by Kenny Soward
Lonnie stepped off to the band’s left, gazing into the woods. The chords broke through the trees, and it seemed that the branches were starting to come alive, to flow up and down, waving movements just outside of the reach of his vision. Some magic, to be sure, but a deep magic that flowed through the very dirt and stones, through the very fiber of every tree and inch of moss.
Lonnie blinked once, and there stood Torri halfway up the hill, looking down at them with an expression of pure wonder on her face. Barefoot and wearing a light farm dress so old it was dirty and patched together, Lonnie thought she looked stunning. Her small, roundish head come to a point at her chin. Her wild red hair hung frizzy around her face and down past her shoulders.
The band faltered for just a moment at the sudden sight of the witch, and Lonnie couldn’t imagine what was going through their heads at this moment.
“Steady boys!” Pete called, and the rhythm regained its strength.
Torri’s green eyes slid over to Lonnie as if asking for an explanation.
“Sorry,” he said, whispering, yet he knew she heard him over the din. “We didn’t say goodbye. So, we’ll have to say hello again.”
A bright smile lit her fairy face, and then the music took hold of her. She skipped to the edge of the clearing, breaking into a high-step dance the likes of which Lonnie had never seen.
It had to be a loose variation of some traditional Scottish throw down, but Lonnie was ignorant of such things. He could only watch with wonder, and then realized he’d not experienced true wonder in such a long time. The fact left his jaw hanging, tears welling up in the bottoms of his eyes.
The drums poured on.
The bagpipes played.
Lonnie tossed his cigarette down and clapped.
Pete shouted something every few measures, some Scottish war cry or call to arms or whatever the fuck it was. And every time he did it, Lonnie felt chills run up and down the back of his arms.
Laughing, Ingrid jumped in, mimicking Torri’s steps awkwardly. But it hardly mattered. And then, the dirty-haired woman who’d been waiting for Torri to come down gave the babe to her husband and leapt up and took the witch’s hands. Together they spun round and round, laughing, smiles as big as crescent moons on their faces.
Crash stood in the center of it all with his arms folded and his head nodding up and down to the rhythm.
Elsa joined Lonnie. Threw her arm around his waist and leaned her small weight against him.
The drums hammered at his chest, quickening his pulse. The bagpipes sent his spirit soaring.
It was song of the Old World, and the new.
Without warning, the tears came, and he didn’t care.
The little wolf pup heard the song, and his head lifted to the sky to howl bravely in his tiny voice. The kittens he nested with raised their heads and regarded him with big, slow-blinking eyes.
After its mother had been killed in the big noise weeks ago, the little wolf pup had teetered and wobbled endlessly through the woods until it had come across the feral cat mother and her litter of kittens. With a weary eye, and seemingly against her better judgment, the mother cat had taken the little pup in and allowed it to nurse every night along with her own babes.
And the wolf pup wasn’t alone anymore. With a full belly, it had snuggled its newfound brothers and sisters in the hollow of an old, dead tree.
Contentedness.
But even so comfortable and well-fed, the pup knew he didn’t belong with the cats. He knew that even though could stay here and be more than welcome, it was destined for other things.
Now, this song.
A long, bending note reached through the woods to enter his ears and strike at his very heart. It was like when his mother howled with her brothers and sisters beneath the full moon, but it was also not like that at all. In any case, the high straining sound spoke to him.
His tiny heart rushed.
A faint and playful growl burst from his chest.
He climbed out of the pile of fur to stand outside the hollow of the tree. His adopted cat mother watched him wobble away on unsteady legs. But then he remembered the mother cat’s kindness, and he turned around, giving her a happy yelp.
Her feline eyes looked at the pup as if to say, “Have it your way, buddy,” and went back to licking her remaining kittens clean.
The wolf pup knew he was on his own then, but if he could just find the source of that sound then everything would be made clear. Everything would be fine.
So, he wobbled and teetered on, over stone and grassy mounds and ditches. Beneath fallen branches and scrub and undergrowth so thick a man couldn’t possibly walk there.
The melody grew in volume, soaring atop the beating of things. The ground rumbled beneath his tiny paws like thunder from the sky. His nose picked up the scent of men, a scent that had been very strong on the corpse of his dead mother. He should have been afraid of that scent, but he wasn’t. Something in the woods blended in, the smell of wildflowers and wood char.
Yes, the woods would protect him, and he trusted them with all his wolf pup heart.
After what seemed like the longest journey of his life, he came to the edge of a clearing filled with so much motion and energy that he could only fall back on his haunches and watch, eyes darting all around, tongue hanging out over his sharpening little teeth.
Three women and some children laughed and danced and stumbled around in the dirt. Men made song, both the high-pitched sound and the thunder sounds. Others stood and watched along with the pup, just as mesmerized as he was.
It seemed violent, but it made the pup want to play.
He lifted one paw, swiping at the dancers, getting so off balance that he accidentally fell over and rolled around until he could get to his feet. And then, not wanting to topple over again, resorted to yelping and barking at them.
One of the dancers had hair the color of flames. And she moved like something born of the woods. A sort of graceful, reckless abandon that drew the pup’s eyes and became the focus of his yapping.
The fire-haired girl stopped and cocked her head.
Her face turned in his direction, and eyes the color of deep moss fixed on him.
The pup’s heart seemed to beat right out of its chest, and it wagged its tail so hard that it nearly fell over again.
She was dancing his way now, a big, secret smile on her lips.
As she reached to pick him up, the pup yelped and did a little spin, and then he was clutched to the woman’s chest as she cooed and kissed at his fur.
He became dizzy as she spun around with him in her arms, hugging him and placing kisses all over his little head.
Contentedness. Play. Love.
The rumble rumbled.
The melody soared.
And the wolf pup was very, very happy indeed.
THE END
Where do we go from here?
Thank you for reading Tether War. It’s been a long journey, but we made it to the end. Lonnie survived with most of the gang intact, but what does their future hold? What happened to Makare after she was sent back to Hell? Did the weird guy, Paul, keep his word and allow Bess to live? Will Torri’s woods ever be the same? I know some of these answers, and I would love to continue telling these characters’ stories. Only your support will get me there.
Please leave an honest review or rating on Amazon or Goodreads so I know what you think.
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Notes on Locale
The majority of Galefire takes place in the Cincinnati area and spills over to the Covington, Kentucky side of the river in Galefire II: Holy Avengers. While I paint a mostly accurate depiction of the city streets and buildings with regards to architecture and layout, I changed the names of some of the places in order to protect myself from possible litigation resulting in the unlicensed use of a name. You just never know, right?
Rose Park is completely made up—although in my mind I know exactly where
it would be. And the things that went on there were incredible.
Cincinnati has always been a strange place to me with a dark underbelly I’ve always loved exploring. It’s a tense mix of old and new ideas. An ache to be modern but with a sort of resistance to make it happen. We make pretty good beer. We have some great bars and good food, too. The music scene is a bit like a budding Seattle that never really buds. Some of the best bands I’ve ever heard are from here.
All-in-all, a great, grim tapestry to paint a big urban fantasy series on.
In Galefire III : Tether War, Torri Dowe’s hill is located somewhere in the vicinity of Black Mountain, Kentucky, which does, in fact, exist.
Thanks for coming along with me on this journey. There’s much more to come.
About The Author
Kenny Soward grew up in Kentucky in a small suburb just south of Cincinnati, Ohio, listening to hard rock and playing outdoors. In those quiet 1970's streets, he jumped bikes, played Nerf football, and acquired many a childhood scar.
Kenny's love for books flourished early, a habit passed down to him by his uncles. He burned through his grade school library, reading Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Clive Barker, C.S. Lewis, and Tolkien. He spent quite a few days in detention for reading in class.
In later years, Kenny took inspiration from fantasy writers such as China Mieville, Poppy Z. Brite, and Caitlin R. Kiernan.
The transition to author was a natural one for Kenny. His sixth grade teacher encouraged him to start a journal, and he later began jotting down pieces of stories, mostly the outcomes of D&D gaming sessions, until he was finally creating his own works. If you enjoy urban and dark fantasy, paranormal and horror, with brooding, broken characters and fast paced action, you can visit Kenny at www.kennysoward.com.
Other Books By Kenny Soward
Galefire (Urban Fantasy | Horror)
Code-X (Galefire Prequel)
Fade Rippers (Book 1)
Holy Avengers (Book 2)
Tether War (Book 3)
The GnomeSaga Series (Epic Fantasy)
Rough Magic (Book 1)
Tinkermage (Book 2)
Cogweaver (Book 3)
The Dead West Series (Weird West with Tim Marquitz and Joe Martin)
The Dead West Omnibus Vol 1
