The Gathering

by Michael Timmins

  He felt uneasy about doing this, as if he held no right to offer up his contribution to the burial of Sim. They hadn’t been friends. Hadn’t really known each other. He did this because he felt he owed it to Sim. Like so many other things that had happened, this was one more thing Clint felt guilty for.

  There was no way to know how the fight would have gone if he had been there from the beginning, instead of arriving near the end. There was no way to know if Sim would still be alive if Clint had not lost control of himself.

  Yet, Clint still felt responsible. Still felt it had been his failure to master the beast within himself had led to Sim’s death. The least he could do was offer up an apology. “I’m sorry, Sim.” He tossed the dirt onto the lid of the coffin. “I’m sorry I failed you.” The words had been almost inaudible. Would have been inaudible if he wasn’t standing in a gathering of Weres.

  Hank met his eyes from across the grave. He shook his head slightly indicating he did not hold Clint responsible for Sim’s death. The eyes thoroughly catching his though, were Stephanie’s. They held so much empathy and understanding.

  He swallowed down his emotion and offered a sad smile to her. For the first time since she had arrived this morning, her face and posture were relaxed as if Clint now shared the burden she had been carrying alone since Beth’s death. He could offer her that much.

  Stephanie and Mike didn’t take the shovel, each for their own reasons, Clint was sure. Sylvanis not taking the shovel surprised him though and he watched her intently.

  She stood still; eyes closed as if she were the only one at the cemetery. With no one else coming forward to take the shovel, Clint handed it to the caretaker, who motioned for two others to take up the remaining shovels.

  They made quick work, their arms and shoulders bunching and flexing as they quickly filled the grave. When at last they finished with it, they took their leave and left the eight of them standing there surrounding the grave.

  Sylvanis stepped forward. At some point, she had stepped out of her heels and now walked barefoot. She stepped upon the fresh dirt of the grave. Clint frowned slightly and saw similar expressions from the others, who now fidgeted uncomfortably.

  Most people feel uneasy around graves, especially fresh ones. One certainly doesn’t walk upon a grave. It wasn’t done. Kat seemed ready to say something, but Hank had caught her on the verge of the decision and motioned for her to hold.

  They all watched in awkward silence as Sylvanis squirmed her feet in the fresh dirt till they were almost completely buried. She began to sing.

  The song was unlike anything Clint had ever heard before. A song of a strange language, lilting and clear, like chimes on the wind. The cadence, so melodic, Clint felt his mind so utterly transfixed he became unaware of everything else but the song.

  The song was both sad and joyful, like a dance where each emotion took turns being the lead. More, Clint felt a calling on his soul. A call to come. A call to share in this.

  The song flowed through the morning breeze, which carried it up and down and through every living thing present. It flowed through those gathered here. It flowed through the trees, the flowers and the grass. It flowed through the squirrels, the birds and the butterflies.

  Clint could sense, more than see, those gathering around them. He could hear the beating of wings, the strong flaps from birds and the whispered beats of butterflies, the chattering of squirrels and the chirps of chipmunks.

  He was lost and yet, he was found. For the first time in a long while he felt connected to the others. His only connection for so long had been Sarah, but she had been lost. Now he felt a connection to all those here. An understanding. A part of something wonderful. Beautiful.

  Tears flowed down his cheeks and he did nothing to stop them. He wanted their salted water to fall to the earth. To return to the world that had born them and from everything which had come before him.

  Like an echo through the mountains, the song held onto a lone note for what seemed like an eternity before it faded into nothingness. Clint knew the song had ended, and yet, it still carried in his being. The song would never leave his heart. Nor his mind.

  When his eyes, at long last, focused on his surroundings, he caught sight of Sylvanis, still standing upon Sim’s grave. Clint’s eyes widened at the sight. For now, instead of freshly dug dirt, there was a blanket of beautiful wildflowers. Red, purple, yellow and white. Glorious petals swathed in colors of the brightest hues.

  Clint heard the other’s gasp. A sob broke and Clint looked past Sylvanis at Hank, who had dropped to his knees before his stepson’s grave, tears falling like heavy rain from his eyes.

  Sylvanis moved forward and laid a hand on Hank’s broad shoulder.

  “These flowers will never die. They will never fade. If they are cut, they will bloom again. They will live on, much as Sim does in our hearts.”

  She turned to Stephanie.

  “Did you feel it?”

  Clint turned toward Stephanie as well, who stood wide-eyed, her mouth agape. She nodded.

  “I’m sorry. Perhaps I should have asked first, but I used your connection to Beth to locate her final resting place. You will find similar flowers now rest upon her grave.”

  The wonder in Stephanie’s eyes was mirrored in those around the gathering. They had seen power from Sylvanis. Power she had used to fight against Kestrel, but in Clint’s eyes, this power far exceeded what she had displayed in Chicago.

  She had won them all over again to her cause. She had solidified their desire to help her fight Kestrel, despite their personal losses and pain. Any resentment Stephanie might have felt for Sylvanis had fled with that gesture.

  Clint believed Hank had already chosen to fight in this war, but if he hadn’t been fighting this war for Sylvanis before, he did so now. And now, so was Clint. For better or for worse, this was his family now. He would fight with them and he would fight for them.

  The group moved to their rented vehicles to return to the hotel and Clint sidled up next to Sylvanis as they walked.

  “That was something. What you did back there. Really something.” He gestured back toward the gravesite.

  She glanced at him sidelong and offered up a small smile.

  “It was the least I could do. Given their sacrifice. I just wish it had never been necessary.”

  Clint nodded his understanding. Regret was the one thing they all seemed to share.

  “Will they truly never die?”

  He caught her slight frown.

  “Never? I truly don’t know, to be honest. I do know they will be there long after we are all gone.”

  She shivered slightly, from the cold, or from the thought, Clint wasn’t sure.

  “I would imagine, that with my passing, the magic may fade. Eventually.”

  They walked in silence for a moment.

  “How are you feeling, Clint?”

  She cared. That was the one thing about her Clint liked. When she asked, ‘How are you feeling?’ it wasn’t out of common courtesy. It was because she truly cared to know.

  He sighed and scanned about as they all made their way to the cars.

  “Better. There was something . . . I don’t know how to explain it . . . something about your song. Something . . .”

  “Healing?”

  Clint turned his head to look at her.

  “Yes. Healing. That’s it. Was that your intent?”

  She regarded him.

  “Intent? Not really. It is just the nature of the song’s magic. A by-product, if you will.”

  Clint grunted. “But you knew it would have an effect.”

  She nodded. “Not really on you, though. I knew Hank and Stephanie needed a measure of healing, which I believed the song would provide.” She offered up a little smile. “You were just an added bonus.”

  He smiled back at her. “I’m not sure how I feel about having someone use magic to heal my emotions.”

  “Why, Clint? Did you really feel like you needed m
ore time wallowing in self-hate?”

  His face reddened at the rebuke. But she wasn’t wrong. He did feel like he should be penitent for longer. Her tone made him feel he was being silly though.

  “No. No. I guess you are right. I can’t help feeling responsible for much of this. Sarah and even Sim’s death.”

  Sylvanis snorted. Which seemed so difficult to reconcile with her primness.

  “How do you think I feel, Clint?”

  He stared at her confusedly.

  She sighed audibly and pulled up short as the other continued the rest of the way to the cars. Clint stopped with her.

  She waited for the rest to get out of earshot, which pretty much meant they were almost to the cars. Clint waited patiently for her to explain.

  “All of this.” She pointed to Clint and motioned toward the cars and back up toward the grave. “All of it, is my doing, Clint. Through my magic, I turned you all into Were-creatures. I brought you all into this conflict and in so doing, Kestrel sent the Boar to kill you, but he instead turned Sarah into a Pure. Our battle in Chicago with Kestrel and the others which led to Sim’s death, all because my magic brought us together.”

  She gazed off toward the cars and the rest of the group. “My parents lost their only daughter when I ‘confiscated’ this body.” The word was spoken with much disgust. “They almost lost their lives when Kestrel came for me.” She turned her attention back to him. “So, you see. You are not to blame for any of this, because you would not be involved if my magic had not made it so.

  “I am to blame for all of this. Because of a decision I had made in haste, and perhaps . . .” She paused. “Perhaps in error.”

  Clint reached out and touched Sylvanis arm, shaking his head. “You didn’t have a choice, Sylvanis. Kestrel left you with no other options. I shudder to think about what would have happened if you were not here, and we were not given these powers to be able to stop Kestrel and her Trues.”

  He gripped arm a little tighter, intensity burning in his voice. “The only way Kestrel will be stopped is with your powers and knowledge, and our abilities. None of which would have existed without you making that initial sacrifice you had.”

  Sylvanis’ bright green eyes darted back and forth as she searched his face. When she nodded, he let his hand drop.

  “Don’t ever doubt your reason or the necessity of what you did. It was the right thing.”

  She straightened at his words and raised her chin slightly.

  “Thank you, Clint. You see. Even I have moments of self-doubt. So, the next time you are feeling them, come see me so I can return the pep talk.”

  He cocked a smile at her. “Done. Now let’s join the others. We need to be finished here and back in the States as soon as possible. We don’t know what Kestrel has been up to.”

  She gave him a quick nod and they hurried down the hill to join the others and return to the hotel.

  Jessie was not happy to have been left on his own in Chicago. It wasn’t that he was upset the others hadn’t invited him along. He understood it had been something personal and private. It was he who had taken a huge leap of faith they would return.

  It had been a matter of luck which had seen him at the battle in Chicago. It was true he had been there to try and find Kat and or Clint; he hadn’t expected to find them. Their initial battle with the Boar had been a while ago, and no one had seen them since.

  He had returned again and again to the site of the initial battle both during the day and during the night, and yet, nothing. When something had happened, it hadn’t been what he had expected. The fight between Kat and Clint had been vicious and bloody.

  When it finished, he had followed Kat to her hotel and waited for an opportunity to speak with her. When she had left the hotel with several others, Jessie had known something was about to happen. Something big.

  The battle he had witnessed paled everything he had ever seen before, which said something after his tour in Iraq and Afghanistan. He had seen his share of death and destruction and fierce fighting, but nothing like this.

  He had watched the entire thing unfold and had been horrified and amazed. The level of ferocity these creatures exhibited staggered Jessie. The sheer . . . brutality, especially among the other group, left Jessie speechless. It had become crystal clear what actions needed to be taken. Which was what he reported to his superior.

  He had taken up at the same hotel as the group with Kat and the others. A generous distribution of cash had the staff as his watchmen, letting him know immediately when any of them were about to leave.

  His room resembled most hotel rooms he had spent a great deal of the last five years in since leaving the service. It always amazed him hotels in Budapest appeared about the same in Boise.

  The second he returned to his room, after following the group back here, he accessed his decrypted SAT phone. He knew it was late, but the decision needed to be made, and while he trusted his plan of action would be acceptable, he needed to get the O.K. from the big man.

  The phone barely rang twice before it was answered.

  “Director Simpson?”

  “Go ahead, Brumfield. Report.”

  Jessie paused, took a deep breath. “The threat is very real, sir. There are . . . other variations, besides what you were aware of.” He paused.

  “Go on.”

  Jessie searched for the words. “There also appears to be . . . errr . . . witches?”

  “I’m sorry, Brumfield, I don’t believe I heard you right.”

  “Sir, I don’t know how else to explain what I saw. There were two women who fought using . . . I guess you would say, elements. Fire, ice, wind, water . . . As far as I could tell, they were.” He shrugged, knowing the director couldn’t see it through the phone. “They were casting spells. Saying magic words. I don’t know what else I could possibly call it, sir.”

  Silence on the other end.

  It dragged on.

  “Sir?”

  “I guess it isn’t weirder than anything else we have seen.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Continue.”

  “There are clearly two sides. As we saw with the previous fight here in Chicago, the Wolf and the Tiger are on one side and the Boar, on the other.” He decided not to mention the fight between the Tiger and the Wolf, since what he had seen later showed some sort of reconciliation.

  “However, they are not alone. Fighting alongside the Wolf and the Tiger were two Bears. Alongside the Boar, two other Boars as well as a Crocodile and a Rat.”

  “So, she resurfaced,” the director muttered, almost inaudibly.

  “Sir?”

  The director ignored his question. “You say only one Rat?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A pause. “Go on.”

  The director was keeping something from him. Not that this was anything new. He was on a need to know basis, and as usual, there was more in the category of him not needing to know. At least, he hoped it was something he didn’t need to know and not something which would later bite him in the ass.

  “As to your theory that the Wolf and the Tiger were non-hostiles, it would seem to be correct. Their group worked with local police on the scene and even at one point, the witch attended to the wounded, using her . . . er . . . magic, to heal them.”

  “And did it?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Did her magic heal them?”

  Jessie recalled the images of the men and women of the police as the boiling hot steam washed over them. The screams had given him flashbacks to Sayedebad. Watching humans being boiled is never a pretty thing. The quick transition from reddened skin to pus-filled blisters to skin sloughing off. Jessie shuddered.

  “Brumfield? Did the magic heal them?”

  “Yes, sir. It did indeed heal them.”

  “Remarkable.”

  “I agree, sir. She healed the damage caused by the spells thrown at them by the other witch. Their power is just as destructive as benefic
ial.”

  A pause. “Understood. Please continue.”

  Jessie related the rest of the battle with only a few interruptions. It was only when he related the last part the director became animated.

  “What do you mean killed?”

  “Exactly what I said, sir. One of the Bears, the younger of the two. Perhaps the other’s son? I’m not sure. I didn’t see what happened, but they were pitted off against several of the Boars. The Wolf, who had been absent during the beginning of the battle had arrived and began fighting with the larger Boar.”

  Jessie struggled to recall what he could of where the younger Bear had been and what he had been doing.

  “The younger Bear had been thrown aside; it didn’t appear to have been a killing blow, as far as I could tell. The next thing I know. The older Bear ran to where the younger Bear had fallen, and when I looked, he wasn’t a Bear anymore, but a young man, maybe seventeen? Eighteen? I couldn’t tell from where I was.”

  “So, you didn’t see how it . . . he, died?”

  “Sorry sir, I did not.”

  The director was silent for a long time.

  “Thank you for your report, Brumfield.”

  “Sir?”

  “Was there something else?”

  Jessie hesitated. Here, on the ground, within spitting distance of the group who, he believed, would help battle the ones who appeared to be ‘the bad guys’ a leap of faith needed to be taken.

  “Well . . . If I may make a proposal, sir?”

  The director didn’t answer him right away and Jessie decided he may be overstepping his place.

  “What is your proposal?”

  There it was. Permission. Now if he could frame this in a way which didn’t make him sound crazy.

  “I think I should join them.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Jessie rushed ahead. “Sir. I am in a unique position to contact those who appear to be, if not on our side, at least against the side we are against. My proposal would be for me to contact them and integrate myself into their group. To become one of them.”

  “I don’t think you understand what you are proposing, Brumfield.”