oh, so that Tsacko didn’t deem necessary to tell you? Rala Of The Forest invented swimming when she tried to rescue Rumo of Zamonia and since then she’s been teaching it at school. But we use the shallow ponds outside of town for that.”
Her guest made wide eyes. “No, he didn’t mention that! But we are afraid of water!”
“Not when you know how to conquer it you aren’t. But you will learn in due time. At first I drop you off a the mayor’s.” They stood before an impressively detailed building that rose three stories high. “See those carvings in the doorframe? They recount our adventure down in Netherworld.”
Hola laughed startled, it sounded choked. “’Adventure’ is one way to put it. What Tsacko told me sounded more like a nightmare.”
Raborra shrugged before she opened the door to the city hall. Then she pushed Hola inside. “Well, we’ve survived and even the darkest memories fade the more time passes. I wait for you outside until you’re done here.” With that, the door closed behind her.
Hola took the stairs to the second floor where the mayor had his office. She knocked and a deep and slow voice boomed: “Come in!”
The office was furnished floor to ceiling in dark polished wood so that a steady gloom hung in the air, impenetrable even for the piercing sun outside. In the centre of this gloominess sat a Wolperting like a Saint Bernard dog, his thick fur folds nearly obscuring his sad eyes. He nodded to the chair on the other side of the desk.
Hola took a seat and crossed her fingers on the table in anticipation. She knew that what she was about to say would flabbergast the mayor and might even shake his worldview in its foundations.
“So you are new in Wolperting”, he hummed, eyeing her. She was a large example of their kind, with strong heritage of the Central Asian Shepherd Dog. Her fur was white and she had dark spots around her stubby ears and one eye. The rest of her coat pattern was hidden beneath a square-cut shirt of colourful cotton cloth. “I am Yodler of the Mountain. What is your name?”
“Hola of Claw Island, sir.”
He chuckled. “You seem to have better manners than most new arrivals.”
“I assume that I am older than most. I had decided to come here earlier but then news broke of the entire city being swept away, no Wolperting left, so I decided to postpone my travels.”
“Smart idea indeed.” He didn’t comment on the reason why the city population had vanished but she saw the shivers that rippled through his fur and heard how he clenched his teeth. “So what did you do instead?”
“Continuing on with the life I had. I was raised by Rickshaw Demons and while they might not be the most pleasant to look at they are gentle folks, nice to be around.”
“If they didn’t drive you away why did you decide to leave anyway?”
The right corner of her mouth rose to a grin, knowing that the time had come for her revelation. “Because of the Silver Thread.”
As anticipated, the mayor nearly toppled out of his chair. Surprise bulged his eyes and he seemed to be nearly ten years younger. “So you are not a female?”
She raised an eyebrow. “I am.”
“But females don’t have a Silver Thread.”
“I do.”
Yodler of the Mountain slumped against the backrest of his chair. Sweat was pearling on his brows which he wiped away with a paw were grey spots had grown in his black fur.
Hola gave him a minute before she reached into a pant pocket on her right thigh and pulled a pair of wooden sticks, about as long as her lower arm and as thin as her thumb, out of it. Then she held up her hands to indicate that she would not attack the mayor with them.,
“What are these?” The sweat was still running through his fur folds. Yodler of the Mountain had, apart from the Battle of the Black and the Red Gang, never been a violent Wolperting; nor was he overly interested in the study of weapons. Yet he did gather that this thing was an exceptional piece of weaponry.
“Shuāngjiégùn, or nunchakus. The Rickshaw Demons brought them from their home in China. They might not look as dangerous as a sword but they can just be as deadly. I thought it might be a sensible addition to the arsenal you are teaching with.”
The mayor shrugged. “This I cannot assess. Please refer to our fencing teacher Urs of the Snows for that. I prefer to bring your introduction to its conclusion. What else can do you exceptionally well besides fighting with these?” He nodded towards the nunchakus.
“I’m an excellent carrier. Quick, reliable, and I don’t shy away from heavy loads. When you grow up among Rickshaw Demons you learn it from the ground up.”
“Very well. A lot of Wolpertings do carrier jobs but you might outshine them. And who knows what else you find that strikes your fancy. Can you read?”
She nodded.
“Can you write?”
She nodded again.
“Then please sign this document.”
“I may read it before?”
The mayor almost rolled his eyes. “Of course.”
She grinned for half a second, then leaned forward to inspect the document. “Rights of Wolperting citizens...”, she murmured. “Obligations of Wolperting citizens…” She nodded every once in a while.
Yodler of the Mountain groaned.
“Just one more moment.” She tapped the index claw of her left hand on the document, then grabbed the quill pen beside it and signed her name with a flourish.
“Wonderful.” The mayor sounded exhausted.
She nodded one more time, secured her weapons and got up. The door closed quietly behind her and she heard it being locked. She chuckled. Aggravating the mayor on her first day in the city? Not a bad score for the start.
Raborra was waiting on a bench a few steps down the street, her eyes closed and her face turned towards the sun. She looked up when she heard Hola approaching. “How was it?”, she asked and got up.
“I think the mayor doesn’t like me”, she answered, falling into step with Raborra.
“I don’t think he likes anyone here. That’s not his understanding of being a mayor.”
“I might have shocked him a little though.”
Raborra’s head snapped around. “What did you do?”
Hola shook her head, letting her gaze roam over the roofs of the city. “In due time. He said to meet with one Urs of the Snows? I have a new weapon he might be interested to look at.”
“May I remind you that I am your city friend? You're not obliged to tell me your every secret, but the more I know the more I can help you keep out of trouble.” Raborra sounded sore.
Hola patted her shoulder. “I know and I’m very thankful for that. But I have to figure this out myself first.”
“Fine”, her new friend sighed. “Can I at least see this mysterious weapon?”
“Sure.” She pulled the nunchakus out of the pocket and handed them over.
Raborra raised her eyebrows appraisingly. “They sure look different than anything else I’ve ever seen before.” She weighed them in her hand. “How do you use them?”
“I’d rather not show you on my first day in public. Otherwise you have to throw me out again.” She snickered
“This bad? Well, maybe I can watch the demonstration you give Urs. He’s not exactly fond of weapons, though.”
Hola stopped in her tracks, looking at her incredulously. “But he’s the fencing teacher! How -, I mean why -… What?” In her confusion she was unable to form coherent sentences.
Raborra laughed. “It’s a bit complicated. Something to do with where he grew up and the former fencing teacher Uschan DeLucca who died in Hel. I’m sure he can tell you more. Shall I take you straight to him or show you your accommodation first?”
“I would like to see him right away. You have made me curious about that fencing teacher who hates weapons.”
Raborra led her down the main street before she swung down a narrow lane where a brightly coloured house stood, a stark contrast to the traditional half-timbered houses around. Pink fuchsias and deep-blue Ornian Greengrass cascaded down the front. The balcony on the second floor drowned in Angel’s Tears and Devil’s Laughter, and a Maiden Pine – usually a popular bonsai tree but this one was taller than Hola herself - guarded the entrance to the restaurant. A wooden sign dangled above, the name Sina’s was carved into it in delicately curved letters.
“Sina? Is that the patron? And why a restaurant? I thought Urs was a teacher at school?”
“You’ll see”, Raborra said cryptically, then showed her through the thick red velvet curtain that separated the inside of the restaurant from curious looks and inclemencies. The tap room was furnished in a surprisingly modern style. Instead of large oaken tables and long benches, with cast-iron chandeliers dangling over them, there were groups of two, four, or six white chairs around tables of delicately wrought iron in white with tabletops made of colourful ceramic mosaic tiles. She’d never seen anything like that, not even in Old Town, the most cosmopolitan of places on Claw Island.
Every table was packed. Hola registered among all the Wolpertings a strange creature that looked like a portly grub with dense slate-grey skin and a toothy shark grin. What was it doing here?
Before she could ponder the question any further, a shaggy haired Wolperting like a herding dog approached them. “Hello Raborra! We unfortunately don’t have a free table but you can take a seat at the bar.”
“Thank you, Aksel. We’ll take two honey beers, please. Say, is Urs available?”, she replied as she led Hola to two bar stools.
“Two honey beers, coming right up! No, Urs is still at school. He’d been held up by a particularly inquisitive student.”
“Aksel, mouse bladders for table 14!”, somebody yelled from the kitchen.
He grinned apologetically. “Zeppelina is a tad snappier in the kitchen than Urs.” With a mock-salute he left them to fetch the dish.
While Raborra and Aksel had been talking, Hola had closed her eyes to survey her surroundings with her nose. The golden-brown aroma of the mouse bladders unravelled as Aksel hastened past her with them. Honey beer and red wine were woven through the smells of the Wolpertings, even the sweet scent of the flowers wafted inside. Fried potatoes, glazed Midgard carrots, sizzling butter, fresh wilberries. Toasted bread, ripe tomatoes, red meat.
Suddenly a gust of wind swept through the curtains - and with it the Silver Thread.
Hola snapped her eyes open to focus on the entrance. A Wolperting with the soft round face of a Bulldog, robed in a loose-fitting purple shirt and suede pants, came inside. Since nobody else had come in, it could only be him. She closed her eyes again, and the Silver Thread was thicker than ever, sturdy like a rope, and pulsated gently between them.
“Urs!”
Raborra’s voice rang uncomfortably loud in her ears as she opened her eyes again. Her city friend had slid from the stool to embrace the Wolperting who seemed to be one of the cooks of the restaurant and, most importantly, the great fencing teacher of the city. She was even more surprised, adding up to all the things she had heard about him so far, that she saw herself confronted with a gently looking, jovial Wolperting, soft around the edges, and so far from threatening as she could possibly imagine.
But since she wasn’t a bobbysoxer anymore, instead a seasoned Wolpertingess, she would not be baffled by this development. She stepped beside Raborra, squared her shoulders and managed to add another inch to her already impressive height. Not that this was necessary in the slightest as Urs was about a head shorter than her anyway.
“Urs, meet Hola of Claw Island. It’s her first day in Wolperting and she’s been sent to you by the mayor.”
Urs raised an eyebrow. “Oho, already on business! Welcome to the town, and welcome to Sina’s where we serve best Florinthian cuisine with a twist.” He opened his arms wide to sweep over the entire room, then extended his right hand.
Hola shook it fiercely.
Urs rubbed it once they had parted. “You seem like a no-nonsense-person. Like Rumo. I wonder why I always meet people like you.” He sighed. Then he indicated the bar stools they had previously vacated before he slipped on the one beside them. “So, what message has given the mayor to you to deliver to me? I hope I have not violated any noise protection orders?” He laughed jolly.
She shook her head. “I wanted to show you something. Maybe you can use it in your lessons.” She pulled the nunchakus out of her pocket.
He leaned forward to inspect them. “May I?”, he asked, his hand hovering over the weapon.
She nodded.
He took them, weighed them like Raborra had done, and let them glide through his hands. “I don’t see how you would use them in a fight.”
“I can show you.”
“I would like to see that.” There was a particular flare of hope in his eyes that she couldn’t place before he handed them back. “But not today. Before I disappear into the kitchen I want to invite you for dinner. When did you have your last meal, Hola?”’
“I had a piece of bread and some dried sausages that a travelling Lindworm was kind enough to share with me for breakfast this morning.”
“Then it is high time for you to get some proper food!” He turned around and waved his friend to them. “Aksel, my dear chap, please bring us three servings of tonight’s special. It’s on the house for the ladies.”
Aksel nodded, patting Urs before he departed for the kitchen.
“What is tonight’s special?”, Raborra asked, leaning one elbow on the counter to look past Hola at their host.
“I don’t want to spoil things. Just this much: I involves king oyster mushrooms tossed in Petrosilla butter and slowly roasted pork shoulder.”
That sounded like heaven to Hola.