White Fangs

by Christopher Golden

  Jack understood. But even though it was everything he had wanted for Sabine since the moment they set sail for the north, it scared him.

  What will she find out? he wondered. What will it all mean to me? There was a note of selfishness there, perhaps, but he felt at ease being selfish about his love. They had come so far together.

  Lesya had barely stirred since they had left the cave. Ghost strode on, seemingly immune to tiredness, his strong legs eating up the land even though he carried her weight across his arms. Jack sometimes drew close enough to see her open eyes, but they seemed to be staring skyward, lids lazy and eyes weak and watery. He feared that the vampires had drained her so much that she might never recover, and that her powers would be so weakened that she might never speak again.

  He also feared that other, unimaginable thing — that she might turn. Back in Dawson, Callie had executed her friend's wife, certain in the knowledge that doing so would save the poor woman from eternal damnation. Here they were now, running with a woman — a creature — who had been fed upon by the vampires for an unknown period of days, even weeks.

  Perhaps she's turned already, Jack thought, and her strange powers protect her from the touch of sunlight, or her bark skin, or that unnatural affinity she has with Nature . . . . The vampires they had met before were monstrous and incredibly strong. How much worse would Lesya be in vampiric form?

  But before starting on their flight back toward Lesya's forest, Callie had given the unconscious woman a cursory examination, then shaken her head. She had seemed unconcerned, and for now Jack would accept that.

  For now.

  But he would keep watch.

  "You seem stronger than ever," Jack said to Sabine.

  "I don't think I've ever felt so strong," she agreed. "Being so close to her . . . perhaps it's my own excitement, knowing how much I might soon discover. But it's as if our strength complements each other."

  "She doesn't seem very strong right now."

  "Don't let appearances deceive," Sabine said. "I think . . ."

  "What?" Jack prompted as she trailed off.

  "I think perhaps there's more life to her than she's showing."

  They were running through a forest, following a rough path worn by wildlife, or perhaps trodden by generations of Tlingit Indians as they trapped and hunted, living their lives in concert with the wild.

  "She likes being carried," Jack said slowly.

  "She likes being carried by Ghost."

  Jack spied Louis some way ahead, atop a small rise and looking back to gauge their progress. When he saw that they were all running their best he waved them on, then dipped down the other side of the rise. This landscape was covered with hidden places — trees and wrinkles in the skin of the land; twisting rivers and sudden ravines — and when the time came, Jack supposed they might be able to hide away from the vampires. Put up a fight. Make a last stand.

  But even if Lesya was more awake than she portrayed, they were still far from her forest. Against the many vampires he suspected would come after them, in a multitude of forms, none of them would last very long out in the open.

  "We will survive, Sabine," Jack said. "Because I love you, and I want you to have what you've missed for so long."

  "My history," she said, almost breathless.

  "I want to share in it," Jack said.

  "Of course," Sabine said.

  They ran on, cutting through the forest and making good progress. Jack was thirsty, but they did not stop for a drink. Food would have given them energy, but it would also take time to halt and eat. Every minute counted and went some way toward ensuring their survival. And every one of them was determined to survive.

  Lesya trailed parts of herself that seemed eager to merge with the forest. Her hair was countless creeper tendrils, and her limbs sprouted leaves that, when they had fled the cave, had appeared almost autumnal. Now they were greener and carried a shine. The luster of life, Jack thought. He remembered his time with Lesya, and the strange affection that had hung between them — hers for a man who understood the wild in a way most men never would, and his for something extraordinary and beautiful. Her madness that had come between them had been stronger and more final, but for a time there had been . . .

  Love? Not compared to what he felt for Sabine. But perhaps something strong and intense. To think of it now was almost a betrayal, but in Sabine's eyes he saw the same entrancement. Even carried in the arms of a man-beast, Lesya was the center of their group.

  As Jack watched, one of Lesya's arms swept up and she traced a stick-finger across the underside of Ghost's bristly jaw. He looked down at her and smiled. It was pure and honest and open, not the confident grin Jack had seen on his face before. This was the true smile of Ghost, and Lesya might have been the first person to ever witness it.

  "Sabine . . ." Jack said.

  "I know," she muttered. "It can only help us. They're both strong, in their own ways." She reached out and grasped Jack's hand, and awkward though it was, they held hands for a few steps.

  "Come on!" the Reverend shouted from ahead, paused halfway up a steep slope. He seemed troubled, and Jack looked back to see Callie closing on them.

  "What?" Jack asked.

  "Run," Callie said.

  "Is it them?" Sabine asked.

  "It will be." She drew closer and they ran together, bounding up the slope toward where the Reverend and Louis waited. Ghost reached them first and turned, looking back over the treetops the way they had come. His face grew grim. He looked at Jack, then Sabine. Something about him had changed, and it took a moment for Jack to see what.

  Ghost's constant humor at the folly of those around him had melted away. Now, he had found something to survive for, too.

  Jack and Sabine turned, and Sabine let out a small groan of frustration, and fear.

  "Sunset," Jack said. The sun kissed the western horizon, bleeding across hilltops. "Callie?"

  "They'll try to come right now," she said. "It'll burn 'em, maybe kill some of 'em. But dusky sun is filtered, and weaker. Whatever . . ." She shrugged, as if resigned. "Quarter of an hour, they'll all be out."

  "And we have a ways to go," Jack said softly.

  "They'll never let us go," a voice said. Jack's heart jumped at the pure fury in Sabine's voice, but when he glanced at her, she was looking back at Ghost.

  Jack looked as well. Lesya had raised her head and was staring into the weakening sun.

  "They've stolen enough of me," the tree spirit said. "If they draw close again, there's something I request of you." Lesya caught Jack's eye. "Kill me, my Jack London."

  "I don't know if I can," he said.

  "I'll tell you how."

  "That's not what I meant." He was shaking. Sabine grabbed his hand, and that meant the world.

  Lesya looked up at Ghost again, who was staring down at her in some kind of wonder. "Then, my wild man, I'll tell you instead."

  Jack's wolf ran with them. He could sense it somewhere just out of sight, and perhaps that was where it had always been. Even when he was out at sea with Ghost and the sea wolves, maybe the wolf had been out of sight somewhere inside, guiding and advising as much as it could so far from its spiritual home in the north.

  Ghost glanced aside twice, and both times Jack knew why. He sensed the wolf as well.

  Jack probed out with his senses as they ran, but touching on the wolf did not comfort him as much as it should have. The beast was as scared as all of them. The wild was no longer king out here, because evil ruled the land.

  Just as Lesya raised her head and looked forward expectantly, and Jack sensed the barren expanse of her forest somewhere ahead of them, a gunshot rang out.

  Jack and Sabine skidded to a halt and turned back. Callie stood in a shooting stance. Falling toward her, leaving a trail of sparks and wispy smoke, was a huge hawk. It struck the ground ten steps from Callie and thrashed its wings, feathers blending to skin, beak fracturing and melting into a sharp face. The man stilled, and
Callie turned and ran.

  "The flyers," she said. "They're quickest. There'll be more. Run. Run, Jack! Run, Sabine! I'll hold back and —" She said no more, interrupted by the cries of terrible, unnatural birds from back the way they had come.

  Jack and Sabine ran. Ahead of them Ghost was bounding across the plain, heading for the stream that would lead them to Lesya's forest. The Reverend and Louis waited for them, and as Ghost approached they both broadened, flickering with fur as they allowed the change that would aid them in the fight to come.

  "Go on!" Jack said, waving to them. The shotgun felt heavy in his other hand, eager to be fired. Even with only two cartridges, the weapon was precious.

  The werewolves ignored his plea and came toward him and Sabine, loping on all fours and then leaping past them to stand with Callie. They were guarding the retreat.

  "How far?" Sabine asked.

  "Close," Jack said. "Three miles?" They moved on in silence, and it was Sabine who stated what they both knew.

  "Not close enough."

  Another gunshot. Jack glanced back to see a flaming shape falling earthward trailing burning feathers. Callie was a fine shot, but even if each of her ten remaining bullets found its mark, there would be many more monsters flying and bounding past their dead, smoking brethren.

  The Reverend and Louis reached Callie, guarding her flanks as she backed across the plain. Dusk was truly settled now, the sun little more than the horizon's memory. In the distance Jack could hear the vampires' evil roaring.

  "I won't let them take you, Sabine," he said as they ran together. "Not like they took Lesya."

  "I don't think it's their intention to take any of us," she replied. "Listen to those sounds. It's murder on their minds."

  "But you're special," he said. They splashed across a narrow stream, and he heard Sabine's sigh as water splashed across her feet.

  "Jack, everyone is special," she replied. "And you more than most. I'm different, that's all. More than human, or perhaps a little less than. But you . . . you're remarkable. If you don't see that . . . if the truth of it eludes you . . . then tell me . . . I'm wrong."

  She sounded so earnest that Jack could not respond. He absorbed her words, and grinned back at her. There was no ego in his acknowledgement, simply an understanding. Everyone was unique and different — Ghost, the Reverend, Louis, Callie . . . . Those whom he had seen die, as well as the things he had killed himself. The world was filled with wonders, and that was why he strove to seek them out. Since he was a child he had sought to live, not simply to exist, and every single step had led here.

  With Sabine, running through the wilds with evil on their tail.

  Jack did not want to die, because there was a world of adventures still awaiting him. But if he did die now, at least he would go knowing he had already lived a good, full life.

  Three more gunshots. Jack and Sabine paused and turned back, and Sabine exhaled heavily when she saw what was coming for them.

  Surging from the woods, splashing and leaping across the stream they had crossed only minutes before, came the vampires. The dusky light was good enough to see them clearly, and Jack wished it was not. Several polar bears thundered through the water, and hawks drifted above them, barely flapping their wings. There was also a wolf, though one far more bedraggled than Jack's. Two mountain lions crouched down in the stream, several foxes darted, and other creatures came with them, vampires in animal form, larger and more savage than the animals whose shape they mimicked. Perhaps behind them were vampires still presenting themselves as human, but their bodies were not built for such speed. Jack feared the battle would be over before those monsters arrived.

  "Oh, Sabine," Jack breathed. Behind them Ghost was still running, and he was muttering something under his breath, promises punctuated by every footfall. You shall not die, you shall not die . . . . In the face of such horror, Jack found the brutal captain's words to the wood witch unbearably moving.

  Callie shot one of the mountain lions from forty feet. The creature flipped in the air and splashed down in the stream, growing pale, shrinking as death took it back to its shriveled, pathetic form. She fired at a charging polar bear, but the bullet only nicked the creature's ear, sending it into a raving frenzy that only made it more dangerous.

  Louis took it from the left, and the Reverend from the right. One held it down, the other opened its throat and snapped its neck. It was already shrinking as they turned away, and Jack had never seen them so majestic.

  "Come on!" Ghost roared behind them. He was standing atop the gentle slope, and Lesya seemed to be squirming in his arms, thin, pale branches arcing out from her body and caressing the air. Her head was still lowered, however, and Jack could sense her weakness.

  "You go!" Jack shouted. He turned to Sabine and, quieter, said, "You too."

  "No, Jack!"

  "She's everything you came for," he said. "Everything you've lived for all these years."

  "No," Sabine said. "That's you. If I lose her, I can go on living in mystery. I lose you . . ." Her eyes were wet, face set in determination. "I don't think I'd go on another moment."

  Callie was running uphill, the two werewolves at her side. She looked tired and sweaty, but behind her tiredness Jack could see that she was thoroughly alive. This was what she was meant to do.

  "Can't kill 'em all!" Callie said as she came closer to them. "Run!"

  Sabine grasped Jack's hand and pulled, and together they followed Callie toward where Ghost was already disappearing over the ridge. Jack heard conflict behind him and he looked back as he ran, knowing what he'd see but unable to not look.

  Louis and the Reverend were embroiled in the greatest fight of their lives. They leapt, slashed, bit, jumped, rolled, ran, kicked, sometimes together, sometimes alone. Monstrous creatures came for them, and changing things fell away from them, reverting to their original state — Tlingit Indians, trappers, gold prospectors, men and women and children. The two werewolves were like forces of un-nature, and each time some monster came at them they changed it back to what it should have been. Human, and dead.

  Louis took a bite to the shoulder from a fox, and he spun around, flipping the creature down across his leg and breaking its back. Still it snapped at him, teeth clacking shut again and again, until he plunged his claws into its pelt and ripped the broken creature in two. He turned to the next attacker without even acknowledging the ugly blood-gushing wound on his shoulder.

  The Reverend seemed to dance. In his wolfish state he was taller, thinner, even leaner than his human guise, and he flowed across that hillside, never engaging an enemy for more than a moment before moving on to another. He bit and slashed and gouged, then slipped away to do the same again, drawing monsters after him and away from Jack and the other. He was dealing violence and pulling it along with him, and Jack paused and raised his shotgun in an instinctive desire to help.

  "Look!" Callie said. "Off to the left!"

  There was Jack's wolf again, streaking in to the fray with teeth bared and pelt flowing. Jack connected with the animal in such a natural way that it was almost like breathing, and he growled with the wolf, felt its strength, and sensed it casting fear aside. There was a story to its fear, a history. It was one born of anger, because it had been furious at these beasts — these travesties of nature — for some time. Furious at their tainting of the land, and even more enraged at its own inaction. Instinct had ensured its survival, but by not combating the vampires it had felt itself lessened.

  Now, watching its unnatural brothers tackling the monsters, the wolf had found its cause once again. Smaller than most of the vampire beasts, its rage carried it through — teeth gnashing, claws rending, jaws clamping shut on necks and crushing vertebrae until heads hung limps and lifeless. The werewolves saw the wolf, and Jack sensed them drawing encouragement from its natural state. This was nature fighting back against the evils wrought upon it, and Louis and the Reverend found themselves on the side of righteousness.

  "
We must go," Sabine whispered into his ear, and Jack knew that she was right. Painful though it was, he felt his wolf urging him to flee also, not in words or images, but with a pressing intent.

  They ran for their lives, and Jack began to feel that he had been running forever.

  The sounds of battle continued behind them. With every few steps Callie glanced back, and several times she paused, aimed and fired, bringing down a vampire that had escaped to come after them. Jack always slowed when she did, bringing his shotgun to bear in case she missed or ran out of bullets. How many left? he wondered, but he did not ask. He did not really want to know the answer.

  "She's almost there!" Sabine said. Jack looked ahead, searching for Ghost and Lesya but unable to see them in the dark. Moonlight painted the landscape, but down beneath the trees shadows hid the truth.

  "Is she stronger?" Jack asked. "Is Ghost still carrying her?"

  "I think so," Sabine said. "But she's . . . getting ready."

  "Ready for what?" Callie asked, breathless. She glanced back, ran on.

  "Ready to get back home," Sabine said.

  "And we have to be there when she does," Jack said.

  He thought of Louis and the Reverend as he ran, and wished them well. He could hear the screams and roars and growls falling behind them, and any one of them could be one of the wolves' death-calls. He felt back for his own wolf and sensed its ferocity. It was relishing the fight, releasing pent-up frustrations that channeled through its teeth and claws. Shadows fell all around, and in his mind's eye Jack saw them changing form.

  The wolf howled and bled, but pain could not touch it.

  "I'll tell it to let them come," he panted. "When we're there, I'll let the wolf know. Maybe they can survive. Escape."