Mother

As days go, walking up to a group of your closest friends to find one clutching the recently-severed head of your father makes for a pretty bad one. Wrylla found herself stunned, confusion mingling with distress to create white-hot anger that burned her veins. She stood still with her fists clenched and jaw set stiffly, as bits and pieces of the events that transpired were gradually shared with her. Melvil had deserved to die-- of that, there was little doubt. But like this? Baetuun apologetically explained that Melvil had even been unarmed when the killing blow was struck. There had been no justice in this execution-- this murder.

She had stormed off then, needing some time to simply fume as her mind chewed through it all. After a time she had spoken with Baetuun again, and the situation was made clearer. Some of Melvil’s last words were a reveal of a deeply sinister plot that put both her and the rest of his children at risk. It was hard to understand at first-- supposedly some of them would possess a gene that allowed them to berserk, achieving states of frenzied violence and feeling little to no pain in the process. Like this, it sounded as though those affected would be capable of superhuman feats. And that only served to make them all the more dangerous.

“He said fifty percent had it,” Baetuun had told her, pity written across his face. It puzzled Wrylla-- surely he could not think she had it? She felt the full extent of her fury mere hours ago, and all she had done was stand still, snap some disdainful words, and be on her way. The most likely candidates would be those like Melvilla or Jorvan, who were regularly seen in mouth-frothing fits of violence when provoked. Wrylla had control over her emotions where they did not. That was justification enough.

As foul as Melvil was, the rest of children deserved to know his fate. Wrylla penned a letter to each sibling she knew of, being sure to omit any names or other pertinent details that might get her friends in trouble. Shoving the stack of envelopes into the postbox was a difficult task, but she managed it after a few attempts.

The last task was decidedly harder, and for a while Wrylla dug about for excuses to get out of it altogether. But now her father was gone, she felt as though she needed her mother. Just a little bit. Renna was perhaps as bad as Melvil when it came to parenting, but it had been a good six years since she and her mother so much as stood under the same roof. There was a painful yearning in Wrylla’s heart that urged her to bridge that gap, just this once, however brief it might be.

---

Renna was easy to find. She had relocated to Lakeshire some time ago, and had not moved on since. Wrylla stopped at her door and gave the knocker a tentative bump, hearing a muffled curse and shuffling from within. It opened, and for the first time in far too long, Wrylla looked up at her mother.

The years had changed Renna somewhat. There was a fatigue in her eyes, and her vibrant red hair was cropped short and had lost some of its lustre. She stood with a pronounced slouch as she eyed Wrylla with painful disinterest.

“What do you want?” she sighed. Her Gilnean accent was fainter than it once had been, but it was still there.

Wrylla stood in silence for a moment, unsure how to reply. “I-I thought you should, uh, know the news. Melvil’s dead.”

Renna snorted, and the corner of her mouth rose in a barely perceptible smile. “He is? Good riddance. What a waste of a man. Is that all you came here to tell me, hm? Don’t know why you bothered. I couldn’t care less if he lived or died.”

“There was something else,” Wrylla said. The wind behind her was cold, glancing off of the lake and spraying the back of her neck with freezing mist. “Can I come in?”

With a shrug, Renna held the door open to let her enter, swinging it shut the moment she was past the threshold. The inside of the house was modest, yet cosy. A healthy fire crackled in the brazier, and half a mug of steaming coffee sat on a small table beside an armchair. Renna sat on it and retrieved her mug, taking a long sip. Wrylla settled onto a wooden stool she dragged into the living room. It was not at all comfortable, but she didn’t intend to be here long anyway.

“Out with it, then,” Renna grumbled.

Wrylla wrung her hands together as she thought, fighting to suppress the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. “Uh, well... apparently before Melvil died, he said something weird about his kids. Something about half of them having some kind of gene that makes them... uh...”

Renna snorted and wiped coffee foam from her lip. “Is this about that berserker gene thing? Yeah, I know about that already. Coined on to Melvil’s game the moment he came sniffing around in Gilneas.”

That made Wrylla pause. “Gilneas? I thought you met him in Goldshire.”

Renna sighed and set her mug down, running a hand through her hair in exasperation. “Bloody hell girl, there’s a lot you don’t know. Lets start off with that gene first before this gets... well, worse than it already is.” She clasped her hands together and sat forward, meeting Wrylla’s gaze directly for the first time in years. “Your father was an awful, terrible man-- and though you might believe otherwise, your birth was no accident. Melvil had... imbued himself with some sort of powerful essence, the nature of which I’m not completely certain of. I do know it essentially turned him into a carrier of this gene, though. When passed down to a new generation, it had the chance to wake up, in a sense. Turned the kids into bloodthirsty monsters when properly provoked.”

Wrylla nodded along, both rapt and horrified in equal measure. “So... what was the point of all that? Why make all these berserker children?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, girl,” Renna replied, shrugging. “My guess? He wanted to make some kind of army. But Melvil is a real idiot, so I doubt he was working alone. There’s got to be more like him out there... and then there’s the question of what happens when his kids have kids of their own. Does the gene pass there? I worry that it does.”

A cold chill crept up Wrylla’s spine at that, thinking of Melvilla’s two sons. They were almost certainly afflicted with the gene.

“I suppose you’re wondering how I came to know all this,” Renna continued when Wrylla did not reply. She got to her feet and retrieved a dusty leather-bound folder from a cupboard, dropping it heavily on the coffee table between them. Embossed on the front cover were the words: ''Detective Chief Inspector Renna Greyhart, Gilnean Criminal Investigation Department. ''Renna smirked, and stroked the cover fondly. “Still had my maiden name back then. Did you know I married my first husband just so I could scrub that ‘Greyhart’ stain from my life? Poor Jonathan wasn’t so happy to find that out after nearly three years together. Ah well, it is what it is.”

Wrylla stared at the folder in awe. “You were a detective?”

“Aye, girl. I was the first to know if anything fishy was going on in Gilneas,” Renna replied. A sad smile crossed her features. “Had I still been there when all the worgen malarkey was happening, perhaps I could have helped a bit. I was long gone by then, as were you. Go on, don’t be shy. Have a leaf through it.”

Wrylla wasted no time peeling the cover open, the pleasant smell of old ink and paper filling her senses. The cases were listed alphabetically by last name, so she easily found her way to the hefty lump of documents printed with ‘Oldham, Melvil’. Apparently, he had come to Gilneas the year before she was born to sell exotic fruits from Tel’abim. He had received cautions from the authorities on a number of occasions for inappropriate behaviour around citizens-- women in particular. There were listings of petty thefts he had committed, but his chief crime was stark against the page in bold text, circled twice in bright red ink. Wrylla’s throat felt dry as she read it.

“...K-Kidnapping, torture.. conspiring against the King? Really?” She felt weak as she read on. “...Murder... who did he...?”

Her question was answered on the next page. In methodical, cold detail, the paper described how Melvil tracked down and killed a noblewoman distantly related to the Greymanes. He was meant to be imprisoned for life, but fled the kingdom before he could be apprehended. Wrylla felt cold and lost. This didn’t make sense. Why would he kill someone like this?

Renna was watching her closely as she read, and laughed bitterly at her reaction. “Yeah, my thoughts exactly. What in the world could have possessed him to kill young Lady Amberfell there? She, as far as anyone was concerned, had no connection to any criminals, nor had any reason to so much as interact with Melvil. At first I wondered if she’d found out about his berserker plan, but its... far worse than that.” Renna sighed heavily. “Go search for the name ‘Greyhart’.”

Wrylla raised a brow at that, but did as she was told. There was one entry under that name: Yreine Greyhart.

“Aunt Yreine?” Wrylla wondered aloud.

“Yeah,” Renna said. “Read the file. She wasn’t all that stellar before she got herself killed in Northrend.”

And so Wrylla read on. She quickly noticed that this file was written entirely in Renna’s own hand, and the paper was much less aged and yellow. She also quickly noticed the absolute abhorrence of the crimes Yreine was being accused of. Some years back, the prolific serial killer known as the Bloody Star tore through Gilneas, leaving more than seventy victims in their wake. According to Renna’s report, the Bloody Star was none other than dear old Aunt Yreine, Renna’s sister-in-law, who died before Wrylla ever had the chance to meet her.

Supposedly, Yreine had killed the noblewoman and enlisted Melvil’s help to cover it up. Her motives were left intentionally vague, almost prompting Wrylla to ask Renna for more information.

Renna obliged before Wrylla had finished asking, stretching back in her armchair and letting out a long, stressed sigh. “Lady Amberfell used to be a good friend of Yreine’s. A confidante, in fact. She kept a lot of her secrets hidden, like any friend would. But there were some things she simply could not keep her mouth shut about-- and I’m not talking about the murders. She never knew about those. You see... Yreine and Melvil had an affair. Yreine fell pregnant as a result. For months, she holed herself up with Amberfell to conceal the pregnancy. The baby was born, and Amberfell wanted Yreine to tell her husband about the child. She figured Harlan would love the child regardless of who the father was. And she would have been right-- I know my brother. He sees the good in all people, even monsters like Yreine. But Yreine was less keen on that idea. She thought it would be better to palm the baby off to someone else and get it out of Gilneas so she could get back to her life. Amberfell had issues with that, and I assume threatened to give up Yreine’s secret. She paid for that mistake with her life.”

Wrylla was struck still with surprise. “So... I have another cousin out there somewhere?”

“Eh, not exactly,” Renna said. She pulled a face, then shook her head. “No, actually. Not at all. Yreine knew I was on her tail sniffing about for Bloody Star clues. She figured she’d kill two birds with one stone. She dumped the baby on me and told me to high-tail it out of Gilneas and never come back. If I refused, she’d kill Harlan and her kids.” Renna paused, the light wrinkles on her face seeming to deepen in strain. “I’m sorry, Wrylla. I’m not your mum-- not really.”

Cracks. It felt like Wrylla was seeing cracks. In everything-- the folder, the files. Renna. The air around her felt like it was splitting, moments away from shattering into thousands of unknowable little pieces. Her head was light and heavy at the same time. Renna’s mouth was moving-- she was saying something again. Her face was sad, apologetic. Whatever she was saying was incomprehensible noise. Wrylla stood, shaking on her feet. She turned to the door, still hanging ajar.

She walked out. The world beyond looked like it was breaking too.