Black Dog

by Rachel Neumeier

  Natividad closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Most everybody got out.” The sheriff hesitated, then added, “Grayson didn’t abandon us. I thought he would. That your doing?”

  “No. I don’t think so. A little, maybe.”

  “Ah.” Sheriff Pearson glanced over his shoulder at the Dimilioc wolves. He was afraid of them, Natividad saw, but not nearly afraid enough. The shadows around the wolves were not merely dense but darker than they should have been. Deeper, like each shadow was really a crack in the world that led straight down to Hell. Natividad thought the sheriff did not see this. He said wearily, “Grayson’s here, I know. I can’t tell the rest of them…”

  Natividad looked at the Dimilioc wolves, wincing from the absence of those she could not find. “Alejandro,” she said, nodding toward her brother, who was straightening slowly back into his human shape. “Gracias a Jesús, Maria y José,” she muttered, not really meaning for Sheriff Pearson to hear her, though she could see he did. She didn’t explain that she was not only glad to see her brother alive, but also to see him reach for his human form. The darkness of his shadow was really scary.

  “Your brother, of course,” said the sheriff.

  “Sí. And there’s Ethan, and that’s Ezekiel, of course… That’s Thaddeus Williams over there, and Amira and Keziah over on the other side of that bus. They’re new wolves–”

  “New wolves? New to Dimilioc?”

  It was too complicated to explain. Natividad shrugged. Other townspeople were coming down from the bus, hesitating uncertainly in the snow. Lots of old people and women and kids. They hugged themselves against the cold, cast indecisive looks toward the house and frightened glances toward the Dimilioc wolves. Alejandro was all the way back to his human shape. His shadow must have carried away any injuries he’d taken: he stood with his shoulders slumped and moved with a dragging step when he walked to meet her, but there was no sign he’d been hurt. Only he looked really tired and angry and, she thought, maybe… maybe kind of heartsick.

  The sheriff reached to touch her shoulder, then stopped, wary of the quick lift of Alejandro’s head. But he asked, “Do you know what we should do, where we should go?” He hesitated. “My daughter?” But then he glanced over at Grayson, who was sitting on the high porch, staring out at the forest. The Master showed no signs of taking on human form. Pearson added reluctantly, “I should get these people inside, someplace… that is, maybe someplace…”

  “Out of sight,” said Natividad. “Yes.”

  Ezekiel, also still in black dog form, had disappeared into the house, trailed at a respectful distance by Ethan. Amira and Keziah had taken back their human shapes, but ignored the buses and the gathered townspeople as though they were all invisible. They walked slowly around the house, side by side but not touching one another, heading for a side door that would not risk any encounter with Ezekiel. Amira limped, but Keziah seemed almost untouched by the injuries or exhaustion of hard fighting – of course, no one important to her had died.

  DeAnn had tucked herself against Thaddeus’s left side, managing to look almost petite against her husband’s bulk, not easy for a woman her size. Thaddeus had reclaimed his wholly human form. He’d swung his son up to perch on his shoulder, but he still held his silver blade. He held it casually, though, not as though he expected to use it again right away. His left arm was tight around his wife’s waist, his head tilted down against hers as they, too, walked slowly back toward the house. Neither of them seemed at all concerned with the human townspeople or the Dimilioc wolves or anything.

  Sheriff Pearson stared at this domestic little scene, distracted, his eyebrows rising in surprise. “They’re Dimilioc?”

  “Just very recently,” explained Natividad, distracted. She reached out to take her brother’s hands, and Alejandro took hers in a hard grip and sighed, like he might stand there just like that for a few hours before he found the energy to move.

  The sheriff hesitated, looking at Alejandro, who ignored him. At last he asked, putting off any questions he might have had, “My people… It’s cold… and all the babies… We should go in. But…”

  “What, you want to know about rooms and baths and supper and how to keep anybody from eating the children?” Natividad asked. She’d thought she was joking, but then realized, almost before she got to the facetious comment about children, that she wasn’t exactly sure. She glanced quickly at Alejandro, but he didn’t seem to be listening. Whatever he was thinking about, she doubted it had anything to do with ordinary human concerns. She touched her brother’s arm and he jerked back, then steadied and drew a breath. Some of the tight-wound tension slowly relaxed out of his muscles.

  “Zachariah?” she asked reluctantly. She was afraid she had already guessed the answer. “Harrison? Benedict?”

  “Lost,” Alejandro told her wearily. “Gone into the fell dark.”

  He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking at Grayson, either, but Natividad knew his attention was tightly focused on the Dimilioc Master. She tried not to look at the Master, either, but her heart turned over in sharp sympathy for him. And, a little bit, in fear.

  Both Zachariah and Harrison. And Benedict, too, which was bad, but both Zachariah and Harrison! And after losing his black dog wife last year! Natividad swallowed against a suddenly tight throat. She had to swallow again before she could tell Sheriff Pearson, “There’s room, I guess, if you don’t mind sharing. And there’s lots and lots of food – not much fresh, we’re out of eggs and stuff, but there’s a huge pantry and a whole row of big chest freezers, I’ll show you.”

  “Water?” asked the sheriff.

  “There’s plenty, I guess… “

  “You’re worried about a siege, of course,” Miguel said to the sheriff, coming to join them. He had slung his rifle over his shoulder and nodded casually to the sheriff as though he’d expected all the time that the man might show up with a hundred townspeople in desperate need of shelter.

  Natividad hadn’t even known her twin had left the balcony, but he must have decided there was no need to stay on guard at the moment. “This is my other brother, Miguel,” she explained, and wondered whether she should add, “He always knows everything.” She didn’t know how it would sound. Lots of grown men resented a kid Miguel’s age who knew anything, much less everything.

  Miguel didn’t seem worried about it, though. He said to Sheriff Pearson, “The house sits right on top of its own well, so that’s fine, and there are three separate generators, so that’s OK, and you should see the storage cellars. Well, you really should, I guess: I’ll show you. This place is great for a siege, but I expect there won’t be one. At least, not one that goes on and on until you start wondering when somebody really will start eating people.”

  Pearson tilted his head. “You think not?”

  “Well, if we don’t win soon, we’ll lose soon,” Miguel said matter-of-factly. “That’s obvious.” To Natividad he added, “The east wing is sort of separate from the rest of the house. I think that’s where as many as possible of the human people should go. Maybe some of the older people can take rooms in the main wing with us, but not the kids – at least, not the little bratty kids who’ll get on anybody’s nerves.” He didn’t have to say, “Dimilioc wolf nerves.” He told the sheriff instead, “It’s important for all your people to avoid the wolves, especially Ezekiel. Well, especially all of them. Actually, Thaddeus – the big black guy? He doesn’t look it, but he’s probably the safest, because he has a Pure wife. But even so – do all your people know how to behave around Dimilioc wolves?”

  Alejandro made a soft, wordless hsst! of warning before Sheriff Pearson could answer, and everyone stopped.

  Grayson had gotten to his feet. He was still in black dog form. His thick black pelt seemed to drift off into smoke around the edges, and blue-edged flames flickered here and there along his body as he shifted position. When he turned his head toward them, Natividad could have sworn that his crimson eyes containe
d the reflection of violent flames.

  Everyone looked down – Alejandro first, then Miguel. Natividad had to kick Sheriff Pearson to get him to drop his gaze and for an instant was sure she’d been too slow.

  But then the Dimilioc Master rose up, his body dwindling and straightening as he folded himself deliberately back into his human form. He must have let his shadow carry away his injuries earlier, but now he also dismissed the smoke and smoldering ichor and violent aura of battle that had clung to his black dog shape, emerging from the change as a civilized, self-possessed man. Even his clothing was ordinary: black slacks and a crisp white shirt that had never been stained by ash or blood or ichor.

  But anger still clung to him like smoke, and informed his gaze when he raked a stare across them, across the empty buses and the confused crowd. Everyone felt it – the ordinary people fell back and looked away, and a couple of them made little frightened noises, which was not helpful. Grayson did not appear to hear them, though. He turned and stalked into the house, leaving behind charred spots on the wood of the porch and an echo of poised disaster that had not quite happened.

  “You’ll need to go after him,” Miguel said to Natividad.

  Natividad wasn’t at all sure she wanted to do anything of the kind. “Um…”

  “Not now,” Alejandro said, shouldering forward with that aggression that infused every black dog’s attitude and was especially strong right now. “Do you want to get her killed? Let him settle – let the anger fade a little…”

  Miguel raised his eyebrows. “How long do you want to wait? He’s lost Zachariah and Harrison. His anger’s not going to fade. How can it? There’s no time for him to deal with this by himself, isn’t that obvious?”

  Alejandro didn’t move, but the look he gave Miguel was like a blow. He did not have Grayson’s control: he still showed the rage and bloodlust of the recent battle in his face, and in the tension in his shoulders, and in the ash that streaked his hands and arms. The daylight that lay across his face was dimmed by his clinging shadow; the scent of burning followed him. He said, “Deal with this? With enemies that outnumber us by far more than they should, and with half the Dimilioc black wolves a step away from callejeros, and with a hundred human townspeople he never wanted to bring here, and with a wounded verdugo, and now with the loss of his closest allies? How is he supposed to deal with that?”

  Miguel had looked aside, but this didn’t mean he was conceding anything. He answered Alejandro’s anger with his mildest, most stubborn tone. “I don’t know. That’s why Natividad needs to go to him. You shouldn’t, I get that. You could tell me about the battle – about the enemies that outnumbered you more than they should, and about Thaddeus and Amira and Keziah, and just everything.”

  Alejandro glared at him.

  “I need to know,” Miguel said, even more softly. He added to the sheriff, still not looking directly at Alejandro, “You can tell us what you saw, too, while we get things organized for your people. Do you mind?”

  “I need to see Cassie,” said the sheriff. “My daughter. But after that… if you wish…”

  “Better you wait for that,” Miguel told him. “She’s fine; I checked on her myself just a little while ago.” He didn’t say that no one who loved her should see her as she was now, but Natividad guessed this from his slightly too-brisk tone.

  The sheriff didn’t look convinced, but Natividad knew that her twin would get everybody to do things his way in the end. She thought Miguel was probably right about Sheriff Pearson staying away from his daughter and also about Grayson – about the problems he now faced as Master of Dimilioc, and about his need for her. And if there was anything at all she wanted less than to go find the Dimilioc Master right at this moment… well, maybe she could imagine a few things she wanted less, but only because she had a good imagination. She sighed.

  Grayson had gone to the room with the fireplace and the view, the room where Natividad had drawn her pentagrams on the windows and called for peace. That might be kind of a compliment, because out of all the places in the house he could have gone for refuge, he had come to this room where she had drawn her pentagrams. Por otra parte, maybe he just didn’t want to go back to the suite he had once shared with his wife… Natividad stood in the hall, studying the fine grain that ran through the wood of the closed door and trying to believe she really could draw confidence from Grayson’s choice of retreats.

  There was not so much comfort to be found in anything, right now. What Natividad wanted to do was turn around and walk away, go up the stairs to her own room, lock herself in and pretend she was still grounded. She really wanted to do that.

  A grieving black dog ought to be left alone – but the Master of Dimilioc was too important to be left alone, because sometimes great grief and loss led a black dog into a terrible dark from which he never emerged. Somebody needed to make sure that didn’t happen to Grayson. Natividad knew perfectly well that, of them all, she would least put herself at risk by going through that door.

  Even so, it was hard to touch the doorknob. To turn it. Harder to swing the door open. Harder still to step through.

  Natividad shut the door gently behind herself and leaned against it, her hands resting on the doorknob for a kind of covert reassurance – the smooth brass under her fingers a tactile reminder that she could run out again if she needed to. She knew she wouldn’t retreat, but even so she didn’t want to let go of the knob.

  And yet, once she was in the room with the Dimilioc Master, she found to her own surprise that she was glad she had come. Grayson sat in his customary chair. He faced the window, but he was not looking out at the buses parked on the rutted snow or past them at the bleak winter forest. His elbows rested on the arms of his chair. His head was bowed. His forehead rested on his steepled hands. His eyes were closed. He did not seem to be aware of Natividad at all. He looked so alone... was so alone. She felt suddenly ashamed that she had not thought of coming here herself, that she had been ready to leave him so alone in the lowering dark of the evening.

  Crossing the room quietly, Natividad sat down on the floor beside Grayson’s chair. She didn’t touch him or speak, didn’t trace a pentagram on the window or the floor or even in the air. She didn’t even look at him, though she was more intensely aware of him, of his physical presence, than she had ever been. His power might be leashed and hidden, but it was as obvious to her as the heat of a banked fire. She ought to be afraid of him, but now she found she wasn’t. She grieved for him, for his solitude, for the wife he had lost last year, for the crippling of Dimilioc in the war and for the brother and friend he had lost today. She sat beside him, her arms wrapped around her knees, and waited.

  After a while, Grayson said without looking up, “James was right. There is nothing left of Dimilioc. The thing we now call by that name is something else. If it survives at all, it will be nothing Dimilioc ever was.”

  Natividad let a respectful silence stretch out for a minute or so. Then, still not looking at Grayson, she said, “Te ayudaría si pudiera. I would help you if I could. I’m so sorry for your loss. I know it’s presumptuous to say so because Zachariah was your friend and Harrison was your brother and who am I to say I miss them? But I do. I only knew them for such a short time, but I liked them both.” She paused.

  Grayson did not respond visibly. He didn’t look at her. But hadn’t there been a very slight catch in his breathing? She thought he was listening. She was less sure she was saying anything right. But how could she stop now? She said, “Black dogs aren’t usually kind, but Zachariah was kind to me. I liked him. His shadow was so strong, but he controlled it so well you could hardly tell. He loved you, and he loved Dimilioc. Anybody could see how hard he worked to support Dimilioc and you. He gave up his chance to be Master because of you, and self-sacrifice is so hard for black dogs.”

  No black dog would show weakness to another, or to an ordinary human, but Natividad was neither. Grayson made a wordless sound and pressed his hands hard across h
is eyes.

  Carefully not looking at him, Natividad said gently, “And I admired Harrison. He was your brother. He was your older brother, and that’s special. He always supported you and helped you. He didn’t like what you were doing, bringing black dogs into Dimilioc, but he never said so in public, did he? But he argued with you in private, because he was never afraid of you. He loved you, and even when he thought you were wrong, he supported you because really he trusted you to be right. And trust is another thing that’s hard for black dogs, isn’t it?”

  Grayson didn’t move or make a sound.

  “James was wrong,” Natividad said. “Zachariah and Harrison, and Benedict, too – they fought for Dimilioc. They died so that Dimilioc would live. And it does. Grief and loss are part of life, but you are the heart of Dimilioc. Both Zachariah and Harrison would have agreed with that, wouldn’t they? As long as you live, Dimilioc’s future will be tied to its past, because its past is in you.”

  Grayson said harshly, “I am the Master of dust and ashes. How many indispensable wolves can Dimilioc lose and yet claim to have won this war?”

  Natividad met his eyes. She felt old and sad and yet somehow strong. She felt, for the first time, that she was the Master’s equal. They shared grief and mourning, but it was she who believed there would be, eventually, a spring to follow this bitter winter. She said gently, “Grayson, no one but you is indispensable. Dimilioc will live unless you yourself decide to let it die. You won’t do that. You’ll think of something. No one will have died in vain.”

  Grayson didn’t answer.

  Natividad leaned her cheek against his knee, as she had done for Alejandro when he’d been exhausted and angustiado with grief and anger after their parents’ murder. At least then they had found their parents’ bodies, at least they had been able to bury them in proper graves and pray for peace for their souls. This time, there were not even bodies. That was worse.

  She turned her hands palm up and breathed quietly, long slow breaths, breathing in the rage and bitter grief that clung to Grayson, breathing out peace and acceptance of loss. She was afraid that Grayson would be angry if she sketched a pentagram in the air, if she called aloud for peace: he would not be ready to surrender the grief that is the just tribute the living pay to the dead. She understood that. So, she closed her eyes and made her wish silently to the dark behind her eyelids.