Shifters: Wolfsbane

After I had started writing the Confessions serial I noticed and became interested in one of the offshoot characters. I wanted to know more about him and his long, very long life. What he had done, who he had loved.

So I wrote a kind of back story from one of the more turbulent times in his past. I started this as I had written the vampire story, as a serial on facebook. I had intended it as a three part sort of thing, but by the time I had finished the second part I had begun this book and decided, rightly or wrongly to abandon the format and just write the whole thing as a single story. I finished it and sent it to a friend of mine for publication in their magazine (Tales from the Greenmantle. Find it on facebook) who accepted it and gave me some feedback. I took this on board and have ended up with the result you have here. I have plans to write another story like this for inclusion in THE MUSE.

The freezing air, deadly cold to a humans lungs, rasped from the animals nostrils in a warm steam, other, similar clouds pouring from others of its kind around it, hot air freezing again as soon as it touched the leaders fur.

An impudent snarl from the shadows caught his attention. He answered it with a lower, more menacing growl.

 Stay, it said.

 
The leader turned back to his vigil on the small building in the clearing, just in time to see a tall figure emerge from the shadow lands at either side. 
A nervous shuffle behind him, more from fear than from impatience. he ignored it. The others would remain with him no matter how they felt.
There was a faint patter of urine on the hard snow.
The figure stopped mid stride.
Time itself froze for an instant.

 Then the figure moved on, slowly, deliberately, its every move masked perfectly in stealthy glide.
The leader watched, tense, but ready for any sudden movement. If there was any indication of threat the first animal that would die in great pain would be the dog who pissed itself. If not, then the cur would die later, at his pleasure.
The figure reached the door of the building without incident and paused as it waiting to be invited in.
There was no sigh of relief as the door opened and the figure passed inside, but the pack felt the tension release its grip on the leader, who, standing stock still scanned the area for others that might have accompanied the stranger.
Satisfied, he looked back at the others and gave a low grunt, his eye lingering a moment longer on the suddenly worried canine who could not control his fear. Then he sat down to wait. 
The others followed suit.

The moon had moved only a few degrees from overhead before the door opened again, 

light spilling out on to the frozen crust, the dark figure passing out over it a moment later to disappear into the forest. swiftly and silently like a lazy breeze. The door stayed open. Welcoming the next visitor.
As one, the pack began moving from the safe shadows of the undergrowth: a black object, changing shape as it moved along the ground until six men and one woman stood naked in the light. The leader, a huge burly black haired man with a deep scar running down his flank was ushered in by an unseen host, the others following in single file until all were inside.

The door shut itself, leaving only the light of the full moon to guide the others who would surely soon arrive at the place where it was prophesied the one who would unite the races was being born.
The one that now lay in the arms of the smiling woman. The woman who was not one of them, but dared to take a mate from their blood. Not just any, but one of leadership, proud on two legs and four. The father stood by, watching them with a keen eye. Watching for one wrong move that would result in instant death for the offender.
The visitor knew this. He could smell it; they all could. Numbers were no match for one such as this, so they would all have to be careful, tactful if they were to accomplish the task they were sent out to do.

Each paid their respects, in human form, then returned to the door as wolf, the leader last to see the bundle that caused his sire such worry. 
Due given, he joined the others. The door opened of it's own will and they filed out into the cold one by one. The leader took one last look, marking his prey for a later time, then left.

The pack meandered for a while in the forest. No direction, no purpose. The others knew their leader was worried. Each had been present when the dark figure had spoke to him, to them. None knew who, or what the figure was, but each were certain, with an animals instinct that the thing was the real leader, their own just a servant, as they were to him.
And leaders have responsibilities.
Imperceptibly the pack moved away from one animal.


Snow fell.
They wound their way through the trees, single file until they came to the clearing.
The leader held up his hand. A command that was obeyed quickly and without thought, the others staying in the shadows as their leader entered the clearing that none but the chosen may enter.
A figure. tall but of no definite shape stood at the other end. The man slowed his pace, feet crunching softly on the grass that was frozen, only stopping when the figure turned its head towards him.
"To sie robi? "
(Is it done?)
The man replied that it was not.
The figure sighed
"Dlaczego?"
(Why?)
The man could not answer. Fear took hold of him, making his body shiver.
"Nie strach, sluga. masz zrobic najlepiej"
He stopped shaking, relief mellowing his temper.
The shadow spoke again, this time in English
"Come forward Atropos"
Another shape detached itself from the darkness, bringing with it a familiar dread stench.
Dark Angel! ocal nas! thought the man
(A Dark Angel! Save us!)
"Attend to the matter we discussed, while I deal with things here"
The figure bowed, before fading out again the way it came.
The tall shape turned it's attention back to the werewolf.
"You are fewer in numbers I see Palo."
"One of our number had to be made an example of sire" he replied.
'As is proper' replied his Sire.
'Come forward Palo.'
as a dog obeys his master he came forward, each step betraying him to all who could see
'Stop! Now close your eyes'
He did. There was no question of not obeying that voice. 
Besides. He knew he had failed. If he did not die by his masters will, then the pack would tear him apart. It was the way of things.
He did not expect to suffer. All those years of faithful service, man and pup, seeing others go the way he expected. It was different for each one, but he knew that it would be quick and silent, the conviction held him steady, calmed him, suppressed every natural instinct to fight or flee, so that he entered into a kind of trance, a waking death before the true death engulfed him. 
As a consequence of this every sense sharpened. He could smell everything and hear everything to the point where he could smell his own blood, coursing through his soul, ready to be spilled for his master.
There was a noise from the forest, then silence. He waited for the inevitable that came as swift as a wintertime breath.
'Open your eyes child'
From behind him. 
He did as he was asked, ready for what was to come.
No one was there.

In Wolven society, the pack is everything. With no pack the leader is just another dog. The alpha male is just another male who must find another way to live.
Or die.
To this end Palo was driven. The others slaughtered by the being he knew as 'the Sire'. Once an alpha male, now just a dog doing his masters bidding. To kill the prophet. He had failed once and paid the price, now he would not fail again, for to do so meant death, and he was good with this. If he could not be bidden, then he was no use to anyone or anything, in the scheme of things nothing.
So he must succeed,
he must kill the child.
Wretched, mind in turmoil he followed the old scent of his recent past, the trail still warm, scents still fresh and vital, now the only living remainder of a slaughtered clan. His family. His wives, children, brothers and a sister.
All that made him whole as a Wolf and a human being, now gone. Leaving this thing that wore his skin. This thing that thirsted for violence as the hard bodied death givers thirsted for blood.
There would be plenty to give, his and that of his prey, his last act being the fulfilment of his destiny upon this earth. 
The trail ended at the edge of the trees, its continuance to the cottage now masked by many more of others who had visited upon that night but one day ago. But this did not concern him. What he was worried about was the feeling that he had been cheated. 
It seemed that no one was home.
Now enraged he charged from the forest, a man possessed of a wild spirit that emerged from him. Two legs to four, his shouts to snarls and growls. Saliva flew from his jaws as he ran, his head waving from side to side in vigorous denial of what fate had done to him.
But before he could reach the partially open door a heavy hard weight landed on his back and wrapped itself around him. He twisted violently to try to shrug it off, but it only tightened around him,  the life, breaking the bone.
He did the only thing he could, the only thing that was left to him.

The tall figure watched as the wolf swelled, tearing the arms from the Vampire assassin. It was a rare phenomenon that only few had witnessed more than once, and lived. A berserker werewolf was not the sort of animal you wanted to be near when it happened. Anything within smelling distance was apt to get torn apart. Trees, even hardwood have been reduced to matchsticks and houses to rubble. Only one such as he had the ability to evade one such animal. But would he be able to kill one?
Tonight he would find out. All events that had been engineered by him had been preparing for this moment. It didn’t even take much doing, but it did take a lot of planning, and, lets face it, a lot of confidence. Even now the engorged animal was tearing Atropos in half; no great loss, and the house would be next. That he did not want. The animal would be tired after that, quite possibly returning to normal size; again no one knew for sure. Not good enough, he wanted the berserk in full fighting fury before he engaged.
Just before the Wolf could crush Atropos's skull Arthur attacked from the tree tops.

Time moves on.
Rivers run dry, while others spring forth. Even in those dark Pagan woods all changed. All except the cottage.
The ground around it grew wild with green growth. Colour filtering up through the bushes as you came nearer to the ancient stone walls, flowers and plants seeming to need whatever the building provided. Perhaps it was shelter, perhaps it was something else.
This was order in chaos. But in the rules something had to be out of kilter. The exception was one, single yellow flower that grew apart from the rest, stranded in the sea of green where once a mighty animal fell, its sunshine petals deadly to all except the bees that busied themselves amongst it, its roots, even deadlier wrapping themselves around the bones of the animal from which it gets its common name.