by SJ Himes
“There are places, even here in the New World, that are touched by the Great Mother,” she murmured. “Places that She has appeared, or blessed for reasons unknown to mortals. This is one such place. Humans knew it as sacred long before wolfkin migrated to this continent. We found it not long after Black Pine and her lesser clans took over this land.”
The darkness receded. They stood at the edge of a wide clearing, a deep bowl cut into the earth with high sides reinforced by large blocks of stone and clay. At least a hundred feet across, and maybe twenty feet deep, the space at the bottom was filled with gravel and sand, coated in a windswept swath of ice and snow. The pines towered high overhead, blocking out the sky and most of the wind, though stray, thin breezes cut through the night air. Silence echoed, their misty breaths loud in the night.
It was a pit, an old stadium reminiscent of coliseums in the Old World. Seating was tiered around the edge of the lowest part of the pit, covered in moss and roots from the trees, the forest reclaiming the efforts of man and wolfkin. Two breaks were built into the pit on opposite sides, black holes that presumably lead out from somewhere nearby, allowing combatants to enter separately. A breathless quality held sway, and not even the creaking of boughs laden with ice or the heavy beat of Kane’s heart disturbed the atmosphere of expectancy and infinite patience.
“Come, this way,” Andromeda motioned, tugging gently. Heart in his throat, Kane followed, nerves tingling along his spine and shoulders. Instinct told him they were being watched, but his senses said they were alone but for some small rodents and a pair of ravens in the trees.
Andromeda led him away from the pit, around a monolith and into a grove of pines, the space beneath the giant trees free of snow, thick with spent needles in hues of pale gold and deep red. The darkness was nearly total, but the iron cage wedged between boulders and tree trunks made his heart skip a beat.
“I’m not an animal,” Kane gasped out, for the first time feeling a trickle of concern. He was rarely worried for himself, his strength and regard saved for those under his protection, and he was left adrift for a moment before he felt Ghost reaching out to him. Wordless affection and concern from his little wolf gave him pause; his emotions were causing Ghost to be afraid, and Kane yanked himself back under control. His mate’s well being was paramount—Kane could handle a little rough treatment.
“We are all of us more animal than many are comfortable admitting,” Andromeda said, their steps muffled by the pine needles underfoot. “It is the suppression of one side of our nature that leads to the conflict with the other. Prejudice is a human failing, and the wolfkin have made it their own. The bias against shaman and alpha pairings has led to more than one pair being slain. Our Great Mother meant for the gifts to be sundered, not the wolves.”
“What?” Kane said, shocked.
“Surely you didn’t think, that out of the thousands of years and countless wolfkin born, that you and your little wolf were the first shaman and alpha to fall in love? Love knows no gender, youngling. You are not the first alpha to love a shaman, and you and Ghost will not be the last pair bound by love. I have never heard of a pair bound by love and Goddess, but even in my long life I have missed many things.” Andromeda chided him, and Kane shut his mouth, pressing his lips together. “I am old, youngling. I was born in the shadow of the Sundering, a generation past the sweeping genocides perpetrated by the War Wolves, the omnipotent alphas of old. My father was one of the First Shamans.”
Kane stared at Andromeda, left speechless. If her father was one of the First Shamans, then the White Wolf, this small and beautiful female beta, was the oldest living creature on the planet. Her age would rival the years of redwoods and the hidden leviathans that slumbered in the depths of the deepest oceans. Stormcloud, her father, had been one of the oldest wolfkin in their recorded history, and his daughter was nearly as ancient.
“Has a pair survived?” Kane asked, afraid of her answer. “A shaman and an alpha that loved each other. Has any pair survived?”
“History would tell you that no such pair has existed. But memory tells me you should have hope, youngling. Sacrifice, some greater than others was required, but some pairs have escaped prejudice and the retributions of the clans. Just as some have died or been broken apart by fear and disapproval.”
“Ghost is my hope,” Kane said as Andromeda opened the cage, hinges screeching, rust flakes falling from the thick bars. “Goddess bound or not, I’d do anything for him.”
“Hold onto that hope, Kane of Black Pine,” she replied, unlocking the restraints on his wrists. “It may yet see you through. Now strip and Change—you’ll bear the elements better in wolf form. Your guards approach, and they won’t care for your comfort as I do.”
Kane stripped, Andromeda putting his boots and clothes under a rocky overhang out of the elements. Kane Changed, his massive wolf form coming over him in one smooth wave. It was effortless to him as breathing; he shook out his fur, his long tail sweeping through the air. Andromeda smiled down at him, though by not much. He was nearly eye to eye with the clan leader in this form; he had yet to meet another wolfkin who matched him in size. The clan leader from Dread Clam might match him, though Kane hadn’t the occasion to see for himself.
His ears swiveled as the padding of wolfkin paws through snow reached him. Kane entered the cage, turning around in time for Andromeda to close the door and lock it, the antique lock dropping more dark rust flakes to the pine needles when she forced it shut. Several wolfkin all in their wilder forms loped into the small clearing, growling in aggression and satisfaction when they saw him locked away. These were greater alphas all—and he knew none of them. It made sense though—it would hardly be wise for the Heir of Black Pine to be guarded by his own wolves.
Fingers scratched behind his ear, and Kane leaned into Andromeda’s hand. A few wolves growled at the sign of affection, but Kane was thankful for it. Andromeda’s support may mean the difference between life and death. Her fingers found a sensitive spot behind his ear, and he sighed, relaxing despite the tense situation.
*I’ll see how your mate fairs, youngling. Keep your communication to him minimal—we don’t want anyone in the honor guard or Tribunal to listen in,* the White Wolf advised, and Kane nodded, a single dip of his muzzle. She scratched his head once more, then walked away, the wolfkin males parting with alacrity.
Not a one dared to make eye contact with the Red Fern Clan Leader—they may feel safe enough to growl and snap at Kane with him behind bars, but Andromeda was flat out scary. Back straight and steps effortless, Andromeda left him alone in the clearing, and his guards turned their regard to him, teeth bared, ears flat.
Kane dropped his head, hackles rising, and let out a deep, low rumble, so deep a human ear would miss it completely. Several of the greater alphas around his cage stepped back, wariness entering their eyes. A few braved his ire, and snapped at him, though such a show of bravado was meaningless several feet away with iron bars between them.
He sniffed at them in disdain, dismissing them completely, turning in a circle several times before settling down in the soft pines needles that covered the floor of his cell. Kane ignored their grumbling, and closed his eyes, mind centered inwards, where Ghost burned silver-white and pure.
Finding His Feet
“Let me go!” Ghost snapped, swinging wide, his fist missing Michael’s face by an inch when the older shaman ducked. Ghost scurried away, his back to the wall of the kitchen in Andromeda’s cabin.
Michael put his hands up, fingers open, and tried to calm him. “Luca, please, relax. No one is going to hurt you.”
“What have they done to my mate?” Ghost snarled, lips pulled back, his teeth gritted. He growled, his chest rumbling, and Ghost curled his claws into his palms. His wilder side was close, so very close to erupting, though every time he tried to Change, Michael snuffed out his attempts with a quick touch of his hand. “Where is Ka
ne?”
“Alpha Kane is where all criminals should be when charged with blasphemy,” Heromindes declared, stepping into the kitchen from the hall, the other Tribunal members behind him. Caius stood at his shoulder, looking as displeased as Ghost was feeling. “He hasn’t been harmed, though the same cannot be said for you.”
“He has never harmed me!” Ghost shouted, and the walls shook, vibrating from the force of his words. Michael moved towards him, hand up, and Ghost dodged his former friend’s touch, not wanting his abilities to be extinguished again. Whatever Michael was doing was siphoning his power away, leaving him weaponless unless he Changed, and Michael seemed to know exactly when Ghost was about to attempt it. Ghost snapped his jaws, fangs elongated, and crouched against the stove and cabinets, wishing he wasn’t cornered.
“He has no control over his abilities. He is too young—he’s gone feral away from our kind! Restrain him!” Heromindes ordered, gesturing to Michael. The older shaman looked surprised by such a command, hands clenching for a second before looking at Ghost again.
“Touch me and I’ll take your hand off,” Ghost growled past his fangs, and his eyes glowed silver and white.
“He’s an untrained whelp! Restrain him!” Heromindes shouted, pointing at Ghost, and a few guards moved past him and came at Ghost. Michael was pushed out of the way, and Caius yelled at Heromindes to stop, but no one listened.
An alpha loomed over him, blocking out the light. A big hand took his upper arm in a harsh grip, trying to yank him to his feet. Ghost roared again, the walls and floor shivering, and his free hand came up in a fist, punching the alpha in the chest. There was a snap and flash, the air stunk of ozone. The alpha flew back, barreling into his comrades, and shouts came from everyone as chaos erupted.
Caius pushed Heromindes back into the hall, and alpha guards boiled into the room. Michael tried to shout over them all, yelling at them to stop. There was a moment where the way to the other door in the dining room was clear, and Ghost took his chance, leaping up and over the counter. He cleared the table, kicking off his shoes as he sprinted out into the hall, voices raised behind him. He found his wolf form in the swiftest of thoughts, his reality changing in a swath of silver and white energy. He skittered to a halt on the hardwood floors before he slammed into the wall, and made to run down the hall, deeper into the cabin. There must be a back door out of the large home. If there wasn’t, he would make one.
There were shouts and cries of shock and anger, Caius was calling for him by his old name, Ghost ignored them all. Claws tearing into the smooth floors, Ghost ran, far enough ahead of his aggressors that he knew he could escape. He would find his mate, and they would leave. The idiocy of his people left him disillusioned and angry—their soulbond was Goddess blessed and sacred, any wolfkin who refused to see the truth suffered from a condition no shaman could cure. Even Ghost knew stupidity was impossible to treat unless the afflicted made the choice to open their mind and learn.
A figure moved in front of him, he was about to swerve around whoever it was when a flash of golden white light winked and glowed for a second. He leaned back, sitting in his haunches to avoid slamming into Andromeda. She stood tall in hallway, River at her side, the siblings well-matched in physical attributes and steely miens. Ghost scrambled to a halt at her feet, and she moved him behind her. She hissed at him to be still and Ghost pressed himself to the back of her legs, peering around her at the group thundering down the hall in pursuit.
“Enough,” she whispered, but the strength behind her voice echoed through the house. Ghost’s ears itched, and he shook his head. The pack of alphas halted a few feet away, their angry and excited state evaporating at the sight of the clan leader’s deathly glare.
“Enough,” she said again, just as low, but her words reached every pair of ears in the hall. “This is my home. My children live here, my grandcubs live here. This is my den! Mine! I may owe allegiance to Black Pine, but this is my den. I rule within these walls! Enough!”
Ghost dropped to his belly, whining. Caius stood to the side, his back to the wall, chagrin on his face and the way he held his shoulders. Heromindes stood shocked, mouth working but no sound emerging, the other Tribunal members were backing away, caution in their eyes and wary nerves in their motions. The alpha guards froze, too close to move away without drawing her eye or ire; they remained unmoving, vibrating with apprehension.
Ghost saw the White Wolf, the soulstar in her core that made her a terror, even among her own kind. There was a very real and dangerous reason why Andromeda hadn’t been unseated in her rule over Red Fern—she was Power. The wolfkin world saw an unusually powerful female beta, her wolf-form was immense and lethal, and the moniker of White Wolf was legendary across the globe. Yet Ghost saw the truth, and knew her for what she truly was—why she hid the fact that she was a female alpha, Ghost may never know, but it was not his secret to tell. He was thankful for her strength, for when faced with it, the instincts and temperaments of those in the hall cooled rapidly. Ghost may have been forced to commit more violence to keep himself free, and as his desire to flee faded, his cooler head regained control, he would have regretted hurting those only following orders.
“Ana…” Heromindes began, and her eyes snapped with glacial blue when she looked his way. He dropped the condescending tone, and tried again. “Ana, the youngling needs to be restrained until the shamans can examine him. He is untrained, and we all know how dangerous untrained shamans can be. Let them do their duty.”
“Ghost is perfectly in control—his mentor in the shamanic arts exceeds even the combined skills of those here now. His actions have been a direct response to unwarranted attempts to restrict his movements and the foolish actions against his mate. Shaman River has already told you all that Ghost’s will is his own, yet you disregard his testimony.”
“Ana, River is indeed a formidable shaman, but surely the combined skills of our shamans are more than up to the task of restraining the youngling until he can be taught, and an outside opinion as to the youngling’s mental state is prudent,” Royrick said, moving up until he was next to Heromindes. Andromeda turned her cool gaze to the new clan leader, and Royrick smiled nervously back at her.
“I wasn’t referring to River when I mentioned Ghost’s mentor,” Andromeda said. She looked past them all to the shamans clustered at the back. “If our spiritual kin would only open their hearts and listen, they would know the truth, and this would all be unnecessary.”
Ghost could hear it. He had always heard the wind, the whispers that sifted and flowed through the quiet and peaceful moments of his life. The wind was there when his gifts woke after long years of playing at a mere creature, a simple wolf, and each time he listened, She spoke, and his powers grew. The whisperer was there now, and he watched the faces of those gathered in the hall, wondering if any of them would hear Her.
The alphas wore blank or confused expressions, and Ghost dismissed them quickly. He stared at Michael, the other shamans at his back, and Ghost saw a brief flicker of consternation flash across the older shaman’s eyes. Michael was Gray Shadow’s last apprentice; one thing Ghost recalled very clearly about his old life was that Gray Shadow never left his students wanting in terms of education—Michael gasped, eyes wide in alarm, and he strode forward, gripping Royrick’s arm and whispering in his ear. Ghost shifted on his paws, claws digging into the wood floorboards, ready to run. His eyes darted from face to face, wondering if the chase was to begin again.
A warm and steady wave of affection and support swept through his mind, soothing his spirit. Kane was with him and was unharmed. Unhappy and frustrated, but Kane was not hurt and safe for the moment. Ghost got a glimpse of where his mate was being kept, but he pulled back from their connection when Andromeda tugged on his ear. Caution was best—many greater alphas could break into any mental connection, even private ones, and overhear the thoughts of the wolves involved.
�
��We need to talk,” Royrick announced, gesturing to his fellow Tribunal members, Michael hovering at his side. Heromindes frowned, but Royrick shook his head firmly, lifting his hand and putting it on Hero’s shoulder, moving him back down the hall. Caius stared at Ghost, he felt his grandfather’s perusal on his mind as a heavy weight. Ghost growled, pushed past his reserves of patience, hitting back with a mental shove, forcing his grandfather out of his head. Caius glowered at him, and Ghost lifted his lip in a defiant curl.
Caius surprised him, though. His grandfather smiled, and chuckled, breaking the remaining tension in the hall. “Leave my grandson alone. Shaman River and the White Wolf have him well in hand. His mate is in custody, so he won’t run.”
Caius gestured to the honor guards in the hall, and they grumbled under their breath, but they followed Caius down the hall to the large living room in the front of the cabin.
Ghost released a heavy sigh, relaxing. He sat on his rear, tail thumping on the floor in thanks when Andromeda scratched behind his ears.
“We need to talk as well,” River said quietly to his sister, and Andromeda nodded.
“Come along, youngling,” Andromeda said. Ghost got up and followed as the two older wolfkin walked down the hall away from the front of the cabin. Ghost’s guess about the back door was confirmed when he was led to a small room full of boots and heavy coats with a door that opened out underneath one of the bedroom balconies overlooking the rear of the cabin. The overhang kept the snow and ice off the patio stones, and Andromeda closed the door behind them, the wind quiet and still.
