Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1)

by Jon Messenger

  “That’s why you became an assistant to an Inquisitor, isn’t it?” she asked knowingly.

  Luthor smiled. “Can you think of a better way to investigate reports of magical activity, to hunt the very demon’s presence that the Cabal was created to uncover? Even if Simon is not the Inquisitor assigned to such a report, I am in a position to overhear the constant reports spread between the Inquisitors within their keep.”

  “You say that the Cabal—that you—hunt these demons. Then they’re already here?” she asked.

  “Closer that you would believe.”

  “You mean here?” she said as she pointed to the ground at her feet, though to her credit, she didn’t sound nearly as surprised as Luthor would have believed. “There’s one of the demons in Haversham, isn’t there?”

  Luthor nodded. “I didn’t arrive with any suspicions that there would be, but I was quickly surprised by his presence.” He ran a hand along his chest. “These runes on my body are protective wards, meant to alert me to the presence of dark magic. There has been one man’s presence in which the runes constantly reacted.”

  “Gideon Dosett,” she surmised.

  “Very good. He is, by definition, a silver-tongued devil, with the ability to sway men’s minds with his spoken word. Yes, I was alerted to Mr. Dosett’s use of dark magic almost immediately.”

  Mattie furrowed her brow. “Then why not destroy him at once?”

  “For a multitude of reasons. First and foremost, I can’t reveal myself without putting myself in harm’s way and exposing the Cabal. I care greatly for Simon, and he’s perhaps the most liberal of all the Inquisitor’s of whom I’ve encountered. Even so, Simon is beholden to them. I wouldn’t want to put him in that position unless absolutely unavoidable. Secondly, I had no way of knowing if Gideon was merely a wizard or a demon. While I would have stopped him had he been a mere dark wizard, the means to handle a wizard are far different than the techniques for handling a demon.”

  “But you’re convinced now?” she asked.

  Luthor shivered. “I’ve seen his true form, as has Simon. There is no doubt in my mind that Gideon Dosett is a disguise, covering one of the demon lords straight from the Rift.”

  They sat in silence as Luthor’s gaze fell on the blazing bonfire in front of them. His eyes reflected the dancing flames as he stared off into the distance.

  “Does the Cabal know?” she asked finally. “Will they send someone to stop him?”

  Luthor’s gaze didn’t leave the flames. “They know. Though I was interrupted in my last conversation with them, they were alerted to the demon’s presence. And they won’t send anyone else. They’ve already sent one of their best.”

  He looked over, and Mattie was stunned to realize he was talking about himself. “You really are full of surprises, Luthor. So the Inquisitors know nothing of the Cabal?”

  Luthor laughed sadly. “Our goals may be more aligned than the Inquisitors realize, but they wouldn’t hesitate to destroy my order if they knew we existed.”

  Before Mattie could respond, one of the tribesmen ran up to the pair. “Your friend is awake.”

  Simon was still under his blanket when Luthor and Mattie arrived, though his eyes were open and he was clearly alert. His gaze of bewilderment turned to joy as his companion entered the domed structure.

  “Luthor,” Simon croaked through a dry throat.

  “Can we get him some water?” Luthor asked Mattie.

  “Of course,” she replied before slipping back outside.

  Luthor walked over to his friend and sat heavily on the pile of furs beside him. Simon slipped his hand free of the blanket and grasped Luthor’s, squeezing it tightly. He immediately winced and withdrew his hand, glaring at the offending limb as though it had caused him great personal harm. Which, in truth, it had.

  “How are you feeling?” the apothecary asked.

  Simon coughed to clear the phlegm from his throat. “I feel as though all my extremities have been passed through a meat grinder and only loosely reformed into their previous shape.”

  Luthor glanced at the Inquisitor’s exposed hand. Though the skin didn’t appear darkened with frostbite, small blisters covered most of his fingers near the fingernails. In contrast to Luthor’s hands, which while red had healed quickly, Simon’s still appeared painful.

  “They’ll heal in time, sir. I’m just glad you’re alive.”

  “You as well,” Simon replied as he slipped his hand beneath the blanket.

  Mattie pulled the tent flap aside and stepped into the room. Simon glanced past Luthor and caught sight of the redhead as she brought him a leather water skin.

  “You,” Simon remarked.

  “Are you surprised to see me, Inquisitor?” Mattie asked as she knelt beside him.

  “Pleasantly so,” he replied, taking the water skin from her and drinking deeply. He rolled to his side, spewing water and coughing violently.

  “What was in the skin?” Luthor asked as he reached for the water skin.

  Simon quickly pulled it away, clutching it to his chest. As his coughs subsided, he glanced at his companion.

  “The water is fine,” Simon explained. “It’s my own fault for attempting to drink too quickly. I was overzealous.”

  Luthor sighed with relief and sat back on the furs.

  Simon shifted his gaze to Mattie. “You must think me a walking contradiction. What Inquisitor actively seeks a werewolf for help?”

  Mattie smiled. “The same type of Inquisitor that takes a chance on a werewolf at a formal ball. The type of Inquisitor who finds the decency within himself to believe a werewolf he barely knows, rather than assuming her silver tongued.”

  “I was right to trust in you,” Simon said flatly. “Gideon Dosett is indeed a dangerous man.”

  “More than a man, if Luthor is to be believed,” Mattie replied.

  Simon exchanged a glance with the apothecary before continuing. “I assume Mr. Strong has told you what we discovered?”

  “That Mr. Dosett is a demon, yes, which explains many of our problems with the man.”

  “Yes, I intended to ask you about that,” the Inquisitor said. He forced himself up on an elbow so that he was nearly eye level with Mattie. “We discovered that your chieftains sold nearly all your lands to Mr. Dosett a few months ago.”

  Mattie nodded and joined Luthor on his fur-lined bed. “Shortly after Gideon arrived at Haversham, he requested a meeting with the tribal leaders. He offered them work with wages that were hard to refuse.”

  “If a deal seems too good to be true,” Luthor said, leaving the end of the quote unfinished.

  “And it was,” Mattie replied. “Hindsight being what it is, I can now say that Gideon used his demonic abilities to sway their minds. They willingly sold our lands for a mere pittance.”

  Luthor furrowed his brow. “If your chieftains were under his spell, what happened to them?”

  Mattie raised her chin defiantly. “We killed them. We tried to free them from his hold but to no avail. In the end, we knew they would have preferred death over a life of servitude, especially knowing that Gideon Dosett was dangerous enough without a personal werewolf army.”

  Simon nodded. “As I surmised. As a result, you’ve declared a personal war on the man and his businesses?”

  “Our new chieftains have devoted their lives to destroying that which Gideon builds with his blood money, constructing drilling operations on our stolen lands.”

  “Then you’re not a chieftain?” Simon asked.

  Mattie laughed heartily. “Me? No. I was born to immigrants who came to Haversham looking to establish themselves in a nubile town. They both died during an outing beyond the city walls when an ice shelf gave way. I survived and was taken in by the tribe. As such, I’m best suited for reconnaissance inside the city, since I lack their naturally tanned skin and dark hair. No, our chieftain is a stern woman who you will meet in due time.”

  “A woman?” Simon remarked, surprised.

/>   “Is there a problem with that?” Mattie quickly asked defensively.

  Simon raised his hands painfully. “No, none at all. It just caught me off guard.”

  Luthor cleared his throat, slicing through the intensity that had suddenly appeared. “Forgive me for prying, but how is it that you became werewolves in the first place? Clearly you weren’t born to it, were you?”

  “You mean since I was born of immigrant parents but still became a werewolf?”

  “It’s not… well, that is to say, it’s not contagious, is it?” Luthor asked, acutely aware of the healed scars on his forearm.

  “Nothing so vile,” she replied.

  Luthor exhaled with relief.

  “It happened quite unexpectedly, shortly after I came to live with the tribe. Two men argued over a kill and one suddenly grabbed his chest as though struck. As he straightened again, his hand tore away large strips of flesh, revealing the stark white fur beneath. One transformation led to more. In all, nearly half the tribes on the tundra became the werewolves we know today.”

  “It must have been horrifying,” Simon said morosely.

  Mattie lowered her gaze. “It was. We’re not complicated people, Inquisitor Whitlock. For all of you with your fancy technology, magic is an abomination. It’s why you and your order even exist. For those of us who live on the fringe, however, magic is a disease, a plague that leaves us unclean. Magic isn’t the abomination here. To those that didn’t transform, we were the abomination, to be shunned. The day that I realized I was one of the werewolves, I lost some very close loved ones.”

  Simon looked at Luthor. “Then we were right. This isn’t an invasion from the Rift. Magic has become an airborne contagion.”

  “Then aren’t we all at risk, sir?” Luthor asked.

  “I believe the more poignant question is whether or not we’re already infected.”

  Silence fell between the two men. Mattie glanced back and forth inquisitively, unsure of how their conversation would continue.

  Simon drank again from the water skin before setting it aside. “We have to notify the crown of our findings. I have to find a way back to the telegraph office with all haste.”

  “Wait,” Mattie interrupted. “You can’t send them a telegram. You know now that we’re not monsters; at least we’re not the type that they fear from the Rift. You may seem understanding, but somehow I doubt that the rest of the Inquisitors will be quite as forgiving. If you contact them, you’re condemning us all to death.”

  “Ms. Hawke, my hands are tied,” Simon replied, recalling her surname from their introduction at the ball. “I promise you, however, that I intend to contact them not to warn about you and your ilk, but to warn them about the demon prowling Haversham and to warn them that magic has infiltrated our lands.”

  Mattie looked alternately crestfallen and defiant. “I want to believe you, but I find it difficult. Even the best of intentions can go awry when you’re dealing with fanatics like the Order of Kinder Pel. I know you believe you’re doing the right thing, but whether or not you leave this camp isn’t up to you or even me. Our chieftain will have to make that decision.”

  “Then let me speak to her,” Simon said.

  A commotion arose outside the tent, a sound like barking and howling emerging from the otherwise quiet exterior.

  Mattie glanced over her shoulder. “It seems like you’ll have your chance sooner than expected. Chieftain Kidnip has returned.”

  Mattie led them out of the tent. What had previously been a sparsely populated village was now teeming with life. Warriors roamed between the tents, restocking supplies and sharpening spears. As they noticed Simon and Luthor, they glared at them both with unconcealed hatred.

  Despite the obvious anger, Mattie seemed unperturbed by the looks they received. She walked them past the smaller domes toward a larger tent set against the mountainside. The larger dome dwarfed those around it and extra pelts draped its exterior. Guards stood on either side of the grand entrance, their rifles at the ready.

  “We’re here to see the chieftain,” Mattie told the guards.

  The two men exchanged looks before they stared at the Inquisitor and his companion. One of the men spit on the ground, as though the mere sight of Simon left a sour taste in his mouth.

  “She’s expecting you,” the other guard replied.

  Simon practically anticipated one of them striking him as he passed between the men, but they merely glowered before returning to their posts.

  A large fire in its center illuminated the interior of the tent. A haze of smoke filled the top of the dome as it sought escape through the broad hole at its apex. Large furs of unidentifiable animals lined the floor like a carpet, leading toward a wooden dais on which sat a throne made of antlers.

  The woman sitting on the throne wore a severe expression, one that made Simon wonder if she ever smiled. Her dark hair was cropped close to her head, and her body was covered with furs similar to the ones he and Luthor wore. Were it not for the fact that Mattie had told them ahead of time that Chieftain Kidnip was a female, he wouldn’t have known different.

  As they walked around the fire, her dark eyes never left the trio. Mattie stopped at the foot of the dais and nodded to the chieftain. She forewent any bowing or saluting, and Simon wondered if it was even a part of their culture.

  “Are these the Inquisitors?” the chieftain asked, her voice as rough as her weatherworn skin.

  Mattie nodded as she turned toward the two men. “Inquisitor Whitlock and his associate, Mr. Strong.”

  Simon felt like he was under a microscope, as Kidnip looked them over with a discerning eye. She paused for a second after examining them before shaking her head and sitting back in her throne.

  “You should have left them in the snow to die,” she said harshly.

  “That’s not our way,” Mattie retorted. “We don’t turn away those in need.”

  The chieftain leaned forward and bared her teeth. “Then maybe it’s time we changed our way.”

  “If I may,” Simon said, stepping forward. “I get the distinct impression that you don’t much like me.”

  Kidnip shifted her ire toward Simon. “Should I? You’re an Inquisitor. You exist solely to kill people like us.”

  “I’ve also come to ask for your help and to offer you mine.”

  The chieftain laughed mockingly. “The wolves don’t need your help, Inquisitor. March back to Haversham and rejoin your own kind.”

  Simon placed a foot on the dais and leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee. “My kind no longer exists in Haversham, thanks in no small part to Gideon Dosett.”

  The mention of his name drew the reaction for which Simon had hoped. The chieftain’s sour expression softened.

  Simon continued before granting Kidnip a chance to respond. “We share a common enemy, Chieftain. We should be combining our knowledge and abilities, rather than quibbling amongst ourselves.”

  Kidnip stared at Simon for a second before leaning back in her throne. “So you’re now our benevolent benefactor? Is that what I’m to believe?”

  “Believe what you want. We’ve only come to help.”

  The chieftain put a finger thoughtfully to her lips. “We’ve all heard about the way Inquisitors help, Mr. Whitlock. You find things you can’t explain, like the werewolves of Haversham, and you slaughter us all. Answer me this, Inquisitor. Let’s assume that I accept your help against Gideon Dosett. Let’s assume that, as a combined force, we march on Haversham and remove this vile threat. What happens then? Do you personally speak on our behalf to the other Inquisitors? Do you tell them how we are as much victims as we are monsters? Will you guarantee our lives and our continued safety once all this is finished?”

  Simon flushed bright red, knowing that he couldn’t guarantee any of those things. He had already been battling such questions in his mind since deciding to come to the werewolves for help.

  “I thought not,” the chieftain said. “You would use us
for what we are, and then discard us when you’re finished. You’re as much a monster as we are.”

  “There’s only one monster here,” Luthor replied angrily. “If we don’t work together, he’ll destroy us all.”

  The flap was thrown aside, and a pair of fur-clad warriors entered the tent. “The warriors are ready, Chieftain.”

  Simon noted the large patches of recently healed burns across the man’s face and exposed arms. A knot formed in his stomach as the men locked eyes. The warrior’s eyes narrowed, and he snarled at Simon.

  “It would appear you two know one another,” Kidnip remarked.

  Simon swallowed hard, remembering the powder horn he shot in the werewolf’s hand during the assault on the oil-drilling site. “It would appear that I set him on fire recently.”

  The snarl became an aggressive growl.

  “In my defense, he tried killing me first,” Simon said, turning toward the chieftain. “The fact that neither of us succeeded should make us even.”

  “Silence,” the chieftain ordered, her eyes locked on the furious warrior. The man immediately fell silent. “Go tell the others to be prepared to march.”

  Chieftain Kidnip stood from her throne and retrieved a broad sword from the ground beside her. She strapped it around her waist before stepping from the dais.

  “Where are you going?” Simon asked.

  “You were correct that Gideon Dosett needs to be eliminated,” she said as she took Mattie’s arm, leading the redhead toward the front of the tent. “That’s exactly what we wolves have been doing. We’ll destroy everything that Mr. Dosett dares build on our stolen lands, to include any people who dare to be under his employment. We’ll take back everything Gideon has taken from us. More importantly, Inquisitor, we’ll do it without you.”

  Simon hurried after her, chasing both women out of the tent. “Don’t be daft, Chieftain. Before we left Haversham, Gideon said he would personally be setting a trap for you. You’re going to get slaughtered if you go after him.”