by Taylor Fray
They drove on for hours, Zak following winding rural paths. They passed flatlands, and hillsides, tree lines and small towns. Morgan munched on a banana bread Zak had snatched as they left Bradley Oak’s inn. They talked for a long time. Zak told her about his world, the one she was now a part of. He told her about werewolves and their different forms. There was their human form, their wolf form, and their hybrid form called Krinos. And after some practice, they could summon some of their Krinos traits while still in human form. It was how he was able to summon claws, fangs and some of his Krinos strength while still remaining human. He told her about vampires and their lust for blood, told her about wizards and witches and their arcane spells, about demons and spirits and their ethereal natures. He told her stories of werebears and werelions, of portals to other dimensions and rumored gateways to the stars. But still, he kept what had torn him from his father and clan, what had made him so guilt-ridden, what was sealed away in a vault inside him. She started to wonder what could be so bad that he protected it with so much secrecy.
They came to a spot shaded by trees, not far from a creek. Zak had driven long into the night. “Let’s rest,” he said. “We’ll keep driving in the morning.” They both stepped out of the car and stretched. They took in the rural night, crickets chirping, the smell of soil, the creek gurgling. Morgan sat on the hood of the car as Zak scanned in every direction, his eyes like a hawk’s. She noticed that he had that animal quality of being able to stay in one spot in an open space, wordless, for an eternity it seemed. “You like living alone, don’t you?” she called to him.
“I’ve grown used to it.” He gazed back and walked to the car. “You don’t strike me as one who is wealthy in friends either.”
“Of course not. I told you how I grew up.”
“Even without you telling me, I could tell. I’ve seen every kind of wolf imaginable. I can always tell the lone wolves. They’re stronger. They have to be.”
She smiled in amusement at how differently he saw the world. “And how long have you been a lone wolf? How long have you been away from your clan?”
“Sixty one moons… about five years. You?”
“My whole life, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugged. “I was a latchkey kid. I basically raised myself. Of course I had friends. There were boys—most of them terrible, a few nice ones. Family was a mess. I just never, never someone I could call anytime, anywhere, no matter what, you know?”
“Yes. You had allies, but not a pack.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
He slid onto the hood to sit next to her. “No one should grow up without a pack. It is the cruelest of punishments among my people.”
“Well, I guess we’re both exiles.” She started feeling incredibly tired and leaned back against the windshield.
“I suppose so.”
“The last time I was on a car like this, staring up at the sky…” Her voice was falling to a tired whisper as the stars shone above her. “I was… sixteen I think. I was with this boy, Cooper. Another one of my high school sweethearts—I guess I was quite the enchantress back then with my ponytail and mom jeans.” She laughed at herself under her breath. “He said if I wanted to drive out to the lookout with him. We laid on his beat up car. We watched planes flying by for a long time.” She wasn’t sure why she was saying any of this. She was just drifting off and thoughts were spilling. There was a feeling of peace she hadn’t felt in a long time. She was a loner, and so was he, and as they sat there it felt good to share a feeling of loneliness with someone. “He really liked watching those planes. And he didn’t even try to kiss me. He was… really nice.”
“Morgan… about what happened the other night. Forgive me if I hurt you. Once again, it was my fault for letting my animal side take control of me. Hurting you is the last thing I ever want to do.”
She barely managed to nod through her tiredness. “I know.” She went on speaking, only half-conscious of what she was saying.
When she awoke she was in the passenger seat. Zak’s jacket was over her like a blanket. Outside everything was the blue color of early morning. Zak sat on the hood of the car still, elbows around his knees. As if sensing her waking, his legs swung as he propped himself on one arm and dismounted.
“You ready for the road again?”
“Hey, you’re the one who has to drive.” She kept enjoying her rest.
“That’s true. Good thing I don’t mind, or we’d have ourselves a good old fashioned fight on our hands.” He started the engine. “Morgan, thank you for… telling me of your life last night.”
She smiled and hoped she wasn’t too bleary eyed. “Thank you for… saving it.”
The car raced down the road, its silver finish burning with the colors of dawn.
After several hours, the banana bread couldn’t hold back her hunger anymore. It was near the end of the day and the car needing gas was a convenient reason to pull over and get some food. They stopped at a small town. They pulled into a gas station so Zak could refuel. Morgan grabbed some sandwiches, even if they were the cheap gas station kind—she was hungry enough that everything looked good.
As she was walking back to the car, arms full of sandwiches, a jug of lemonade and a pack of licorice, she noticed Zak standing by the car, a concerned look in his eyes.
“Get in,” he said, motioning to the door.
She turned around, and as if by instinct, her eyes narrowed and focused on where Zak had been staring. She honed in on a spot in a tree in the distance and for a moment saw a flickering birdlike figure. Her eyesight was sharper, to be able to see so far away. The sudden change in her sight startled her for a moment. She was even frightened and made her eyes go back to normal. It must have been her shifting; it was sharpening her senses. She stepped into the car.
“It was a bat again, wasn’t it?” she asked Zak.
He nodded. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence anymore. They’re tracking us.” He revved the engine and hit the road again, kicking up an empty soda can as the car’s wheels churned.
“I thought taking these smaller roads off the highway was going to throw them off?”
“Well, clearly it didn’t.” Zak was growing tense.
“What are we going to do? Can we make it to Grey Home?”
Sweat was beading on Zak’s forehead. He kept looking in the rearview mirror. “I’d rather not drive once night comes. Not with the Black Hand on our trail.” The muscle car roared as he stomped on the gas pedal. “There’s a place, about 20 miles west, in the Indigo Forest. We’ll be safe to spend the night there.”
“In the forest?”
“Yeah. The place is ruled by an ally of my clan.”
Morgan watched houses and trees rush by the window. Zak was driving like a mad man, trying to beat nightfall. It made Morgan nervous how anxious he seemed to get to safety before the night came. Here and there they would pass a car on the road and Zak would eye it suspiciously. Finally, they started leaving even the small towns and driving into real wilderness, into the Indigo Forest. Zak clenched the wheel as his car’s suspension bobbed up and down on the dirt road, its headlights illuminating the cloud of dust he was kicking up.
He parked on the side of the road.
“We’re here,” he said.
Morgan looked around. “But I don’t see anything.” She followed as he left the car. “You’re just going to leave your car here out in the open?”
“The gnomes will take care of it.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Morgan didn’t know what to say back to that.
“The gnomes. Of course they will,” she finally said. She was used to being the cold calculated, in control one, the one with all the answers, all the insights, one step ahead of everyone. Now she had to accept that her partner in crime just knew more about all this supernatural stuff. But she would catch up, he would see.
Zak kept striding deeper into the forest. He stepped off the main path and waded throu
gh thickets of trees and bushes. They hiked up and down rises, using dangling branches and roots to ease their movement. Morgan was starting to gain agility and strength. They came to a ditch some eight-feet wide and she leapt across it as if by instinct, with no strain, but rather an excitement at finding her new body’s limits. Zak stopped now and then, and crouched, inhaling deeply as if to pick up a scent. He scanned the area and then moved on. Dusk was settling in as they moved through the wilderness, then full night came.
The forest here derived its name from the almost imperceptible touch of blue on its tree leaves. Now, in the cool light of the moon, the indigo color was especially visible. Zak began slowing down, paying closer attention to the trees. He would step close and feel the bark as if he was looking for something hidden. He came to a pair of trees, like a twins whose outstretched branches were touching arms with clasped hands, a kind of archway created between them.
“Here it is. The gateway to the Fae sanctuary,” Zak said as he ran his fingers along the bark of one of the trees, where a runic symbol had been etched. “This sign. It marks the gate.” He took out something small from his pocket. It was a whistle carved from wood. “See, once I play the right tune, the enchanted trees will let us into their kingdom.”
Morgan only looked on. She shifted her footing uneasily as once again Zak was leading her into the unknown. At least she was learning to trust him.
“I have a good friend there,” Zak said, as if sensing her worry. “A relative of Bradley Oak, actually.”
“As long as he can cook as good,” Morgan said, trying to calm her nerves.
Zak raised the small flute to his lips and blew. At first all that came out was a high-pitched squeal. Morgan chuckled, raising her eyebrows, surprised at how musically challenged he was. Acting and music, at least there were two things he wasn’t superhuman at.
“I haven’t played this thing in a while…” Zak took a deep breath and began playing again when suddenly—
FWOOM—out of nowhere a ball of red flame hurled past them and burst against one of the twin trees. Zak and Morgan whipped around to see where it had come from. Morgan only caught a brief glance of the man whose hands were on fire before he launched another writhing, blue-tailed fireball. It scorched the air, leaving a trail that smelled like gasoline as it sailed and struck the other twin tree. Both were now up in flames. The crackle of fire, the smell of charred wood filled the atmosphere. Morgan and Zak looked to see that they were being confronted by three imposing men.
The man who wielded fire in his hands had long white hair, and a black trench coat. His features were long and sharp, eyebrows barely visible, a monstrous beauty about him. He seemed to be the leader of the group, the other two muscular men stood beside him as if they were his bodyguards.
SHNK! In a flash, Zak’s claws were out and his fangs were glinting in the moonlight. Morgan could only step back, wishing she knew how to do that, wishing at least she had a gun on her. She hated feeling helpless.
“Gestaffos, I swear,” Zak threatened, naming the leader of the group. “I spared your life once, I won’t be so weak this time.” Morgan looked between them, desperately trying to understand the situation, knowing only that these two clearly had a history, and it was not a happy one.
“Oh but you are weak, my old friend” Gestaffos answered. “You won’t let your Krinos out. You can’t even face your own nature.” Gestaffos smiled at Zak, a cruel smile that hid a scowl of disgust behind it. “You were a glorious creature, during your Red Rage. And one way or another, you’re bringing him back. You’re going to serve the Black Hand.”
“Be straight you little shit!” Zak scowled, his voice thundering as veins all over his body swelled with blood. Morgan was taken back by how savage and vulgar he could become. “Are you after me to serve the Black Hand or are you avenging that bastard Albhanz?”
Gestaffos stared at Zak for a long moment, eyes narrowing with anger—apparently he wasn’t used to insults. “Albhanz was pathetic. He served the Black Hand only half heartedly, preferring his little perversions among humans in backwater towns. He got what was coming to him. But you’re a fool if you thought after slaying him like that we wouldn’t find out you did it, and come looking for you. You can never resist a damsel in distress, can you?” His eyes flickered to Morgan. “She must have been the reason why you went after Albhanz in the first place, even though he had nothing to do with what happened to your last woman.”
GRAAAAWWR! Zak roared as he leapt at Gestaffos. Something about what he said had triggered Zak into exploding anger. The white-haired fire wielder leapt into the air to avoid Zak’s slashing claws, and then—Morgan had never seen anything like it—he dashed horizontally in mid air with a flick of his legs, with nothing to push off from, and gingerly landed just a few paces from her. He raised his hand, pointing it at her as if he were threatening her with a sword. Flames swirled around his fingertips, glowing brighter and brighter until they were white hot. She noticed that a metal gauntlet was wrapped over this hand.
“That was very sloppy work, Zak Skarsgard. Though I suppose it might mean it’s getting harder and harder for you to contain your rage.”
Zak shifted uneasily, crouching lower and lower like he was getting ready to pounce again. “I swear, this time I’ll take more than your hand.” His face shook with how deeply he was growling. His eyes flickered to the other men.
The two bodyguards both tensed and surrounded Zak on either side.
One was a black man wearing a military vest, with tattoos all over his arms, eyes a translucent blue. He snarled and his body contorted, muscles bulging to inhuman proportions. Gray fur burst all over his body, with black spots and a white chest. A feline face replaced his human one, with long whiskers and a short wide muzzle. He was half man, half snow leopard, and he held an ornate blade in his hand, with many curved edges to it. It was large enough that in a normal man’s hands it would be considered a scimitar, but in his monstrous claws it was only a long dagger. The snow leopard’s growl was so high-pitched it was like a shriek, and it made Morgan’s chest go cold. His tail whipped with anticipation of a fight.
The other bodyguard wore a green bomber jacket; he had raven-black hair, and wore a skull bandana over the lower half of his face. He unwrapped a chain from his waist. When he snapped it, it crackled with electricity. It was difficult to tell what kind of Shifter he was as he remained in his human form.
“You have two choices, Zak,” Gestaffos said, his grin showing his own fangs growing as he partially transformed. His body was swelling with Shifter muscles, his ears elongating like Albhanz’s had. Most threatening to Morgan was the metal gauntlet he wore on his extended flaming hand. It began transforming too, like it was made out of quicksilver. Threads of silver began spiraling along his hand, leaving everything from his fingertips to his elbow covered in sharp steel, each finger now a razor sharp nine-inch metal claw. “You can either come with us willingly, foregoing violence here which you and I both abhor.” He looked at Morgan, his face now half man, half monster, white hair flickering in the wind. “Or you can watch this woman burn alive, and see if you can really contain your Red Rage while hearing her scream to be killed in mercy.”
Morgan could barely breath. If she thought Albhanz a monster, these three were abominations—each seemed far more powerful than him. She could tell Gestaffos meant every word of what he said, and had absolutely no fear of Zak. At least, not as Zak was, refusing to enter his Krinos form. She could tell though, that under his building sweat, his clenching muscles, he was debating to do just that.
“Go on then,” Gestaffos dared. “Choose. One choice is more practical, the other is a lot more exciting. Go on and choose, Zak Skarsgard, before I choose for you.”
9
Zak stood to his full height, took a deep breath, and just as he was about to make a drastic move, the earth began rumbling. The soil beneath them ruptured, breaking open as an enormous five-ton stone hand emerged from beneath them. Gestaffos
and his men leapt back in surprise and Zak dove out of the way, grabbing hold of Morgan. He swooped her up in his arms like she weighed nothing and jumped a good 30 feet away. The stone hand kept rising up from the earth, soil and pebbles pouring off of it, and it was followed by a body entirely composed of blue-gray stone. It was a gigantic stone being, a golem. The earth kept breaking open, and another golem emerged. Then another, and another—each a good 15 feet tall—emerged around the Shifters. The stone golems stood threateningly over Zak, Morgan, and the three Shifters, their shadows looming over them.
Then a rattling mixed with a flute sound filled the air. Winged fairies that glowed green in the night started flocking around Zak and Morgan’s assailants. They were the size of birds, had naked humanoid bodies and wings like moths or butterflies or dragonflies. They hummed as their wings beat and they sparkled with forest magic.
Then a hefty, brown-bearded man appeared in a shimmer of magic. He wore a white tunic over brown pants and boots, and held a big wooden staff. He saw the burning trees and panicked.
“The gate!” he yelled. His cheeks puffed like a chipmunk’s as he blew out the fire with the sheer force of his magic breath. The fires that were consuming the twin trees were blown out like candles by a ferocious gust of wind. “What is all this?” the hairy man said, face red from exertion. “Who has damaged the queen’s gate? Who is it that brings violence to her doorstep?”
“Hanford? It’s me, Zak, of the 13 moons!”
“This is none of your business, you pathetic brown fur!” Gestaffos said to the hefty man. Gestaffos looked ready, along with his two bodyguards, to pounce on him.
“We were only seeking refuge in the queen’s domain,” Zak said. “These beasts are Black Hand. They were chasing after us.”
Gestaffos lifted his flaming claws, readying them. “You have a lot to lose and nothing to gain in this, fat man. Leave us alone to finish what we started. This is none of your business or your queen’s.” He said that last word with mocking disdain.
