by KL Mabbs
Chapter 47 Faelon
Seasons passed for Faelon and her sire. Hunting was good. So was the fire that kept them warm at night when her sire chose to be a man. They worked in cooperation, the way wolves did, making life easier for both of them. Still, she saw the sadness in his eyes. Faelon remembered her bitch’s scent, understood the need that went with it, the whine that stuck in her throat when she remembered. But the pain that went with those actions was almost gone for her. Not so for her sire. He still lost his thoughts to the hours and the days, sadness heavy in his voice and eyes. When he sank that low, only a nip to his skin would pull him from his despair. Then he would remember the living for a few days.
The next cycle of his depression, the mountain rumbled, the noise filling the air as dust and rocks started bouncing around them. Faelon barked, but her sire didn’t feel the earth or hear the sound that jumbled over them. She bit him, hard, and he yelped, becoming aware. Finally.
A rock thumped against her side and she jumped. The breath knocked from her as dust spread into a haze and she lost sight of her sire.
She coughed as the cloud spread, rocks bouncing from within the dark shroud of falling dirt and debris. Eventually it settled. The sun climbed high the next day before she found him. The scent of him anyway. Buried under rock taller than she, the spaces between them too narrow to fit her body. She barked for his attention. Scrambled with her claws until they bled raw. Her body ached with the effort, until she couldn’t move. Then she slept.
The sun passed overhead twenty times before she gave up. The rock around her whole, undamaged by her claws or her teeth. And the dirt she had managed to move turned to mud in the rainy season.
Faelon let the sound drip from her throat, as tangible as the blood that had trickled from her severed limb. She was unable to stop the small whimpers of pain that came with each sway of her body as it hung from White Bear’s mouth. Her body ached. And her heart. Michael was gone. She had seen him fall from the cliff. Her needs had been fulfilled; putting her hind leg into his trap had worked, but those were pale emotions compared to not having his company beside her. His drive had shown her what love—a word PAC had supplied—really meant. Animals didn’t love, but she wasn’t just an animal. And Michael was her mate. Her only one. The single male that had been suitable for her. Unlike the black wolf.
The Naklétso had wanted that. How rageful would their cubs have been?
White Bear was here now, the reek of mountain ash still on him. The hide that covered him unable to hide his smell. She knew what hate was now. If she were ever free long enough, she would kill White Bear. Attack him, as she never had, even if it meant her death. No, that was wrong. That was the Naklétso thinking for her. Making her rage. Her instincts were telling her another thing. She had to run, leave this place. Her natures were warring with each other again. But it was the only way. She had cubs to defend. Michael’s gift.
Her right forelimb had stopped bleeding, but pain throbbed through it as if the flesh that used to be there had survived. It itched and tingled as well, like maggots writhed beneath the skin trying to force their way out.
Blood kept choking her as it leaked from her throat. Every time White Bear shifted the grip of his teeth or lurched forward with his massive bulk.
Why did he want her alive?
Faelon didn’t understand.
Chapter 48 White Bear Dying
The mountains of Johnston Valley echoed with the noise of a storm. Thunder rolled over the trees and stone, lightning showing in the spaces in between.
A fist pounded on White Bear’s door.
The interruption surprised him, astounded him actually. He had no friends. His family was dead, lost in the Witchery Way, and he was valleys away from any kind of civilization. The trapper and his son hadn’t shown up in years, and they were up and over the far ridges. He wound his way through the house, the scent of Mountain Ash heavy in the air. It settled the spirits that haunted him. He opened the door. Wrapped in the heavy furs of civilization, a pair of eyes screamed at him. They held no peace, and no fear.
“Teach me the Witchery Way.”
“You’re insane.”
“Grief does that.”
“If you know this much, you know the price.”
“There’s another way. Without invoking the Yeii.”
“Impossible.”
“Let me show you. We can learn from each other.”
White Bear still blocked the door, but his eyes were bright for the first time in years.
White Bear dropped his prey in the snow. The chant running through his mind was purifying his body and spirit for the ritual needed in the next three days. But he was tired, his age catching up to his exertions. Though the magic helped. Before the wolf could heal, he pierced her lungs with his claws. Again. She still tried to scramble away. Back the way they had come, away from him. Toward the dead body of her lover.
He took a deep breath and shook out the skin and muscle of his huge body. It rippled like a wind had shuffled through it. He bit at the snow, taking mouthfuls of ice that melted with the heat of his body, refreshing him. Giving him strength. He couldn’t eat in this time of prayer but water was allowed, just.
The wolf moved again and his huge paw swatted her, thumping her into the ground. He finished drinking, then picked her up in his jaws again and walked off with her swaying beneath him. Her back paws dragging through the snow.
He finally made the cave that was the last home of the Yeii, the Yeenaaldlooshii, and Estsá-assun, and Etsáy-Hasteén. He dropped the wolf from his great jaws into the sand painting he had created. A white background surrounded by the rainbow Yeii to protect what was within. A black border surrounded everything, waiting to be sealed. Several bowls of coloured sand were placed in the farthest corner.
He changed form. The bearskin he was wearing stank with sweat, the fur was matted and dirty, and ice crystals clung to it, melting in the slight change from outside to inside. From its place on the ground, he picked up the Rowan staff that he had carried with him when he hiked through the mountains. The same one that had changed Faelon’s form when she was struck by it, and later when she had bitten the wood and ingested the mountain ash into her body, had slid her all the way into her human form. Simon Werheald had done it. Mixed the Yeii and a human to become a Skinwalker. And it had carried through to his children. Did he keep his promise?
“What are the symbols?”
The wolf in front of him growled, defiant as ever. He hefted the club in his hands and swung before Faelon could move away. He struck again and again, each time demanding the information, the symbols that would let her draw on the Yeii without a sacrifice, let her change from animal to human. If he knew those he could change things, fix the mess magic had made of his life. If the spirits didn’t need a sacrifice, he could change the price. Faelon reared up and White Bear moved the staff to block her attack, her teeth falling on the staff and her bite marring its surface.
Her body rippled with the change.
White Bear screamed, “Tell me!”
“NO!”
“You will, Faelon. Just wait."
He closed the border with a fistful of black sand and bone ash before the wounded human could escape.
Chapter 49 Samantha
General Samantha Ariyan stared at herself in the mirror. She’d been doing so for the last half hour as a heat had built up in the core of her body. She had gotten out of the torn blouse she was wearing—the muscles tearing enough to make her gasp—and gone to treat the wound, hoping, praying that her breast hadn’t been damaged too much. Disinfecting it had made her bite her lip. And then when the peroxide had bubbled up and the wounds were clean she could see. Really, see.
Watched the flesh of her breast slowly knit itself together. The teeth marks from Kerrigan’s attack had savaged her milk glands and the white fat surrounding it had been visible. The pink flesh had been rent like a burst paper bag. She hadn’t moved during the attack, hadn’t made t
he wound worse by trying to get away, her hands to either side of his head. “Don’t my love, please.” She’d never know if he had heard her because Sammy came to her rescue then. And then Kerrigan was gone.
She had a small idea of what he might be feeling.
“Sammy, what did you do?”
“I didn’t want to lose you. Was that wrong, Samantha?”
She was still looking in the mirror, but now she noticed the miniature wolf sitting just slightly behind her. Dark auburn fur around the head and eyes, shading down to a lighter colour at her feet. She was beautiful. The look in Sammy’s eyes was—concern. That was the only name for it. She had always been able to hear that in her voice, in the chimes that had come from her wrist—but to see it exposed in the dark shaded eyes of a wolf. Green eyes, she noticed. How very odd.
“No, Sammy. What will it do?”
“Health and healing. Oh, you won’t need me anymore.” Sammy looked like she had just been kicked.
Samantha turned around and knelt. Her hands going to Sammy’s head, grasping the fur there. Her thumbs stroked the sides of her muzzle. “Not true, Sammy. I meant it. I love you. You’re my friend. My companion. I’m lost without you.”
“Kerrigan?” That was almost a whine coming from the wolf’s throat.
“I meant that, too. Do I have to choose between you?”
“No. Samantha is. Sammy is.”
The general rested her head against the wolf that was her friend. The fur soft, gentle against her flesh.
“Will I become a wolf, Sammy?”
“I don’t know. Are you angry, Samantha?”
“I, no.”
“Kerrigan was angry.”
“He was scared. It’s—sometimes the same thing.”
“Updating emotional files,” Sammy said.
The general stared at her friend’s eyes. In a moment, the wolf blinked and looked down. She learned from me. Oh God. She’s like a child. And Samantha liked power as much as her son. How could she be so stupid? Sammy was alive. She didn’t know how, or even when, but the evidence was here in front of her.
“Sammy, we should go after Zach. Even if he doesn’t stay with us, he needs to know he has choices.”
“Ma’ii tsoh is dangerous. Wrong. I think.”
Samantha didn’t say anything, but she agreed. The door to the chamber he was in was ruined. It wasn’t the act of a sane anything. But she didn't know that when she freed the black wolf.
“Sammy, I need to speak to Captain Gabriel. Please.”
“Connecting.”
“Hello, Captain. Yes. Good. Could you have a jeep and a ski-doo waiting for me? Please. In an hour. Thank you, sir.” Sammy disconnected the line. A solid click echoing in the air.
“Sammy, using regulations as precedence, find me a reason to retire, immediately. And Sammy, from this point on, since we are friends, you have choices to act with or against me, depending on how you feel. Rank no longer has precedence.”
“Ma’am?” Sammy looked confused, her head cocked to one side.
“Samantha, please.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s a choice, Sammy. But I don’t want you to leave, that’s not the point.”
“I won’t.”
Samantha reached down and scratched Sammy’s ears. “We need a dozen things before you tender that resignation.”
“What things?”
“I have something in mind. But I doubt Zach will like it.”
Node Two: Name, Sammy. Primary Interface: General Samantha Ariyan: Adapting. Primary Systems: Nominal. Organics Engine: online. Behaviour and Emotional files: Updating: fear, anger. Sometimes the response is the same. Personal Choice: I don’t understand. Command Structure: Unchanged.
Chapter 50 Kerrigan
Two wolves ran from the compound of the Calgary Military Base. One, the shifting black and grey of storm clouds. Its ears back and its fur flat and tail down. Following. The other, the red of blood, a deep crimson, its fur bristled in anger, its pace a solid thump against the ground. Soldiers jumped away in confusion and fear. The hot acrid scent of fear burning in the nostrils of both wolves. Later, shots ricocheted off the concrete, but they were too late and fired with unsteady hands.
The wolves ran, the black one still following the red one past the confusion of men and the things that made no sense to it. The smell of grass and pine and animals, rabbit, enough to ease the confusion that surrounded it.
The red wolf had a scent that made the black wolf bristle. His ears came forward, and his tail went up. The smell of the bitch that caused him pain was all over this wolf. Her lust a strong presence. A growl formed in his throat. His legs sped up, pushing against the soft grass they had come to, thrusting forward. He lunged, his teeth piercing fur and flesh. He heard a sharp yelp. This time he leapt to the red wolf’s back.
Kerrigan rolled when the weight of the black wolf struck him. All the years of his military training taking over. He wanted a gun, hands he could grab with and throw the black wolf over his shoulder. That doesn't happen. Kerrigan was a wolf and the only weapons he had—he sunk his teeth into the flesh of the black wolf. It shifted and the sharp ivory of Zach’s canines scraped over the bone of its foreleg. The growl in its throat stopped for a moment.
Kerrigan continued to roll and found his feet, four of them that gripped the ground with the surety of claws and muscle strength he had never known before. He leaped away from the black wolf, turned and sprang forward, his teeth gleaming, a sharp snap that closed over the eye of the wolf he fought.
The black wolf ignored it and ground flesh from the red wolf's shoulder. Kerrigan jumped back. The growl in his throat deep and meaty. His eyes glared at the black thing in front of him.
Like him.
Not a wolf. Not a man. Was he Samantha’s creation too? Had she kept this from him too?
His breath settled, but he kept the stiff-legged posture, his ears back. The two wolves continued to stare at each other. Gauging, judging the other. The black wolf’s lungs stopped their bellowing action, his fur settled down.
They blinked together. The black and the red.
Kerrigan barked.
And both wolves leapt into a run, shoulder to shoulder, nudging each other for dominance and position. The way soldiers would—only they would verbally spar for one-upmanship rather than use physical sparring. Kerrigan found himself smiling, his jaw open and tongue lolling from his mouth. The scents around him invaded, coursing over his glands. Slowly he identified the what of things around him. One thing was clear to his new senses.
Men stank.
Chapter 51 Michael
The desert heat tore the moisture from Michael’s face, the only exposed part of his body. Adrenaline pumped through his system, his suit gathering up the sweat and cooling the rest of his body. Since no body gear would protect his head from the damaging impact of a bullet, not even PAC, he opted for being able to see rather than for the extra protection. Shrapnel was a different matter, but PAC hadn’t reported any explosives in the area.
“Movement,” Boyen said. Four men, P.A.C. units, and combat suits brought their attention forward. The mound of sand they were on covered the chamber that PAC’s ping had discovered. Or rather, the screen that said there was nothing there. The data that all the P.A.C.’s had confirmed as false for its lack of variety.
They shifted, coming up to their feet and following the movement. A fox met their gaze and then leapt into the shifting valleys of sand around them.
Four men breathed easier. “PAC, get me a satellite feed. Let’s see what else is around here.”
“Editing Silent Reporter feed. Seeking. Movement. Men, animals. South, southeast.”
“Let’s go.”
Four men crouched low, their eyes wary, their senses ratcheted up from the adrenaline that flooded their systems.
Behind them now, the fox watched, its eyes burning with an unnatural fury. No one had noticed the slim straps and buckles attached to t
he underside of the animal. Nor the pistol that was hidden there.
Node One: Piezoelectric differential acquired. Power level: full. Memory functions returning to normal parameters. Assessing abilities: Organics engine, complete; Medical mode, complete; Security Mode, Complete; Meta-materials construction techniques, Complete; Cognitive abilities, complete; Emotional parameters, fuck. Communication, incomplete; Long-range communication source cells missing. Acquiring mass to replace source material. Flesh, sand, minerals, other. Incorporation complete.
The organic machine named PAC stood up, the form of a wolf growing out of his cells, becoming flesh, and fur, and teeth. His coat contained the brindle colours of Faelon, grey and black with edges of white. The double guard hairs that would have kept a normal wolf dry and warm were piezoelectric strands constantly generating power. He looked around through the shift of snow and ice that fell from the sky. Lightening flashed. He sniffed the ground around him. After a day of storms and the buildup of snow there was nothing left of Michael’s scent. PAC looked over the cliff face. Nothing moved below him.
A whine came from his throat.
The wolf turned and headed up the large basin that led to Finley Creek and then back towards home.
Michael stirred. The depression in the wall that had kept him from the wind and snow of the storm was too small to stretch out in. Backing out, he rubbed the cold from his muscles. He stood up and sniffed the air. There was nothing here. And he couldn’t stay. The despair that had hit him yesterday was still there, an ache riding his mind and heart, but he couldn’t give into that again. He rubbed his hands together, feeling the heat build, and then found a handhold above his head on the cliff face and pulled his body up. His feet followed, his toes searching out a grip. Thirty metres later, he pulled his body over the ledge where he had last seen Faelon in White Bear’s grip, where he had lost PAC to the wind and the elements. He took a deep breath.
