The Prophecy (A Legacy Series Novella) (The Legacy Series Book 4)

by Sheritta Bitikofer

  “Rabbits, yes. But, I am an excellent deer hunter. I specialize in big game. Which,” Hugo held up an instructional finger, “I believe we are due for a meal. Shall we?”

  Geoffrey looked to the vampires and blood servant who were still deep in conversation. “I suppose we can disappear for a moment or two.”

  With that, they steered away from the campsite and dashed into the forest to find their unsuspecting quarry. Hugo might have been obnoxious, arrogant, and downright cocky at times, but Geoffrey wouldn’t have traded his company for the world. They were all they had left. They were each other’s pack, each other’s support. For centuries, they had to rely on one another and Geoffrey couldn’t imagine a time when Hugo wouldn’t always be close by. He wasn’t sure what he would do without his brother.

  Chapter Four

  Days stretched on into weeks as they trekked across the wild and untamed country. As much as they could help it, they avoided towns and villages along the way. Skirting around farms and cottages until they reached the half of Russia that might as well have been hell itself. Geoffrey wondered who in their right mind would live in such a rugged, inhospitable place.

  The answer became clear as they continued to pass by huts, cottages, and small clusters of villages, even this deep into the wilderness.

  The journey became more and more difficult as the roads they took to accommodate Michael’s carriage ceased to serve their purpose. The wheels constantly popped off their axels after taking a dip or unexpected bump that rocked the entire cabin and the vampires inside. During the day, Reitz and the two werewolves had to reposition the wheel and get the carriage back on track, only to be stalled in the same fashion not an hour later.

  Three nights into the east, Michael and Anton came to the decision that they could no longer use the carriage. They would have to bundle themselves against the light of the sun and travel in that way. The older vampire said they had done it before, but it proved to make the journey just as arduous.

  However, Michael wanted to travel one more day with the carriage, so as to get the most out of it before they had to abandon the abused vehicle. It was on this final day, when Reitz was resting after being up all night, and the vampires were unconscious, that Hugo pulled Geoffrey aside.

  “How much longer?” he asked his brother, fury and frustration plain in his voice.

  Geoffrey ran his hand through his hair, hating the way the oils and grime felt slick on his fingers. They were due for a bath, but could hardly make the time for it between sleeping, walking, and fixing the wagon. Such simple things were so much easier and convenient when they traveled alone. “I’m not sure,” he grumbled.

  Hugo let out a suppressed growl that rumbled in his chest.

  “I know you want to leave,” Geoffrey sighed. “I do as well.”

  “Then, let’s go while Reitz is asleep! If they find us again, we’ll say we were following our instincts to try and find the wolf sooner. I’ve been itching to go farther north. The paths don’t allow us to travel as we usually do.”

  Geoffrey nodded. He had felt the pull as well. Michael was set on following the roads, but the two brothers had learned long ago that no adventure came from sticking to the lines on a map. If their wolves were urging them to the north, then they needed to go, Michael or not.

  Finally, he nodded his consent and Hugo didn’t waste time. He oriented himself to the north and darted through the woods. His pack slapped against his hip and back as he went. Geoffrey followed as they dodged through the densely packed trees and leapt over the shrubs that dared to keep them at bay.

  Their eyes glowed gold in the afternoon light as they followed their wolves to the north, uncertain what they would find.

  It had been three days since they left Michael and the caravan behind. They had seen no sign of the vampires or blood servant and assumed they had resolved to let the werewolves go where they wished. At least, that’s what Hugo hoped. Being far away from the stench of the vampires made him appreciate the smell of fresh air and open countryside.

  They could run at their full speed for the first time since before they joined up with Michael and Reitz, and Hugo was glad to finally stretch his legs. His brother didn’t fully share in his revel of freedom. Even now, as he sat on a fallen log and poured over the manuscript page again, scratching at the scruff on his cheek, Hugo wondered if Geoffrey could be having second thoughts about running away from the vamps.

  He looked to the north and felt his wolf coax him into running again, but Hugo would go nowhere without his brother.

  “Are you going to keep staring at that thing all evening, or are we going to get a little more ground covered before nightfall?” he asked, feeling his wolf tell him something else, but this was far more difficult to ignore.

  Geoffrey glanced up briefly before folding the parchment and tucking it away into his coat pocket. “Yes, although I wonder if we should go a little farther to the east today.”

  Hugo tested that against his senses, sniffing the air and looking around as if his surroundings would give him any clue to affirm his brother’s suggestion. “I suppose we can,” he replied.

  It was then, as his ears strained to hear for any threat or meal, Hugo heard it. A light melody, hummed by a woman. By the sound of it, she was older, far past her prime, but still had a lovely voice. Without telling his brother anything, he leapt into a nearby tree and scurried up the branches so he could get a better look.

  “What are you doing?” Geoffrey called from below.

  From a high branch, almost near the top, Hugo looked and spotted the sliver of smoke far in the distance. This high up, he could smell a roast cooking over a fire and his mouth watered. With nimble movements, he made his way down the tree and faced his brother.

  “It’s a cottage, a few miles from here. An old woman is cooking a roast.” He grinned. “Didn’t you say you wanted to talk to the locals? We can get an easy meal and ask her about the wolf.”

  Geoffrey gave him a wry look. “I think you’re more interested in the easy meal.”

  Hugo shrugged. “Perhaps, but we can both get what we want. What’s the harm?”

  His brother stepped closer and eyed him suspiciously. “You know we can’t stay long.”

  If he weren’t so right, Hugo would have laughed at his elder brother’s superb intuition. “You are right. If we hurry, we can stay with the hag for an hour or so.”

  With his silent agreement, they took off into the woods once more, bound straight for the lonely cottage whose chimney billowed the sumptuous scents of roasting meat and delicious herbs that promised a fine meal for the werewolves.

  The humming of the old woman became louder to both of their ears as they came closer to the cottage. Staying just out of sight in the shades of the forest, they circled the quaint home, admiring the simplistic design that was typical of the peasant dwellings they had passed by. This house, however, seemed different. The sweet and savory scents of the meats were what enticed them to come closer, but there was something else in the clearing where the cottage was nestled.

  Hugo likened it to the feeling when one stepped into a warm church on a cold, snowy night. There was a safety, a comfortableness about the place that made him feel even more drawn to go inside and meet the woman who continued to unwittingly serenade them.

  Then, the humming stopped.

  “Come closer,” the withered voice spoke from inside the home. “There’s plenty for everyone.”

  Hugo and Geoffrey exchanged puzzled looks, but before they could second guess themselves, they found they were in the clearing. They passed by budding flowerbeds and a tiny garden that was only producing enough to sustain one elderly gardener.

  Geoffrey was the first to enter the cottage, not bothering to knock since the lone resident invited them in already. The furnishing inside the one-room cottage was sparse and what furniture there was, appeared to be old. Perhaps just as old, if not older, than the woman herself.

  The elderly woman sat on
a three-legged stool by the crackling fireplace. One hand stirred the copper pot over the flames while the other rested on her knee to support her weight as she leaned over. Beads of sweat dotted her wrinkled forehead as kind, green eyes looked up at them through greying brows. Her long, silvery hair was pulled back into a braid that trailed down her hunched back.

  She smiled and they saw a few teeth had been rotted out from neglect. Yet, the sincerity could be fully felt and the corner of Hugo’s mouth twitched in response.

  “Come in, mal'chikov. Come in.” She pulled out the spoon and hung the handle upon the nail beside the fireplace. “I wasn’t expecting company, but please take a seat and relax.”

  Hugo looked to his brother, who still seemed skeptical. His first impulse was to believe this old woman was a witch. How else would she know that they were close by? Hugo didn’t suppose they were that loud on their approach. She wasn’t a vampire and she certainly wasn’t a werewolf like them. He had never met a female of their kind before.

  Geoffrey did not move from where he stood just in the doorway, but Hugo squeezed past him to take his leisure in one of the rickety chairs next to the dining table. The wood creaked and wailed under his weight and it was clear the furniture hadn’t been used by someone so heavy in ages. Even though it held well, Hugo tensed his legs to rise in case it should collapse from under him.

  “We don’t want to trouble you, madám,” his older brother assured.

  “Please, close the door,” the old woman asked. “It gets terribly drafty.”

  Geoffrey didn’t question her and shut the door behind him. Still, he did not sit down. “We smelled the stew and thought if you had any to spare for two weary travelers...”

  It was their usual line of greeting. Formal, polite, and borderline pathetic in Hugo’s opinion. But, it got them into the homes of many peasants and noblemen alike.

  “How far off did you smell it?” she asked as a youthful twinkle appeared in her eyes. “Ten miles? Twenty miles? Don’t be modest, I’d love to know.”

  Their brows shot up. “The wind is strong today, but not that strong,” Hugo replied.

  “We were just passing by your cottage when we smelled it.”

  She gave them an amused look. “Please, don’t be coy with me. I know your kind can smell and hear over many miles. Please, do tell me?”

  Hugo looked to Geoffrey, who in turned looked to him. He wasn’t about to wait for approval before he turned back to the old woman on the stool. “I first heard your humming from a few miles away. I only smelled the roast you’re cooking when we came closer. In our defense, we were up-wind from your cottage.”

  “Brother,” Geoffrey hissed at him, as if that would help matters at all.

  Hugo shrugged. “She said that she knows what we are.”

  Geoffrey combed his hair back with his fingers and grumbled curses under his breath.

  “Oh, it’s all right, mal'chikov,” the old woman said with a laugh. “My husband was one of your kind. I know what to look for.”

  Hugo grinned, thankful that they had no fear of being turned out or burned alive by this woman. She knew exactly what they were and seemed to be perfectly fine with it.

  The old woman stood to her feet and hobbled toward a cupboard on the other side of the cottage. Passing between the two werewolves, she patted them both affectionately on the shoulder. “No, myshka. Don’t worry a bit.” Hugo nearly laughed as she called them her “little mouse” but out of respect for the one who fed them, he kept his lips shut tight. They had been called worse.

  “Your secret is safe with me. Although,” she grunted out as she tried to reach the top shelf that was just inches from her fingertips, “where is your pack?”

  Hugo braced himself to stand, but Geoffrey was the first to come to her aid and snatched up the three bowls from the shelf for her.

  “Spasibo, dear,” she said as she took the bowls from his hand.

  “You’re welcome. We don’t have a pack, madám,” Geoffrey said. “We travel alone.”

  She passed them both a worried look. “Alone? Oh, that will never do. You should not be alone.”

  When the old woman turned her back, Hugo made a face as if she didn’t know what she was talking about. Geoffrey didn’t appreciate his snide look and made him know it through a look of his own.

  “It’s served us fine over the years,” Geoffrey said softly and watched as she bent over the fireplace to ladle soup into the bowls. Her hands were unsteady and a few drops sloshed into the fire, emitting a light hiss. “Let me help with that.”

  His older brother hurried forward and took the spoon and bowls from her hand. The old woman straightened and propped her hands on her hips. “Thank you again. My, you boys are so kind.”

  Now it was Hugo’s turn to feel sheepish. Geoffrey was the one being helpful, not him. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair and it creaked in response to his shame. He didn’t care if his brother outshined him, but the reminder that he wasn’t pulling his own weight was like a punch to the chest.

  No matter where they went, what pack they visited, or what family they stayed with, Hugo always seemed to be the leech, sucking off the provisions of others while his brother did his best to be productive.

  He let out a sigh and looked around for something to keep his hands occupied when the old woman came to sit with him at the dining table. The top rocked to one side as she leaned her thin, frail arms on the edge.

  “What brings you two this far? You do not look Russian.”

  Hugo glanced to his brother, half expecting him to answer, but he was too preoccupied fishing out the chunks of meat from the broth that they couldn’t drink. When he didn’t speak, he replied, “We’re looking for something.”

  Her old face split in a grin. “What is it you’re looking for?”

  Once more, Hugo looked to his brother, but decided to answer her to the best of his knowledge. “We’re looking for a wolf that’s said to embody the Spirit of Peace. We want to find it and petition it to help the world. I don’t know what kind of news you receive way out here, but your country isn’t exactly doing well. Neither is the rest of Europe and the orient. Wars, famine, disease, violence, it’s all tearing the world apart. It’s only getting worse now that we’re discovering new places to conquer.”

  The old woman nodded as if she understood exactly what he was talking about. “I have seen my fair share of the terrible world we live in. Why do you think I choose to live so far from everything? It’s much quieter out here. No one disturbs me, but then I have no one to talk to.”

  Geoffrey glanced over his shoulder and there was a pained look of sympathy in the way he regarded the woman. “I’m sure it must be lonely for you,” he said. “What happened to your husband?”

  She let out a heavy sigh and looked down to her neatly folded hands. The skin that stretched across her knuckles was so thin he could see her dark veins underneath. “He’s been gone for ten years now. A hunter took him from me one night. If he hadn’t led the hunter away from the house, I would have been killed as well. Somedays, I wish I had.”

  Geoffrey finished spilling the contents of the stew into the bowls and came to the table to distribute them. Hugo, heedless of manners, took his bowl and pinched the bits of tough meat between his fingers before popping them into his mouth. His brother went hunting for utensils in the cabinet hutch behind them.

  “He didn’t leave you with any sons to take care of you?” Hugo asked with his mouth full.

  She smiled sweetly. “He did. Three boys and two girls, but they are all grown now and living their own lives. My three boys were taken in by a pack closer to Moscow when we lived there. When the tsar came to power, we left them behind. The girls are married with their own families. I could have never asked them to follow. It was just me and my husband for the longest time.”

  Geoffrey took a seat beside the woman and dug into his portion of meat. As meager as it was, Hugo considered it to be filling enough and seasoned well. It
beat raw rabbit any day. The old woman didn’t partake in her soup, not even after Geoffrey slipped her a spoon. Instead, she stared down at the grainy table surface, a faraway look in her eyes as if she were thinking of better times.

  “I think you made the right decision to leave Moscow,” the older brother said. “When we were there a couple of weeks ago, another riot was breaking out at the Kremlin.”

  She shook her head. “Such tragedy and hatred. Senseless. All of it.”

  “We agree,” Hugo said. “That’s why we’re trying to find this wolf. Have you seen any around lately that might be traveling outside of a pack? Maybe a pure white one?”

  Geoffrey shot him a harsh look, silently reprimanding him for pushing the subject too hard. He stuffed his mouth with meat again to keep himself from saying any more.

  The old woman tapped her pursed lips with her fingernail in thought and then nodded. “I do recall one not too long ago. It came close to the house, but wouldn’t come into the clearing at first. I had to coax it with a bit of meat first.”

  “Was it white?” Geoffrey asked, now suddenly eager.

  “It was,” she said with a nod. “I’m sure of it. I remember that clearly because most of the wolves around here are darker than she was.”

  “She?” Hugo mumbled.

  The old woman grinned. “Yes. I believe it was a girl. There was a softness in her green eyes, just like a lady’s would be.”

  Geoffrey and Hugo quickly looked to each other. No natural wolf had green eyes. That must have been the Spirit they were looking for.

  “How long ago did you say that was?”

  She flipped her hand dismissingly. “Oh, perhaps a week. Maybe two.”

  Hugo let out a disappointed breath. “It could be anywhere by now.”

  The woman turned to Geoffrey and patted his shoulder. “Not to worry, myshka,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll be able to track her down. It has barely rained since then.”

  Any rain was bad rain when it came to tracking. Drenching the earth in water was the best way to lose a trail. That wolf was as good as gone. Unless it decided to stick around and claim this territory as its own. Yet, would the wolf have the same instincts, given that it was the vessel for the Spirit? It might roam just as wild as a creature not bound to territory lines.