Born of the Shade

by D O Thomas

  “This is where I leave you. Please address the wolf inside as if he were royalty, and as you’re unfamiliar with our kind, please don't be shocked.”

  Lawrez slipped away while Silence was frozen in thought. Yesterday he had met a witch who traversed his mind, and two wizards, one of whom was a child who could remember things that had yet to happen.

  'Shocked?’ What could shock me? he thought, pushing open the large door. Silence entered the house and was impressed to find a magnificent hall decorated with foliage, and statues of giant wolves sculpted in ancient wood. His footsteps echoed throughout the grand hall as he approached a tree stump throne set atop a grassy mound. Sitting upon the throne was a silver-haired werewolf. Although majestic in character, its body bore the scars of age, while its soulful blue eyes watered with the serenity of humanity.

  “Approach,” spoke the wolf in a beastly, yet calming voice. Silence knelt at the foot of the mound, unsure of his next action. He could see a briefcase by the werewolf’s feet and so Silence fixed his eyes unwaveringly on the briefcase.

  “Do you fear my appearance, young man?” growled the wolf.

  “No, Sir, I…”

  “Then speak your name, boy.”

  “Silence.”

  “Odd name. And you are here for the taxes? Is there a reason why Noir sent his assistant?”

  “None other than he has an assistant to send, Sir.”

  “Please call me by my name. I’m not a king, nor am I a sir.”

  “I would, but I don’t know your name.”

  “I am Jasper Bluntfang, the Apex wolf. Alpha of Alphas.”

  Before Jasper's long rule, all wolfpacks were separate societies, serving under their own ruler: the Alpha. An alpha wasn’t chosen, nor was he or she born with the title. All alphas had to earn their place, often by way of strength. Jasper changed the way werewolves saw strength, when he, a young and feeble omega, cast out by his pack for weakness, took control of the strongest, most dangerous wolfpack of his time. Jasper didn’t become the pack’s alpha by defeating their original Alpha, which then was the only way to become an alpha. He took his place through use of his unnatural intelligence and incomprehensible cunning.

  At the beginning of the thirty-year war, now called the Battle of Blood and Fur, Jasper took advantage of his kind’s struggle to survive against the vampire threat, and he watched from the cover of the woodlands in which they lived.

  With Ashel’s forces repeatedly defeating the strongest of wolves, the packs had taken to desperately turning humans, through way of a bite from an alpha, to revive their forces. Many packs formed alliances to ensure their survival and after ten years of hopelessness, Jasper approached the only remaining alpha in his region, intending to share his knowledge of the vampires. The alpha beat Jasper to a pulp and tossed him aside like a decomposing lamb. But Jasper refused to watch his kind die out. The omega took to the treetops and devised a plan that would prove his worth, and in the night when Banhier lead an army of vampires to eradicate the wolves once and for all, Jasper sprang from out of the trees.

  He had laid traps that divided the troops. He had set spiked traps that pierced the vampires’ hearts, fire traps that engulfed them and reduced them to ash. Jasper had killed the entire army and captured Banhier without breaking a claw. He led the vampire prince to the alpha’s camp and presented him as a hostage. That night, the alpha, who had driven himself to the brink of insanity with fear of his kind’s extinction, took a knee before the once shunned omega and recognised his strength.

  Jasper stood the brute up and told him of the vampire’s weaknesses. The wolves let Banhier live and returned him to his brother in the hope of ending the war, but instead, the Vampire King murdered the alpha and sent Jasper back to his pack with a message: Run and hide with your tails between your legs, for there is no room in this land for your kind.

  These words brought fear to the pack, but Jasper was uncowed by the threat. He had singlehandedly defeated an entire army and the wolves knew it. He stood before them and told them of his endeavours as an omega, how he had watched and learned the vampires’ techniques as they murdered wolf after wolf. How he had studied their movements, picked out their weaknesses and developed a way to effortlessly kill them.

  The pack listened, and for the first time in his life, Jasper was respected, he was adored. He was no longer an omega as he stood before the strongest of his kind, alphas that had lost faith in their own strength, and he was seen as strong. After that the wolves not only survived, they flourished and eventually the war was ended, not through bloodshed but by an agreement; a truce between the Apex Alpha and the Vampire King.

  Handing the briefcase over to Silence, Jasper felt a rush that he had forgotten.

  “I sense the power of the moon within you, boy. What is this?” asked the Apex Alpha.

  “I've been told I'm a Shadow-Fiend.”

  “Fiend is such a dark word for such a glorious being. Your body and soul have been fused with the essence of the blue moon. I knew the moon’s light struck close, but how could Noir have known...?”

  The sound of a slamming door echoed throughout the grand hall, preventing Silence from falling into deep thought.

  “Grandfather,” bellowed a voice from the entrance to the hall. Marching towards the tree stump throne was a slender but masculine young man with a face full of fury, his clothing as slick and black as the hair that reached his shoulders. His face was partly hidden by a thick beard. His steps were heavy and filled with duty, he took no notice of Silence, and he only saw Jasper through a pair of glowing red eyes.

  “Cidney, how dare you enter my home like this?” replied Jasper. Silence took a step to the side, hoping not to be noticed by the man whose shadow resembled a werewolf steaming with rage.

  “Again! You raised the taxes again? This is unacceptable, why do you wish for our kind to suffer?”

  “You foolish child. You speak of suffering, but what do you know of strife?”

  “The lower castes live as lowly drug dealers, dealing with human scum while you and your elites reside in this utopian village.”

  “Everyone is in their place, boy. The taxes will rise to ensure the young can learn and reach their potential. Would you have me lower them and close schools?”

  “I'd have you off that throne!”

  Cidney was Jasper's only living relative, after his son was put to death for breaking zodiac law. Jasper raised Cidney along with Lawrez, but due to his bold and erratic nature, Cidney failed to become worthy of Jasper's elite society. The dark wolf's only redeeming factor was his selfless love for his kind. Cidney worried endlessly about the future of the werewolves, he believed that they had grown weak under Jasper's rule, that they were more human than wolf. Jasper's focus was on comfort and convenience; Cidney resented his grandfather for that. He saw a world governed by wolves where taxes would be received by them and shared amongst their ranks equally.

  Silence felt relieved as Cidney left the great hall. He had stood there and listened to the werewolves’ ferocious argument for what seemed like forever, slipping in and out of his mind as the two howled on about how the rise in taxes would lead to striking and how the rate of civil disobedience was all Jasper’s fault, regardless of Cidney’s involvement. The Shadow-Fiend stared into space for a while, waiting to be excused but Jasper just sat on his throne, speechless; he had allowed an outsider to witness his pack’s weakness.

  “Young man, what you have heard today would usually result in execution. But I'm not sure I can afford the price of your life.”

  The price of my life, thought the Shadow-Fiend. He found this interesting; so far, he had been called rare and glorious. He wondered how much his life was actually worth and who decided this figure. His net worth was technically non-existent, because as far as the government knew, he didn't exist. Perhaps Noir decided his value.

  While Silence's thoughts began a gale force brainstorm, his phone began to beep erratically; it carried on for a time w
ithout him noticing. Jasper also ignored the beeping; he had been sitting enjoying the apparently random release of scents coming from the Shadow-Fiend as he stood in his thought-induced trance. Fear, anger, confusion, relief, they all had their own scent and those scents were exploding out of Silence, much like a high-budget firework display. The scents faded as Silence’s mind stilled and a question formed within. Jasper had been laughing hysterically throughout Silence’s emotional display and continued as the Shadow-Fiend returned from his mind.

  “Why are you laughing?” asked the ever-confused Silence.

  “It's a wolf thing, you wouldn't understand. Are you going to answer that?” Silence took the beeping phone out of his pocket and swiped its flashing screen, revealing his next task.

  10:00 - Deliver package to Dean Jarvie of the U.A.K.

  “I should go,” replied Silence.

  “Please, boy, take your leave. I welcome your return, there's much I would like to discuss with you.” Silence stopped to ponder on what the Alpha meant, and this put Jasper on the edge of his seat, awaiting another fantastic display. However, before the Shadow-Fiend delved any deeper into his mind, his phone beeped once more.

  Begin Journey.

  Silence clicked the link on his phone and left the hall. Exiting the gates and following his pre-determined path, he realised the Alpha’s laughter had been directed at him. Unsure why this should be, Silence carried on, placing this recent thought to the side like an unaffordable utility bill.

  Chapter 15

  A man dressed in white robes, with ancient dark skin like the leather of an antique war drum, hobbled down the halls of the U.A.K. supported by a large metal staff. He mumbled softly under his heavy wheezing breath. His long and scruffy whitish-grey beard looked neat in comparison to the picky white Afro he wore to hide the many bald spots he had gained over the years.

  His posture was that of a man whose body was assembled with arthritic joints. Passing unlit candles outside the many classrooms, he somehow caused the wicks immaculately to ignite. Without any prompt, the elderly man stopped and turned. He glared down the hall with a gaze that peered through reality itself.

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” said the old wizard. “It’s rude you know! Watching people!”

  The wizard turned back and continued his path, knocking his staff on the ground with each step.

  “So rude, staring at me behind the pages of a book.” He knocked his staff twice more and vanished.

  Kristophe was dusting his oak-clad office, when suddenly his window lifted without assistance. The wizard knew what would come next. He took a seat behind his desk and with a look that could slit throats, he waited. As expected, the sound of a dozen hundred tiny wings fluttered through the office window with an unaccountable number of black moths, which came to a spiralling halt above the leather-bound oaken-framed chair opposite Kristophe.

  “Dad, you've made your entrance, that's enough.”

  Each moth popped, producing a thick black fog around the chair. The fog faded and a man, thin and aged with skin as red as the devil himself, was sitting there, cross legged. He was wearing a pinstriped suit that not only complimented his slim build but drew the eye away from the broken veins that riddled his wrinkled face, these due to his addiction to fine wines and scotch liquors. This well trimmed, silver haired man was none other than Lord Alexander Grenville the third, founder and proprietor of the Grenville elite covenant.

  Alexander inherited his wealth at a young age when his father, a humble and good-willed warlock, fell ill. On his deathbed, Alexander’s father made him promise to raise the warlock kind to glory, and in those days there were few men practising witchcraft. The teenage warlock kept his father’s promise and used the immense wealth left to him to build the grounds for a school like no other. By his late thirties, Alexander had achieved his goal in creating the G.E.C. but he hadn’t finished there. It wasn’t enough that he had trained the strongest and most diligent warlocks the world had ever seen, Alexander wanted fame and fortune. He had exhausted his wealth building his school and was seen only as a headmaster. One day on a trip to a prestigious covenant in London, Alexander met Balthazar. Alexander and Balthazar spoke for a while and devised a plan to raise enough money to further the greatness of all warlocks.

  They joined their covenants under the same name and reached out to the other smaller covenants around the globe. They had originally hoped to have the witches join them, but no witch would agree to their offer. What they planned was outlandish and against the cultural principles of witches everywhere. The warlocks formed their school, taught the young, and with the powers forged by years of training, created a company selling the abilities of their students. The children who enrolled in the G.E.C. became mercenaries, enchanters and spies. They worked with shadow sects of governments and businesses, led by demons and humans alike. In all the darkest dealings of the world a warlock was often present, and this was thanks to the one and only Alexander Grenville.

  Kristophe took a bottle of whisky from his desk of ubiquitous oak, poured a large measure into a glass and slid it over to his father.

  “Not that you ‘need’ anymore,” said Kristophe as the glass landed in Alexander’s grasp.

  “My boy, must you always meet me with such plain-faced resentment?”

  “No, of course not…I don’t have to meet you at all.”

  “A father comes to see how his heir is living and he’s the ‘bad guy’? Tell me, Kriss, when was the last time you saw your mother?”

  “The day you drove me to suicide.”

  Alexander brushed his son’s statement aside and sipped his whisky. “She’s here, you know…your beloved mother! Just down the hall. A swarm of butterflies, elegantly kissing the wind. She passed by your window and didn’t even flutter in to see her son.”

  “She’s here?” Kristophe bowed his head in shame.

  He loved his mother but neither he nor the prominent witch could face each other. In her he saw everything he had failed to become, and in him she saw the corrupt evil of her ex-husband. No matter what good he had done, nothing changed the evil Kristophe had brought into the world.

  Butterflies popped over an oak desk chair in pink and yellow puffs of smoke until the meeting hall was filled with the aroma of a hundred sweet roses. After the smoke had settled across the frescoed ceiling, sitting in the oaken desk chair was a well-aged black woman. Her neat dreadlocks had no need for hair dye and her soft unmarked skin defied the inevitable decay of time. The woman dressed in traditional hippie attire was Rosario Medea Jarvie, known as mistress Rose to those who would address her formally, and mother to Kristophe. She was the eighth generation in her family to act as headmistress to London’s largest witches’ circle.

  Sitting at the head of the table was the white-robed wizard. With his metal staff laid in front of him, he sat mumbling in Latin and seemed to be unaware of the witch’s impressive entrance.

  “Am I really the only one on time?” asked the old witch.

  “Clearly, Miss, although…Lord Grenville is down the hall with your eldest child.”

  Rose took a crystal ball out of the patchwork bag that dangled off her shoulder and rested it upon the table. She waved her hand over it and inside the ball appeared the image of Lawrez, who was sitting in the university’s hall with Jaydon, playing a hand of blackjack. She waved her hand again to see Noir and Char standing talking to Leo at the university’s entrance. She waved once more and a dark corner of the meeting hall came into sight.

  “Could you please close the blinds?” asked Wyll from the only corner of the room not touched by the sun’s light.

  The white-robed wizard clapped his hands and the window blinds fell, abruptly shrouding the hall in darkness. The wizard then clicked his fingers and the many crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling illuminated the room.

  “Thank you, Whispa,” said the irritated vampire as he strode out of the darkness. “I’ve been burnt by the sun’s rays over twenty
times just getting here. Could we please meet in the Vampire Nation’s embassy next time?”

  Leo burst through the hall’s double doors, followed by Noir and Char, and behind them crept in Lawrez. They all took their places at the table and waited for Alexander, who was being escorted to the meeting hall by Kristophe.

  “You know, boy, you should really consider my offer,” laughed the alcoholic warlock.

  “If I wanted to sell my soul to the devil, Dad, I would ask Noir to put me in contact with Wiltsha.”

  “It’s a legitimate business venture, my son. I would be happy to front the money. Imagine it, if you will, the Kristophe Rosario Jarvie Institute of the Arcane.”

  “It’s certainly a mouthful. Look, I’ve walked you to the meeting, I’ve got to go. If you must indulge in my agony, I’ll be in my office when you’re done.” Ignorant chatter filled the meeting hall while Whispa thumbed through a messy stack of paperwork.

  “Finally! Right, quieten down for the register,” said Whispa with eager authority. Leo rolled his eyes at Whispa's annoying tone.

  “You can see we’re all here. Just tick the boxes and start the meeting already.”

  “And break tradition? I'd never.” Whispa was one for tradition; all wizards were, it gave them reason to wear their ragged robes and oafishly pointed shoes.

  “Please get on with it,” snapped Rose under her breath.

  Whispa licked the tip of his quill, dipped it in his inkpot and began with a deep wheezing breath. “Alexander Grenville, Lord of the Warlock Conglomerate?”

  “Present,” said Alexander with one hand raised while the other filled a small glass with whisky.

  “Queen Charwood Draconise?”

  “Present,” said Char, reluctantly lifting her gaze from her iPad.

  “La bête Noir, Lord of Man?”

  “Here,” mumbled Noir.

  “Wyll Higgs, Ambassador of the Vampire Nation?”

  “Present,” said the courteous vampire.