by Tracy Falbe
Pistol jumped off their bed and went to the door just before someone knocked.
“Your father summons you,” Mileko announced from the hall.
Altea gripped his hands. “Let us go,” she said resolutely, which he interpreted as her permission.
Sarputeen received them in his study. His head was freshly shaven, and palpable excitement had replaced his usual ominous calm. He welcomed Thal eagerly and ushered him into a chair.
With a hand resting on his son’s shoulder, he said, “Listen closely.”
Thal looked up at him expectantly, ready to receive knowledge.
Sarputeen told Mileko to take the volunteers to the place of changing.
“We’ll await you, Master,” Mileko said. He dipped his head reverently and departed.
“Ah, it’s good to see him on his feet again,” Sarputeen commented. “You did well to rescue him.”
“I accept his importance to you,” Thal said, and Sarputeen believed that his son’s attitude toward the man had thawed a little.
“Now you must focus on your pack. They will need your guidance. You must be firm with them this night,” Sarputeen said.
“Do you think they will resist me?” Thal wondered.
“They will not resist your leadership,” his father said and grabbed a dark glass bottle off his desk. “This potion will ensure your mastery. There will be no undoing your claim upon them once you bite them. You’ll drink it at the spot I’ve prepared in the forest. Once we gather, I’ll tell the volunteers to scatter. This ritual must feel like a hunt. You must track and pursue them. Make them afraid in their final moment before you strike. This fear will make the magic greater.”
Thal supposed he would have little trouble inflicting mortal fear upon even willing victims.
“Do you understand the wisdom of this?” his father demanded.
Thal felt so unschooled compared to his father, but he understood that magic was something that was realized more than imparted through spoken lessons.
Claiming what insight that he could, Thal said, “They’ll gain true trust of me because at the same moment they fear me the most, I’ll keep my word and give them power.”
Sarputeen nodded approvingly.
As Altea watched the father instructing his son, her worries bashed around her head like a trapped bat. She contemplated the loyalty of the new werewolves. They would be forever obedient to him, including the female. Would the magic deepen her desire to please her new master?
Altea had seen her approach Thal in the stairwell. He had said nothing amiss but his interest in her might grow once they had more in common.
Everything in common, Altea thought, giving into her fears and natural jealousy. Thal compared to no man in her mind, but how might she compare once a werewolf woman became available?
Her loving heart tried again to wrestle down her concerns. Thal had done nothing to deserve her suspicions, but Altea refused to ignore her instincts. Perhaps Thal did not yet acknowledge that which she already saw.
“Are you coming?” Thal said.
She had not noticed him getting up and now he was waiting for her.
“Of course,” she said.
Sarputeen slipped his potion bottle into a leather bag and led the way. They followed him out of the castle. A muddy trail through the wet snow showed the way toward the ritual space. With night falling, the edges of footprints were beginning to freeze into hard ridges and feel lumpy beneath their feet. Pistol meandered parallel to their path as he investigated animal tracks.
Upon entering the forest, the enticing smell of burning wood drew them onward. The orange light soon beckoned them to a glen. Mileko and Emil awaited them along with the volunteers. Johan, Harvath, Mitri, Ansel, and Lenki huddled in their cloaks and stood miserably barefoot in the snow.
Anxious silence welcomed Sarputeen, Thal, and Altea. The old sorcerer gestured for Altea to stand with Mileko and Emil. He then walked behind the line of volunteers and pulled off their cloaks. They wore only long woolen shirts that would not survive their transformation. As he drew off their cloaks, he told them to disperse separately into the forest and that Thal would find them each alone and do the deed.
They hesitated. The prospect of dashing nearly naked into the chilly forest held them in place almost as firmly as their final doubts about the deal that they had struck for their lives.
“Go!” Sarputeen thundered, and they scattered like prisoners who run with no true hope of escape but desire a final sprint unfettered.
Satisfied by their dispersal, Sarputeen beckoned his son. He came forward just as the moon emerged from the horizon and nudged back the darkness. The little hairs at the nape of his neck lifted with anticipation. His doubts fell away, and he accepted the responsibilities and consequences of what he was about to do. He pulled his fur off his shoulders and handed it to his father while he undressed. Altea came forward and took his boots and clothes. Sarputeen waved her back, and she withdrew reluctantly. Thal shooed Pistol away, and the little dog found a spot at the edge of the firelight.
Sarputeen extended the potion bottle to Thal. He took it firmly by the neck and pulled the cork. Slowly, he raised the bottle but paused to look into his father’s eyes.
Those obsidian orbs reflected the rising moon. The mind behind them bore into him with an intensity more extreme than starvation. His father wanted this for him.
Thal considered the open bottle. The hole seemed like an abyss that led to another world, and contemplating the possibilities yanked Thal’s dormant memories to the surface.
Long ago, he had consumed another potion of his father’s brewing. He had been in a different grove on a different mountain, but the same moon had shone down upon the working of magic that hearkened back to the first dreams of living minds.
Thal had lain on an altar then. Some arcane draught had burned in his guts, and Sarputeen had chanted over him. Thal’s mind had opened unto the full knowledge of beasts, and his existence as only a man had ended.
Many years in the forest resulted. Thal had known only the joys and privations of natural life, living by Nature’s laws that were as capricious as those of humans but never petty.
Thal had trusted his father then, and a promise had been fulfilled. His father had given him a wolf’s life. Thal had thought that he would be forever free of the cares of men. Perhaps such a thing had been compelling to a young man who lived a difficult life as the son of a witch on the fringe of society.
But Thal could not remember if he had known that his first transformation had made it possible for him to be remade as a werelord. Was that why his mother had begged him not to return to his father? She must have known what Sarputeen planned for him. She must have feared that she would be tempted to cast the spell that brought him back. In the end, she had done just that.
Thal had so many questions for his father, but the moment was not appropriate to ask any of them. It was time to trust his father again.
As these thoughts bombarded him, the moon gained height. The tips of pines pricked Her round face along the mountainside. Despite the frosty air, sweat broke out on Thal’s brow. The urge to transform made his skin itch. His mouth went dry, and the potion suddenly seemed to offer the sweetest relief.
He lifted the bottle and drank deeply. He forced down several gulps before the miserable taste made him gasp. The bottle was still half full and sloshed noisily in his swaying hand. Already he felt an effect. Sounds were louder. He could hear the footsteps of the volunteers stumbling through the trees.
“Do I have to drink it all?” he asked.
“No,” Sarputeen said and took back the bottle. He gave Thal his fur.
Thal seized it and chanted the spell of transformation. The shift had never been so intense. Seven veils slipped away to reveal seven universes of thought and action and death and rebirth. He felt the master of his fate as all possibilities opened before him.
Then bestial beginnings of consciousness overtook his humanity, and he tumbled utterly i
nto the pitiless place of the predator. He remembered killing without remorse. Then color penetrated his spectrum of thought and returned him to a balanced place where his humanity had full control of his animal self.
His muscles quivered with eagerness to hunt. He dropped to all fours and bounded away. His claws propelled his bulk as cold snow squished between his digits. Pistol went after him but kept a discreet distance. The scent of Mitri leaped up Thal’s nose, and he veered onto the trail. He would change the physically strongest of them first.
Mitri’s scent had put the image of the man into his mind. No time passed to his perception before he found Mitri. He extended a clawed hand and clipped the man’s heels and sent him sprawling.
Flipping over, the man backed away on his butt. Clumsy with fear, he slipped on the slushy carpet of pine needles. Moonlight glowed on his pale woolen shirt. His meaty thighs propelled him back until his back hit a rocky crag gripped by tree roots. Icicles glittered overhead in the bright night.
When Thal lunged, he envisioned killing the man because that was what he had always done when striking. Mitri cried out and threw up his hands. Thal’s open jaws crashed against the man’s stomach but instead of tearing into the guts, as was the task of wolves, he twisted his snout aside and seized a forearm. Thal sank in his teeth. Mitri struck him once across the back of the head. It was a solid blow that blurred Thal’s vision.
Mitri’s blood spurted across Thal’s teeth. It flowed upon his wet tongue that forced a marriage between their fluids. The effects of the potion surged in Thal’s body. He felt the blood pumping through both of their bodies. He heard the disjointed bang of their hearts and held on until the beats marched as one.
“Ahhh!” Mitri yelled. “I beg you not to break my arm!”
Thal gradually let go. The blunt wounds of his thick teeth lay across Mitri’s arm with blood dripping. Thal withdrew a few steps and eased back onto his rear legs. Still breathing hard, he tried to clear his mind that felt crowded by the knowledge of another life.
Mitri moaned and held his arm. Warily, he looked at Thal, wondering if another attack was to come. He got to his knees but then pitched sideways. He reached out with his arms as if cords yanked his limbs in every direction.
Thal sprang forward and leaned over him. He brought his face close to Mitri’s face. The man’s eyes lost focus and he rolled over. His torso heaved and then expanded rapidly. Fur sprouted everywhere and his writhing continued.
The moon cast its magical light upon the man shifting into a werewolf for the first time. Legs kicked, and a tail grew. Ears became pointy, and long jaws erupted from a human face overgrown with fur. Thal’s little dog watched from a hiding spot. His eyes reflected the scene of the emerging beast.
When it was done, Thal stood watchfully over his creation. Hesitantly, Mitri got up. He wobbled the first time he tried to stand erect on his altered legs, and Thal propped him up.
Mitri took a few steps and then crouched to all fours. Thal threw back his head and howled gently. He continued until Mitri found his wolf voice and answered the call. Their howls rose toward the vast Heavens that only the imagination could chart. The newly fledged werewolf learned the voice of his master, and the master heard the voice of his first pack member.
Thal circled him, taking in every detail of his appearance. Thick luxurious gray fur covered Mitri’s strong body.
So amazed by his accomplishment, Thal could have stared at Mitri for the rest of the night, but the potion in his belly goaded him with a hunger that commanded him to hunt. More people awaited the harsh grip of his jaws.
******
Great satisfaction spread across Sarputeen’s face after Thal ran off. Gratitude that he had lived to see this day filled his heart. His kind had always been rare, but a new pack would surge forward and strike down Tekax. Sarputeen had faith that they would spare the world from the cruel creativity of one who lacked a knowing soul. And his son might be safe at least for a time.
Eventually, he turned to the others. “Mileko,” he said. “No need for you to be out all night. Take the others back. Emil, return here with clothes for everyone at dawn.”
Mileko looked at the tracks left by Lenki. Her female feet had left smaller imprints than the others, and he imagined her cold and alone awaiting Thal’s onslaught.
He said, “Will…they be all right?”
“Yes,” Sarputeen answered.
“Good night, Master,” Mileko said. He and Emil started away.
Altea stayed in place. She stared into the forest as if she had just watched her lover sail away for unknown shores.
“You should go back,” Sarputeen said.
When she did not respond, he said, “You may wait with me if you like.” He went to the pile of firewood prepared by Emil and placed more fuel on the fire. The flames brightened his face as he poked at the fire with a stick.
Altea came up behind him. She cleared her throat but still only managed a whisper. “Sarpu.”
“Yes,” he said, keeping his attention on the fire.
“You must change me,” she announced.
He whirled on her. The smoking stick in his hand fell and sizzled on the snow.
His onyx eyes regarded her as if seeing her for the first time. She found refuge from her doubts and fears in his glossy eyes that always invited her to think the unthinkable.
He set his hands on her shoulders. His closeness consumed her and blocked out the world as if his body contained a whole realm of secrets. “Have you asked this of Thal and he refused you?” he said.
“He knows nothing of my wish.”
“This is your wish?”
She nodded emphatically.
“Why have you not spoken to him?” Sarputeen wondered.
“I don’t want him to do it. Our trust must be based on our love, not imposed by his magic,” she said.
Sarputeen understood because a true mate was a co-leader and not a follower.
“If I do it, you will be obedient to me always,” he said.
“I know.”
He squeezed her shoulders and looked her up and down admiringly. Her innately confident spirit would produce a formidable werewolf.
He cautioned, “You won’t be like Thal and me. You’ll be bound to the full moon, unable to control your shift.”
“I understand.”
“Why, Altea?” he pressed.
“So I can be a worthy mate of Thal,” she answered. When Sarputeen did not speak, his silence interrogated her, and she added, “Sarpu, you must do this for me now. Once Thal changes that other woman, he’ll want her. It’s only natural.”
Sarputeen considered the possibility, but he found Lenki difficult to compare to Altea.
“Do not doubt in my son’s loyalty,” he advised.
Although Altea recalled the gentility and kindness in all of her husband’s actions, she said, “I believe in his loyalty, but I would not have him force himself to love me because he thinks it his duty.”
Sarputeen looked up to the moon as if consulting an invisible entity. Altea could not guess what thoughts occupied him. Did he worry that he would anger Thal? Did he think her unworthy?
When howling started close by, she put her hands on his chest. “You must do it now,” she said.
His hands slid off of her shoulders and down her arms until he grasped her wrists. His strong hands were like manacles.
“Answer me one question,” he said.
“What?”
“Where do you want me to bite you?”
“Does it matter?”
“You should consider the scar. I recommend the leg,” he said.
“Then bite my leg.”
He let her go. “Get your clothes off and run from me,” he commanded.
He brought the potion bottle out of its leather pouch and lifted it to his mouth. He took a long swig and watched her with fierce eyes. After swallowing the strong brew, he gnashed his teeth at the empowering taste.
She began to undres
s. The wet snow stabbed her bare feet, and her nipples hardened like pebbles. Sarputeen pulled another long draught down his throat, nearly emptying the bottle before casting it aside and taking off his clothes.
As he drew off his tunic, Altea snatched her cloak up and flung it around her shivering shoulders. Sarputeen chanted his spell of transformation, and she ran. Pine boughs scratched at her cheeks as she dashed into the howling woods.
Naked and freezing, she hurried onward. Thoughtless freedom drove off her memories and fears. Already she felt like a wild thing born of the mountains. Every constraining law, bit of etiquette, or tradition that she had ever observed slipped from her mind. Vivid vulnerability strengthened her vitality. With her skin exposed to the elements, her body forgot the comforts of warm fires and sturdy walls. Altea truly embraced the reality of her flesh, and the spirit within surged with new knowledge. The shame that civilization wanted her to feel proved a deception as the immensity of Nature welcomed her without judgment. She now understood the truth of all the lies used to domesticate her.
Just as her heart-pounding joy reached a pinnacle, she heard the beast coming for her. Blood-draining dread made her gasp. She scrambled beneath hanging boughs to escape the moonlight that poured down on the sparkling trees.
Sarputeen circled her position. His white fur glistened like mother of pearl. He sniffed her footprints and looked directly at her position. When his glistening eyes penetrated the darkness beneath the tree, she bolted. He crashed through the branches after her and tackled her. His coarse claws tore off the cloak. She scurried sloppily through the wet snow until his jaws seized her thigh. The thick teeth bit into the meaty muscle and dragged her down. She could not help but cry out. Pain erupted around the blunt points of entry. Sarputeen slapped a wide paw on her other leg to pin her down.
The pain spread upward through her hips and into her chest. Then, she saw herself from above. The white werewolf loomed over her, looking invincible next to her pale soft skin. The growling deep in his throat vibrated through her body, and the powerful force of his spirit surrounded her thoughts. Her instinct urged her to beat at his head, but she had asked for this, and she grabbed at her own long hair and bit her lip to contain a scream.
