by Renée Jaggér
She seized the opportunity amidst the brief and temporary silence to declare that she’d made a decision.
“I choose both sides,” she said, “because the reasons behind this fight were never explained to me. Why are they fighting? I don’t know that, so I can’t know who to side with. Shamans aren’t supposed to just throw magic around and kill everyone whenever something seems to go wrong, are they? And we’re not just guardians, either. We’re supposed to…be wise, lead, arbitrate disputes, and that sort of thing.”
The spectral wolf listened patiently, and the terrible vision of the battle remained a pale and distant echo of the vividness it had had a moment ago.
“You didn’t tell me what led to this clusterfuck,” Bailey continued. “You just threw a bunch of random violence in front of my face. If I’m going to be a spiritual leader to my people and all that, I can’t do reckless, stupid things. Even if I’ve been reckless in the past, which I’m aware I have, I have to step up now and do things the smart way. That includes figuring out the sources of problems and hearing the different sides of the story so I can lessen the worst of the damage or solve the conflict. Tell me I’m wrong.”
The void grew quiet as the image of the battle vanished.
“You are not wrong,” said the wolf. “You have proven that you possess the beginnings of the wisdom you’ll require.”
Then it dissolved back into a blotchy mass of light that then faded, and the blackness swirled. The girl felt like she was falling, only to sit straight up and open her eyes.
She gasped. It was over, and she was back in the temple gallery amidst the statues and blue torches. Her wolves had formed a protective circle around her unconscious body through the ordeal. They all stared in wonder.
“I’m okay,” she told them as her racing pulse slowed to normal.
Will knelt beside her. “Good. We were worried, but we figured you could do it. You’ve been out for…I dunno, at least an hour. I can’t tell time in this place. And that ghost-wolf thing vanished at the same time you passed out. What happened?”
She was about to explain to the best of her ability when the echoing phantasmal voice rang through the hall.
“We were inside her,” it stated. “Within her mind and heart. She has been found worthy thus far.”
Faces broke into grins or relaxed with the dismissal of tension. A few big hands patted the young woman on the back.
“But,” the spirit added, “the internal test is but the first. Next comes the test of flesh and bone, muscle, and sinew—and we shall see if your worth is equal in that realm. Proceed!”
Without further explanation, the widely dispersed sapphire glow reconstituted in lupine form and led them under a stone arch into a narrow passage that led to someplace deeper in the temple. It was lit only by residual light from the large chamber, and there was barely room for them to walk single file. Bailey was behind the apparition, and her Weres came after her in tight formation.
When the passage was almost totally black, a new source of light as blue as the specter appeared ahead. After moving toward it, they emerged into a room the same size as the previous one and showing a similar aesthetic, although the details were noticeably different.
Low, broad-rimmed stone bowls lined the sides of the floor, and blue flames burned within each container. The fuel looked like piles of silvery-black crystals. Here there were no pillars dividing the room into informal sectors. Instead, there were broad pedestals topped with more statues.
Bailey peered at them as she wandered in. If the previous chamber had been devoted to humanoid shamans and normal wolves, this one belonged to lycanthropes in their powerful animalistic forms. Many of the sculptures looked familiar.
“Holy shit,” Will gasped. “Are these…”
Everyone knew the answer. They gazed upon representations of the great and influential alphas of the past, fighters, leaders, and heroes. Legendary figures, all.
Roger gestured to an especially massive wolf statue. “Look. It’s Lonchagne du Astrom, the guy who fought off about a hundred pissed-off raiders who were trying to mob his settlement. That was in Brittany, I think, back in the goddamn Dark Ages. Eighth Century or thereabouts.”
It was true, Bailey realized. Her history was fuzzy, but now that the young man had pointed it out, she did recognize the figure. And she was impressed with Roger’s knowledge. He was smarter than he’d seemed at first.
The rest of the Weres fanned out around the chamber, examining the other statues and naming the ones they knew, whose deeds were every bit as illustrious as Lonchagne’s. Their awe and excitement were palpable; this was a museum to the heroism of the lycanthrope species.
Bailey realized she couldn’t see the guiding spirit anymore, but its voice reverberated over the stones at that moment.
“You revere them as good Weres should,” it intoned. “But how would you fare against them in combat?”
Oh, shit! Bailey almost slapped herself in the face.
Out loud, she shouted, “Gather over here! By me!” hardly a second too soon.
The statue of Lonchagne was cracking apart. Or rather, its surface was cracking like the shell of an egg, revealing shining fur and rippling sheets of muscle beneath. The stone pieces struck the floor, sending vibrations through it. Then a low growl sounded in the dank subterranean air.
The eleven young Weres formed a cluster near the chamber’s entrance just in time to see the legendary beast’s head turn to them. The eyes burned with a bestial but righteous fury, primitive and unwavering. Then it pounced.
A huge streak like tarnished silver was all they saw at first, then half of them reeled away, spilling out around the pedestals and narrowly avoiding the braziers of blue flame. The others, realizing battle was unavoidable, shifted into wolf form.
Bailey spun toward Lonchagne, who was half again more massive than the largest Were she could recall ever seeing. He was probably larger than her bestial form. One of Roger’s boys was backed against the wall, and the legendary wolf’s jaws were open and ready to strike.
The werewitch threw everything she had at the monster. A horizontal tornado of wind, fire, and electrified water spiraled out from her hands and smashed into the giant wolf’s haunches, kicking up so much visual interference that she couldn’t tell what effect it might have had. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw her companions leaping around on four legs in a mad frenzy of fear and belligerence.
The smoke cleared. Roger’s friend had finally jumped clear and shifted, and Lonchagne was unharmed. All Bailey had done was to draw the beast’s attention toward herself.
“Crap,” she breathed.
Suddenly Lonchagne was airborne and Bailey hurled herself aside, rolling under and then behind one of the fire bowls. The air whistled as the fangs of the wolf passed behind her head, and his tremendous mass bowled her toward the wall. He crashed into it with enough force to make the ground shudder.
Three of the Weres pounced on Lonchagne, biting and clawing at his face, only to be shouldered or swatted aside with ease and tumble against the stones. Seeing this, Bailey realized their foe could have killed them yet hadn’t.
On the other hand, they couldn’t beat him with their current tactics. Especially not when her magic seemed to have no effect.
Another statue was cracking too. Fighting two creatures of Lonchagne’s power would be impossible.
She lunged forward, aiming to fight fire with proverbial fire. Her bones and tendons and muscles elongated, black hair sprouted through her skin, and her skull reconfigured itself. By the time her forelegs hit the ground, she’d grown big enough to challenge even Lonchagne. Her eyes went red, filtering her vision through a crimson screen.
Her jaws lashed out as she bounded forward and seized their enemy by his left rear ankle, holding him back from his next charge and almost tripping him. In a second or two, he’d turn on her and crush her, but it was enough time for Roger to leap at Lonchagne’s head, locking his claws around the hug
e wolf’s neck and pulling him off-balance.
Bailey sent her mind out, using what magic she could to communicate with her followers via telepathy.
Rally by me, she called, using psychic vibrations rather than sound. We need to fight as a unit. Take out the legs while the rest pile all over him.
Three Weres seized Lonchagne’s other limbs, and another five slammed into his head, neck, and torso. Behind them, the second statue had just finished coming to life, and a third was cracking as well.
Lonchagne roared and snarled, heaving his massive body from side to side, but he dislodged only two of his attackers. The rest bore him to the ground, overwhelming him with their numbers and coordinated ferocity. Suddenly the monster was still, as though stone once again.
Then the second of the legendary wolves slammed into their midst, with the third close behind.
Again! Bailey cried. Anyone left over after we immobilize that one, go after the next one and protect the first group! Harry and harass but don’t engage until the rest are freed up.
Somehow, it worked, though at least three of her companions suffered injuries. But they had a frenzy of momentum behind them, and they’d found an effective strategy.
One by one, the ancient heroes went down, each one more quickly than the last, even as the statues came to life with increasing frequency. Mere minutes later, it seemed, Bailey’s pack stood victorious over a dozen large, immobile wolf shapes.
The werewitch shifted back into her human form, and most of those who followed her did likewise. Roger, who’d fought with a level of abandon that went straight past bravery into craziness, was badly bruised and slashed. He probably had broken ribs, and he had lost enough blood to be getting lightheaded. Bailey helped two others bind his wounds with his ripped-up shirt.
“Well, Roger,” Bailey told him, “you sure as shit proved you’re willing to get your ass kicked on my behalf, and we wouldn’t have won without you. Stay near the back until we get through this. You’ve done your part for today.”
“I’ll do as you say,” he gasped, “but I can still fight.”
She narrowly avoided laughing, although it would have been a nervous chuckle since he was at serious risk in his current state. “In that case, you can be the last man standing if it comes to that. But you’re off the front lines until further notice. You’ll thank me later.”
The flickering azure radiance around them thickened near the center of the chamber, and again the wolf spirit addressed them.
“Congratulations,” it said. “You have demonstrated a key fact—the greatest strength of both shaman and alpha is in the strength they give to the pack. Unity of Weres against outside threats, cooperation and coordination, is mighty enough to overcome legends. The greatest and most powerful of past alphas can go only so far without the other Weres behind and beside them.”
Bailey nodded, knowing she couldn’t claim this victory as hers alone.
“And,” the spirit extrapolated, “you, Bailey, might be a werewitch, but magic is not the only way to solve problems. It is rare, and you can fill that niche when you must, but you cannot eschew the part of you that is a shifter just like the rest of your people. Use that ability too, and rely on the strength of the group. Now, rest, recover from your wounds, and think about what I have said.”
Relieved, they all slumped against the walls, restful peace replacing the tension of battle.
The wolf spirit remained silent and placid near the center as time passed. It felt like hours, and soon the pack had the sensation of having woken up from a long night’s sleep. Even Roger seemed slightly better.
Bailey blinked, wondering if some obscure spell had further distorted the Other’s already warped temporal regimen.
She intoned, “Is everyone okay for the next trial?”
“Hell, yeah,” Will told her. “I feel better than I did when we started.”
Others laughed and agreed. Roger again asked to be out front, but Bailey had to gently refuse. For all that he’d supernaturally improved, he was still the most beaten-up of the eleven of them.
The phantasmal guide moved closer to the group, but it made no further announcements.
“Okay,” Bailey said, “we’re ready. What’s next?”
To her consternation, the spirit didn’t answer her question, but only drifted a little nearer, its lupine face forming out of the shifting mass of light as it examined her.
“Now,” it began, in a softer voice than it had used thus far, “we wish to know more about you, Bailey Nordin. We’ve tested the raw mettle of your body and your soul and your wiliness to fight together with our kind. But we are curious about other things.”
She shifted her stance, mildly uncomfortable with the notion that she might have to talk about deeply personal matters in front of everyone. The spirit hadn’t, after all, taken her to an inner mental plane as it had during the first trial. This was happening right here, with ten young men standing around listening.
What if it asks about Roland? If it does, well, then I guess it’s time for everyone to learn. I meant to tell them anyway.
“Bailey,” asked the ghost, “what is the story of your life? Who are you? Tell us. We wish to know about your upbringing. The fears and insecurities you’ve always struggled with, beyond your desire to avoid marriage. Your feelings about your place among your people, and your relationships with humans. The greatest challenges you face these days in your corner of Earth in whatever year it currently is. Everything.”
She closed her eyes a few seconds, took a deep breath, and forged ahead.
For starters, she gave the spirit a brief summary of her early existence. Basic stuff, like how she was born into the Nordin family, who’d lived in the Hearth Valley of Oregon for at least five generations, having come to America from somewhere in Sweden over a century ago. She knew practically nothing about her ancestors’ history in the old country, except that lycanthropy went back as far as anyone could remember.
She related a bit about her school days and what she was like as a kid—a tomboy who mostly played with males, Weres, and humans alike, at least until puberty. Then the dynamics had shifted, and the Weres all wondered when she’d grow out of it. The rejection she’d suffered for her being unable to shift, which, by the standards of her people, was a disability.
That drove her to associate more with humans. Aside from her brothers, of course.
She gave the short version of how, ever since she’d graduated, life had seemed like an ongoing exercise in pretending the doom of a forced mating wasn’t hanging over her head. Half the time, she was angry and looking for excuses to get into fights, hoping it might prove something and convince people to leave her alone.
Then she’d finally met Roland and discovered her latent powers. In the space of a couple months, everything had changed.
The blue light around the spirit gently pulsed like a heartbeat as it listened.
“Roland is important to you?” it asked.
Bailey had expected a question like that, so she didn’t blush or flinch. “Yeah,” she admitted. “We’ve gotten pretty close. He’s been by my side through all of this, but even if he wasn’t around, I’d want to keep stepping up and doing things right. To the best of my ability.”
Then she offered a shrug. “As always with stuff like this, though, it’s easier said than done.”
The moon-like eyes of the wolf closed for a moment before reopening. “That is commendable, Bailey. You were not originally chosen for this path. No one led you down the road to shamanhood until very recently. Under normal circumstances, you would have begun your training at a far younger age. Many packs select their prospective shamans as children to begin quietly molding them well ahead of the point when they must undergo the trials.”
She tilted her head vaguely. That’s about what I expected. Something that ought to have a whole upbringing behind it, rather than something you rush through at the last minute like I’ve been doing. Then again, haven’t I always be
en behind everyone else?
The spirit went on, “Selecting potential shamans as children helps ensure they will turn out properly in terms of their personality and mindset and gives them the advantage of preparing for what’s to come as young adults. Of course, no method is perfect. No amount of training can suffice if the child does not have the requisite magical aptitude. Werewitches have the greatest gifts of all. You have taken this as it’s come, remaining brave and earnest, and that will count in your favor.”
“Well, thank you,” Bailey quipped, nudging her toe against the floor.
The wolf turned around. “The next trial awaits. Come this way.”
The werewitch and her pack followed the specter around the flaming bowls and through tumbled wreckage of the chamber, coming at length to the opening of another narrow tunnel. The way it was carved, combined with the lay of shadows versus light in the chamber, had hidden it from sight earlier.
“Proceed,” said the spirit, standing aside as Bailey led the way in. The other ten lycanthropes filed behind, with Roger near the back. Another young man in better condition brought up the rear.
The hallway was not long, and the girl emerged at the other end after what felt like half a minute or less of walking. Once inside the next chamber, she walked a few paces on ahead to give her Weres room. Then she stopped.
The ceiling here was so high she couldn’t see it, lost in the deepening gloom. In fact, there was no obvious lighting, only a faint luminescence that seemed to emanate from the high, flat, smooth stone walls, which rose tight to either side. They had passed through a short, narrow hall into what looked like a higher, wider one. It extended straight ahead but might have bent around some distance onward. It was hard to tell.
As the last of the Weres wandered into the new passage, the grinding of stone came from behind them, followed by a loud crash that shook the ground. Bailey spun.
A slab had fallen in the narrow corridor. They were trapped here, with no way to go but forward.
* * *
Madame Villalobos would have preferred to have a coven of at least thirteen witches with her, but seven would have to suffice. The Order’s personnel were already badly taxed by the burgeoning conflict. In this case, given the importance of the targets, they had subscribed to a philosophy of quality over quantity. That gave her greater confidence in their success.
