by Laura Taylor
“I am sorry,” he said, closing the door much more softly. “I did not realise anyone was in here. I need a place to escape the politics for a while,” he admitted, running a hand over his face. “Become alpha, and everybody thinks they can ask you a thousand useless questions.” He headed for the side of the room and collapsed into a chair.
Andre nodded politely to him, then turned back to the book. “The meaning of symuchnek is not entirely clear, but from its use in other texts, it seems to have connotations of ‘traitor’.”
Caleb frowned. “So the Black Wolf is our enemy, and a traitor. That’s sounds fairly grim.”
“You study the story of the Black Wolf?” Nikolai was on his feet in an instant, rushing to look over Caleb’s shoulder. “No, no, no, you have this wrong. You see, the preposition comes before the noun, not after it. The Black Wolf is an enemy, it says, and then he becomes a traitor. He betrays our enemies, which makes him an ally. I believe there is a pun in the original language. Subtle, but very clever.”
Caleb looked up at Nikolai, both impressed and fascinated. “You know this text?”
“Like the back of my hand.”
“There was something else I was trying to work out,” Caleb rushed on, turning the page and searching for the appropriate passage. “Most of the prophecies refer to wolves who lived in the past and will be reincarnated. They refer to a distinction between wolf and human, similar to what Dee is experiencing. But every single one that does so also refers to the wolf by their original name. Faeydir-Ul, Fenrae-Ul, Kinos-Muz, the Mountain Ghost. But this just lists him as ‘The Black Wolf’. There’s no name, no mention of his past life. So what I want to know is, is he a reincarnation, or a new being? Just because it’s a prophecy doesn’t mean it’s necessarily about a wolf with a past life.”
As Nikolai bent down to examine the words more closely, Andre was secretly impressed. It was an angle on the story that he himself had never considered, having jumped to the same conclusion as many a historian that the wolf had to have existed before.
“This is a smart one, no?” Nikolai muttered, quirking a bushy eyebrow at Andre. “What is your expression? To read between the lines?”
Andre was inclined to agree. And he made a mental note to add the observation to his assessment of Caleb later. When studying a dead language, it was all too easy to simply accept everything your tutors told you, without stopping to question whether they were correct or not. It was a significant point in Caleb’s favour that he was able to think outside the square where the old prophecies were concerned. The Council was going to be most impressed.
“It is hard to say one way or the other,” Nikolai concluded a few minutes later. “But this is odd. It says here he is ‘forged of lightning’. Converted, in other words, in a lightning storm. That is extremely rare these days, now that we have electricity to do it instead.”
“Are you certain he hasn’t already come and gone?” Caleb asked, studying the page again.
“Quite certain. This passage here refers to the witch hunts of the middle ages,” he said, pointing, “and this one, to the Eil-Mei-Kyntrosi. The Black Wolf is to arise between the two events, and we have not performed the Kyntrosi since the year 1436.” The most sacred of shifter ceremonies, the Eil-Mei-Kyntrosi, or literally, the Chant of Gathering Shifters, was only performed in the most dire of emergencies, as had been the case in the middle ages when the wolves had found themselves on the brink of extinction. The mere mention of the phrase was enough to make most shifters shudder, as it generally indicated a major turning point in history – and not always for the better.
“So there is a Black Wolf, who is yet to arise,” Caleb said, summing up what he had learned, “who will be forged by lightning, who will betray our enemies, and who will… what is this? Cast down the Man of Jars? What does that mean?”
Nikolai frowned at Caleb’s fumbling translation of the words. “This one is ambiguous as well. It could mean to kill someone, presumably a literal man of some description, or it could be to destroy, or deconstruct something. Some scholars have speculated that it means he will destroy an organisation or a business of some sort.”
“So who, or what, is the Man of Jars?”
Nikolai shrugged, an enigmatic look on his face. “Remember, this was written thousands of years ago. We have many new inventions that the prophet would not have understood. How is he to explain anything related to cars, or trains, or computers? He would never have seen these things, and yet, with the world so far progressed, some of them could well be involved in these prophecies. So as far as the Man of Jars is concerned… your guess is as good as mine, my curious friend.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dee stood ramrod straight out the front of the manor, along with each and every member of her own Den, and several of the other shifters. At her hip was a pistol, a knife attached to her belt, and another in a sheath strapped to her ankle.
As a recently converted wolf who had not yet completed her combat training, it was a rare day when Dee was required to carry weapons. Around the estate, there was plenty of security – cameras, alarms, electric fences – and whenever she left the estate it was under escort, Tank usually acting as her bodyguard.
But today was a very different situation, and despite the fact that they were on their own turf, the Den was alert and watchful, the lower ranking members carrying knives and semi-automatic pistols, the higher ranking ones holding submachine guns. To say that security was tight was a gross understatement.
The sound of approaching vehicles broke the silence, and everyone was instantly on guard, Tank and Silas front and centre, while Baron and Caroline stood in the middle of the drive, awaiting the arrival of the Grey Watch.
Baron had received a phone call two days ago, a curt conversation that had merely sought to confirm the timing and location of the Densmeet, and informed Baron that the Watch would be arriving today.
Given the way their last encounter with the group had gone, with the Watch trying to kill Dee, and several of their own being killed in the process, it was a fair assumption that tensions would be running higher than usual this year.
After a short wait, three white vans came into view, slowly climbing the driveway. But rather than approaching the manor, they instead stopped a hundred metres away. Sempre got out of one of them and waited, and Baron glanced at Caroline, then at Tank and Silas in consternation.
“Looks like we’re going down to meet them,” he said, clearly annoyed by the situation. Then he turned to Nikolai. “These wolves are crazy,” he said shortly. “Even more crazy than the Watch usually is. And I don’t trust them any further than I could spit. So if they do anything stupid, you’re in charge, and you’re free to make whatever call you think best.”
It was an extravagant move, delegating control to a foreign shifter. Even though Nikolai was also an alpha, relations with the Grey Watch were generally handled on a country-by-country basis, meaning Sempre, Baron and Caroline were the leading authorities here. The precaution made it clear just how nervous Baron was; if Nikolai was to take control, it would be because Baron was no longer able to do so himself.
In slow, measured steps, weapons at the ready, Baron and Caroline proceeded down the road to the waiting vans, Tank, Silas and Andre close behind, and Dee watched them go with a strong sense of trepidation, knowing that she was the cause of a great deal of the tension, but not having a clue what to do about it. Beside her, Mark was watching the procession just as grimly, and she turned to him and asked, “Why do we bother doing this if it’s all so likely to go pear shaped?”
“We have to,” Mark replied. “It’s a condition of the Treaty.”
That meant nothing to Dee. “What treaty?”
Mark looked down at her in surprise. “Caroline hasn’t covered that with you yet?” As a new recruit, Dee was less than a year into her mandatory two year training period, and it constantly amazed her how much there was to learn. No one had mentioned any kind of treaty to her, so
she shook her head.
“It’s the Treaty of Erim Kai Bahn, of Destruction or Victory. It was written in the 1400s. The shifters were being wiped out in the witch hunts – pretty good evidence of black magic, right there, if a person suddenly turns into a wolf. So the last remaining wolves in Italy organised the Eil-Mei-Kyntrosi, the Chant of Gathering Shifters. It’s a ceremony which taps into the natural electromagnetic radiation of the planet. A large number of shifters are required, and it sends out a huge burst of radiation that acts as a beacon to all other shifters, summoning them to a single place.
“Weeks later, every single wolf shifter left in Europe had descended on Cison de Valmarino, in Italy. Ninety-eight wolves. That was it. All the rest had been killed. At the peak of our culture, we’ve had more than ten thousand shifters alive at once.
“A meeting was held to try and figure out how to preserve the species. The rough beginnings of the Noturatii had already started to form, dedicating themselves to wiping us out, with the blessing of various Christian sects. The shifters who later formed Il Trosa believed we needed to band together, to form a cohesive pack and take a stand to defend ourselves. Those who eventually became the Grey Watch disagreed. They thought they could disappear into the wilderness – of course, there was a lot more wilderness at that time – and evade their enemies, living basic lives, abandoning their human ties. There are pros and cons to both approaches, of course. One large pack is a lot more conspicuous, if someone is searching for you, but also much better able to defend itself.
“The end result was that the wolves split into two factions – Il Trosa, which eventually grew large enough to implement the Council to oversee them all, and the Grey Watch, who retreated into the forests and abandoned their human lives.
“The talks went on for weeks, every possible detail of our lives analysed and weighed up. The shifters of that time were extremely insightful, I’m glad to say. They knew the treaty would have far reaching effects long into the future, so nothing was left to chance. There are provisions in it for almost every imaginable circumstance – the proliferation of the species, the destruction of the species, the creation of new bloodlines, the loss of old ones, the expansion of humanity, the rise of better weapons. The very first guns were just beginning to be used around that time, and they imagined that further developments along that line were inevitable.
“But one thing everyone managed to agree on was that, whatever their internal disagreements might be, the shifters must always stand as a united front against the Noturatii, or any other organisation like them. But that was only possible if ties were maintained between the packs. So one of the provisions in the treaty was that Il Trosa and the Grey Watch must meet once each year to reaffirm our common bonds, to share information on our enemies and to discuss plans for the year ahead.”
“So what happens if they break the Treaty and don’t show up?” Dee asked.
“In extreme circumstances, that might be allowed. And by extreme, I mean a tsunami has flooded half of England, for example. In 1941, during World War 2, they missed a year. Travel was too dangerous, supplies too limited. But aside from that, deliberately failing to attend the meeting breaks the treaty, and then… God knows. Best case scenario, the Grey Watch pack that didn’t show up gets culled. In its entirety. Worst case, war breaks out between Il Trosa and the Watch right across Europe.”
It was a grim prospect, which made Dee understand why the Grey Watch would agree to this meeting, though they seemed reluctant to the extreme about the whole thing.
“One more detail of the treaty,” Mark said, as Baron and Caroline reached the vans, and a heated discussion started up between them and the Grey Watch. “No one from either side is allowed to harm anyone from the other pack during the meeting. To do so is a declaration of war. So no matter what anyone does, or says, you and Faeydir both need to take it on the chin.”
“Got it,” Dee said, conveying the weighty importance of that command to Faeydir. At the same time, she shuddered. The prophecy stated that she would cause the destruction of the shifters, but reading between the lines, it didn’t actually specify that she would do it by separating them all from their wolf selves. So perhaps this was what it was referring to. If Faeydir caused a fuss, she could inadvertently start a war right here, completely unintentionally, and with devastating consequences for all involved.
Baron strode down the road, gun at the ready. He wasn’t prepared to take any shit from the Watch, having already agreed to their sharp demands and willing to fulfil the bare minimum of the terms of the treaty to get this thing over with. Sempre had stated on the phone that they intended to stay for one day only, not a moment more. The discussions would be held outside – it was a disgrace to expect wild wolves to have to enter a human house, she had decided, though in previous years, there had been no problem with holding the talks inside the manor, and when Baron had informed her that his Den would be armed – treaty or no treaty, he wasn’t putting his Den mates’ lives at risk – she had swiftly replied that they would be coming fully armed themselves. Rather than a friendly gathering of allies, this was turning into something more like a war negotiation between rival arms dealers.
So when he arrived at the van where Sempre waited, it was with a scowl on his face and a tight rein on his flaring temper. “What?” he demanded sharply.
“Fenrae-Ul,” Sempre said, her tone just as sharp as his. “She is a threat to our pack. To our entire species. And we will not concede to these talks until she is removed from the property.”
“Dee is no threat to you,” Baron replied, letting a hint of his anger show. He’d fought Sempre before, and won, and the woman didn’t scare him in the slightest. “The only reason she attacked you before was because you were trying to kill her.”
“With good reason!” Sempre snarled. “The prophecy states that she will destroy our species.”
“So you’re going out of your way to give her a reason to do that very thing? Great plan!” Baron’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Let me know how that works out for you.”
“So you concede she is a danger?” Sempre pressed, which made Baron snarl.
“I concede nothing of the sort.”
As the argument went on, Baron listening with gradually shortening patience while Sempre expounded the risks and insults that Baron routinely exposed them to, he noticed that the women inside the vans were getting restless. There were close to thirty of them, packed into just three vans, and it had to be getting uncomfortably cramped inside. One of the side panels was slid open, two or three of the more senior shifters stepping out to stretch their legs, and then, when Sempre seemed to ignore the breach in protocol, the second van opened its door, and then the third. Shifters piled out, women all covered from head to toe in grey robes, glancing anxiously at their leader, and Baron let himself suppose for a moment that it wasn’t because they were nervous about the talks to come, but because they were fed up with their alpha’s theatrics. Sempre seemed to have some extreme views, even by Grey Watch standards, and he wondered for a moment whether all the women here shared her views, or simply put up with them for lack of a better option.
As he watched, he caught sight of two males, lurking in the doorway of the vans, and felt a wave of pity for them. Both wore collars around their necks and avoided the gaze of any of the women. The Grey Watch had different standards on male-female relationships than Il Trosa, and while he didn’t like to criticise other cultures too much, he felt that this particular pack had taken things too far. That the women subjugated their men to this degree was distasteful, but the thing that Baron couldn’t wrap his head around was why the men put up with it. As shifters themselves, they weren’t exactly at liberty to leave, but they could always appeal to the Council to help them, if they wanted to. They could leave the Watch and seek permission to join Il Trosa, and given the life they endured, he couldn’t see that the Council would refuse.
Another woman stepped out of the first van, coming to stand besi
de Sempre, and Baron had to fight not to stare. It was Lita, the pack’s mage.
He’d first met her many years ago, when she was a young woman, and over the years, he’d been startled by the rate at which she’d aged. It was a known side effect of the magic the Watch abused, but once again, he wondered at what sort of woman would throw her life away, inch by inch, just to dabble in the spirit world, where the living were not welcome and there were severe consequences for trespassing.
As Sempre finished her current rant, Baron opened his mouth to reply, but Caroline beat him to it. And thank goodness for that, he thought sardonically. For all Caroline’s loyalty to Il Trosa, the Watch seemed to respect her more than most, and he hoped she would be able to talk sense into them where he had failed.
He glanced at Andre, seeing him observing Caroline closely, while maintaining the impression of merely acting as rear guard for their small group. Well, if the man had wanted an opportunity to watch the alpha female in action, he couldn’t have asked for a better set up. It was going to take some serious negotiating skills to get them past this latest road block.
Genna furtively eased out of the van while Sempre and Il Trosa’s alpha argued. It was hot in the van, with ten shifters crammed into the tight space, and she was grateful that they didn’t have to make more trips like this. Usually it was just a handful of the Watch who went on any given journey, one van sufficient. The main reason they kept three of them was for when they chose to move camp. Some were within walking distance of each other, but others were too far, the vehicles required to move their meagre supplies and the weaker members of the pack, though even then, many of the wolves were expected to travel on foot, a long day of running to reach their new camp.
Seeing that there was no protest to the growing number of shifters leaving the vans, Genna stepped a few metres away and stood in the shade of one of the trees. Trying not to be too obvious about it, she looked over the shifters who had come with Baron. Caroline, she had heard about. Apparently the Il Trosa alpha had lived with the Watch for a short period, and everyone old enough to remember her held her in the highest regard. It was a shame she’d chosen to return to her Den, rather than forging a new life with the Watch.
