The Guide

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  Michael pointed toward one of the city gates that lay beyond the tower. “Those claw marks were made by werewolves. The king at the time was vampire. If prejudice and dissention continued, they must have been coming for his head. Those statues of the founding gods would have done little to protect the Lavtio from being overthrown.”

  The tower went deathly silent as Michael stood in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the history and records of a people who had destroyed their own selves because of hatred and embitterment toward their own friends and neighbors. Giovanni wished he could have given some sage advice or consoling sentiment to help his padrone reason through the tragedy. Yet, he remained silent.

  In the history of man and God’s creation, war and hatred were ever-present factors that no one could eliminate. Peace, as beautiful as it was, had a tendency to be fragile. It was a miracle that Arnathia lasted as long as it did. It might have been inevitable. If the feuds hadn’t begun, Arnathia might have lasted another few hundred years, maybe a thousand, but it wouldn’t have lasted until the present time.

  It might have been fortuitous that Arnathia fell when it did, but Giovanni would not tell any of that to Michael.

  With how much the world was growing and expanding through trade and exploration, the city would have been discovered. Creatures like Michael and Tor would have been exposed and hunted down more so than they are now. Their futures would have been irrevocably different if Arnathia continued to stand as a shining star amongst the ancient constellations.

  9

  Jane’s hands trembled as she set the book down onto her lap and stared with wide eyes into the darkness of the tower. It was close to dawn now, and her father and the others had already gone back to the home near the fountain to sleep for the day. She elected to stay here, in Nuvdalo’s tower dedicated to knowledge and literature to read just one more volume before retiring during the daylight hours.

  The book she held in her lap had been filled with soldiers’ accounts of battles and wars during the time just before the fall of Arnathia and the time immediately after. Michael had gathered them together the night before to share the unsavory truth about the people they had esteemed as enlightened and culturally superior to their descendants.

  Having absorbed what knowledge could be gleaned from the towers that had been built to honor the other god and goddesses, Jane decided to indulge in what the god of war and violence could offer her in the way of stories and myths.

  Much to her dismay, she found little fantasy and too much horror to comprehend. The warriors of Nuvdalo were brutal and savage in the time of the feud. They destroyed villages and cities that were controlled by the vampires, and these records told of how they came to control Arnathia for a brief time. Reading of their methods sent a cold chill down Jane’s spine, and yet she continued to read.

  She also read about the atrocities the vampires had committed in the name of strategy and necessary ethnic cleansing. Finally, she learned what happened to the females of Tor’s race. They had been slaughtered. Every last daughter, wife, mother, and virgin of the werewolves had been systematically killed.

  When the vampires struck a pack, they left no surviving women to carry on the legacy of their kind. As a result, only men could father sons that retained the gift of transformation. Their daughters, because they were born of human mothers, could not change and lived as mortals.

  It was all in an attempt to control their numbers and curtail their breeding. Werewolf mothers could easily give birth to three or more children at a time, which would cause their race to grow exponentially. The texts said that the vampires couldn’t allow such growth any longer, not as long as the werewolves were the ones who contaminated the world with their beastly violence.

  Jane shuddered at the truth, hating it just as much as she hated the feud her father had told her about. It was all senseless. It was no wonder the races despised one another.

  It wasn’t until she came to this one last account from a young werewolf warrior that she realized she could read no more. It had nothing to do with their brutality or even the devastation. It was the promise of further destruction and turmoil that startled her.

  She had to tell someone what she had learned. Heedless of the consequences, Jane tossed aside the book, letting it slide across the sandy floor, and darted down the ramps of the tower to step out into the street. It was later than she had anticipated, but there were still plenty of shadows for her to jump between to make her way across the city towards Tor’s apartment on the east side.

  One advantage of their stay in the city and great trek across the desert was that her father was more lenient with how they all should dress. Modesty was retained, but Jane was permitted to cast aside her heavy skirts and rigid corsets in favor of better maneuverability. Most of time she wore one of her thicker chemises and a lighter gown overtop while her hair flowed down her back, unencumbered by ribbons or ties. Likewise, the men donned looser trousers and tunics that kept them cool. No one would have suspected they were part of Italy’s elite class.

  Panting and still stricken with fear over the prophecy she had read, she slipped into the upper story where Tor lay sleeping by one of the open windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. She could see the sun begin to sparkle in the fountain just a short distance from the house, so Jane crouched behind a wall next to the opening that blocked the light from striking her skin.

  “Tor,” she whispered.

  The werewolf, sprawled out upon the dirty floor with his head resting upon his arms, grunted in response, but did not open his eyes. Her eyes skimmed over his broad, naked back and hated the way she lusted after it, even now after finally succumbing to the fact that they would never be together.

  “Tor, please, wake up.”

  His eyes cracked open and rolled around for a moment before they found Jane sheltered and huddled against the stone wall. He sat up on his elbows and looked out to the coming morning. “Jane, you shouldn’t be here,” he croaked out, probably fighting back grogginess.

  “I know, but…” She could barely contain her composure as she remembered the story that was far from fiction, though she wished it had been. The alarm in her voice made him sit up a little straighter, though he didn’t flee to her side just yet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Jane swallowed hard and tried to calm herself. She felt like a silly child who ran for the safety of a parent after having a nightmare. Though she had wished this had been a nightmare. The accounts in that book had been alleged as true, so there was no reason for her to disregard it.

  “I just read something and… I wanted to talk about it.”

  Tor crossed his powerful legs and faced her as he rubbed at his eyes. “Another fairytale?”

  “No, this one was true. It was about a monster... It was practically indestructible. It took the form of a werewolf, as you did, but bigger with red eyes like a vampire. It killed everything in its path and wanted to destroy the world.”

  Regardless of her frenzy, Tor cracked a smile. “That sounds like a fairytale to me.”

  “It was in a book of soldier’s accounts of battles around the time Arnathia fell. That’s far too recent to be a myth,” she pleaded. “They said the beast was the last creature to be born of mixed blood, but they don’t say what his lineage was exactly. But because of the mix, the man went mad and couldn’t control his powers. He turned into this monster and went on a rampage. The vampires could not take him alone and the werewolves weren’t powerful enough in number to defeat him. They had to unite and it took a league of werewolves and vampires together to stop him. Do you know how many people that is?”

  Jane could feel the cold tears peek out from the corner of her eye and Tor was no longer smiling. A grave and somber expression looked back at her and she could sense that he was taking her seriously now.

  He nodded to her question. “That’s quite a lot of men,” he said. “But, why are you so afraid? It was in the past and as you said, they defeated him.�
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  She moved closer to the edge of the shadow she hid within. “Because when they finally killed him, his spirit drifted up from his body and vowed that he would return to scourge the world and destroy everything in it. He killed werewolves, vampires, men, women, children, everything. Imagine if he returned within our lifetime. How devastating that would be…”

  The tear trailed down her cheek and she hated the way that only he witnessed her vulnerability. She hadn’t cried in front of Francesca, or even her father in such an intimate way. Her tears were reserved for Tor alone, it seemed, and she hated it almost as much as she hated the way she still felt for him.

  Tor let out a sigh and came into the shadows with her. In an unexpected move, he enveloped her in a tight hug and held her close. The fear that had consumed her just moments before melted as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder and let herself drown in his peace.

  He was not worried about the monster that they called the War Beast. He didn’t feel the same dread and terror that she did when it came to what the future may hold for them.

  As soon as Jane had romanticized about the idea of another Princess Tanatia coming into the world, a figure of peace and gentility with a mixed couple for parents, she thought that a union between a vampire and werewolf might have been an advantageous thing. Yet if a creature like the War Beast should return because of the same type of union, she wondered if it was worth the risk. One could give birth to a leader or a destroyer, and they would never know until it was too late.

  Though another Tanatia or War Beast might not come in their lifetime, Jane still feared for the fate of the world. Everything they loved, everything they had achieved, could be wiped out by one hateful creature. Who was to say if the vampires and werewolves would unite once more with a common enemy? What if neither of them cared or knew of the War Beast? What if the War Beast was roaming the earth today, looking for his chance to strike?

  In his arms, though, Jane wouldn’t think about those things. It would have been foolish to think that Tor would protect her from the grisly truth, or that he would protect her if the apocalypse came before their death. After they returned to Italy, he might go back to his home country. He certainly wouldn’t stay with her. That was too much to hope for.

  Yet, knowing that there was such a man as Tor in the world eased her troubled mind. If the War Beast ever did come, she knew he would be on the front lines, ready to defend and protect, just as he had done with her and all the others.

  Tor padded around the tiny footprints and sniffed at the lightly disturbed dust. In his full form, he could travel farther to search out prey, even to the eastern coast of the Caspian Sea. His keen nose could lead him on the trail of a rabbit or small desert deer just from one trace scent from a mile or two away.

  Yet the game had become smart over the last few days. Since Tor had been hunting for the party, the animals of the desert had steered clear of Arnathia, despite the promise of water from the newly replenished fountain. Searching for game became more and more difficult and he pushed himself to travel further east towards richer, more fertile lands that the animals couldn’t stay away from.

  The sun had risen over the horizon by now and Tor had to keep his head ducked low to keep the blinding light out of his eyes. He had been hunting for a couple of hours, finding it hard to go back to sleep after Jane awoke him just before dawn.

  Her anguish alarmed him at first, but as she told him about the War Beast and the kind of havoc it promised to wreak upon the earth when it returned set him at ease. Just as he thought, it was another of her fairytales. The way she felt, however, could not be easily pushed aside and that was when he did the only thing he knew to do. Tor held her between his strong arms to chase away the demented thoughts about the end of the world.

  It seemed to work, but when he ushered Jane out of the apartment and into the vampires’ den below, a new revelation came upon him and the hug was its catalyst. Despite her cold skin and lack of a beating heart, he enjoyed the embrace they shared.

  Apart from their near disaster outside of Amol, Tor hadn’t been with a woman in ages. Serving his time in the temple, he had no need for a woman or companion of any kind. Holding Jane changed that. He wanted to return with a meal for the blood servants so he could check on her and make sure that the War Beast was not tormenting her with nightmares. He loathed the sun for coming each day and chasing Jane back into hiding. He wanted her to stay above ground so they could spend more time talking of fairytales and Arnathia before it fell.

  Tor’s wolf encouraged all of it, coaxing him to feel what they had been fighting all along. Though his wolf despised the thought of making love to Jane, at least for now, it wanted to know her, to comfort her and be there as she learned so they could learn together.

  The journey from his lonely temple in Egypt to this mysterious and remote city in the desert had been long, difficult, and frustrating on all accounts. Yet when he looked back, Jane was always there and he had to accept that she made the experience all the better.

  He wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, if it was truly because of the hug, or if it had started long before, when they first met. Either way, Tor knew that something had changed in how he thought of Jane. He didn’t just think of her as Michael’s daughter, an unnecessary burden, an ambitious girl with unrealistic expectations about where their relationship was going, or even as a friend. Tor wasn’t completely familiar with the sensation, but he might have mistaken it for love.

  He lifted his head and looked to the east, squinting at the horizon to spot the hare that evaded his grasp. A twitch of movement caught his eye and he darted for it, his claws digging into the earth for maximum traction.

  Then, the wind shifted and blew against his fur enough to make his skin crawl. Dust blew over his head, but the wind carried something else. Another scent, less animalistic and more human, caught his attention and he skidded to a stop.

  It was illogical to think another band of humans would travel this far. They hadn’t seen another soul since they left the well-worn trade routes to the south and there were no villages or towns anywhere close by to draw humans to them.

  Tor turned and looked to the west. More scents greeted him. Metal, leather, camels, some food, and worst of all, gunpowder. He recognized the scent from when he was shot by the hunter outside of Istanbul. Guns were not completely uncommon amongst traders, as he came to learn from their dealings between Istanbul and Amol, but that didn’t make him any less wary of those who wielded them.

  He ducked low and peered closer at the horizon, his ears pricked forward to listen for the sounds of the men. Soon the jingle of harnesses, the grunts of the camels, and the creaking of stiff leather told him that his nose did not deceive him.

  Though he couldn’t tell properly from this distance, he knew by the strength of their smell that there were more than a few men astride camels. His first instinct was to run and avoid them as much as possible. He could be mistaken for game and though he was impervious to normal arrows and bullets, they might give chase and find they could not kill him easily.

  Then again, Tor wondered about the soundness of running. What if he inadvertently led them to Arnathia and to Jane? He couldn’t allow that. If he could attract their attention long enough to make them more interested in him than their current path northward, then they would be safe.

  Tor charged forward until he could just make out the figures of the caravan. Ten men he distinguished, their saddlebags bulging, and guns and sabers strapped to their hips. By the looks of them, the men dressed as if they belonged in the desert, but their skin color told another story. They were slightly paler than the men Tor had encountered on the way to Arnathia, though not as dark in complexion as he was. The way they sweated profusely and constantly wiped their brows, verified they were not native.

  Tor slowly circled until he was directly in their path, and then ducked behind a low ridge in the landscape so he could watch their progress and determine who these men tru
ly were. The closer they drew, the more distinct their scents became. Though it was a little more difficult to tell exactly where they came from.

  They carried the scents of many places, just like a traveler or trader might. The smell of silk from the orient, spices from the east, the salt of the sea, and just a hint of wine from their flasks, and still more that he couldn’t identify.

  He listened to their conversations and he could only make out a few words through his limited knowledge of the languages of the east. Kill, hunt, search, but it was the names they uttered that made him growl. Giovanni and Michael.

  There could be only two reasons for this. Either they were friends of Giovanni and Michael, or they were enemies. By the way they spoke of killing within the same breath, he knew they were not the vampire’s allies. Who they were or why they had come all the way out into the desert to find them wasn’t certain. All he knew was that if they were coming for his friends, they would have to answer to Tor first.

  Then he knew, he could not stay hidden. He leapt from his hiding place and charged towards them at full speed, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand as he went. The man reared their camels to a stop and one by one shouted in alarm.

  Two men from the rear pulled out crossbows and aimed them at Tor. He managed to dodge a few, but one struck his foreleg and sent him tumbling. The silver tip of the arrow seared his flesh as it pierced between the bones.

  Tor yelped and rolled back to his feet and gnawed at the shaft to get it loose. Another arrow grazed his shoulder and he realized he had to keep moving, though slowed by the pain and encumberment of the crossbow bolt that stuck out of his leg.

  The men dismounted from their camels and began to load their guns as the two other men continued to fire their crossbows. Tor tripped on the shaft in his leg and an arrow finally found purchase in his hip. He wailed in pain as the silver imbedded into his muscle and flesh. He limped and tried to change back into his human form, where he could more easily yank the arrows from his body, but the men would give him no reprieve.