Authors: Nonie Wideman,Robyn Wideman
A naked man leaned over the dead human prey. He had held the other wolves at bay to keep the clothing of the lone traveler unripped and unbloodied. He stripped the corpse of its clothes and dressed himself in them. He left the naked corpse. The two companion wolves returned cautiously from their watchful distance. The alpha wolf-man nodded consent. In seconds flesh ripped, bones crunched. The mighty hunters filled their bellies upon the cooling flesh of their human prey. Winged scavengers waited in the trees for their fair share.
The wolf mage, dressed in the dead man’s clothing, walked into the village. He went to the inn, ordered an ale and a hot meal and paid for it with coins he found in the pockets of the wool shirt he wore as if it had been made for him. Indeed, it was a good fit. He struck up a conversation with the chatty little maid, accepted her invitation to share his bed and before he pumped his body into hers, he pumped her for information. She told him all he wanted to know in a trance like state, at first willingly and then out of fear. The mage ravaged her body as a man, giving hope to the young woman that once he was sexually sated, she would escape his bed unharmed. It was not to be so.
The mage turned her face down on the bed. She expected to be penetrated and braced herself for a pain. She was spared the dreaded anticipated pain. The mage allowed the snarling wolf to emerge again. The mage’s mind clamped the wolf’s jaws shut to prevent a blood curdling howl to escape. The wolf clamped his powerful jaws on the terrified maid’s neck, shook her like deer. Her neck snapped. The skilled killer waited till the body went limp. He ate parts of her, the choicest plumpest tender parts and ignored the rest. The mage returned the wolf to a human form. This time, the pain of the transformation was stifled by burying the jaws of the beast into the flesh of the corpse.
The wolf mage cleaned himself, washing the splatters of blood from his chest neck and face, dressed again, and quietly slipped out of the room and disappeared into the night. The wolf had deserved some compensation for hosting a mage, reasoned the mage. The young mage felt no compassion for the little whore maid. She was selling her soul for money, selling out the lives of others for her own selfish desires. She was a predator that had met a stronger predator.
The mage viewed the death of the young woman as part of a cycle of nature. Larger beasts devour smaller beasts. It was the way of predators he mused. He moved through the woods silently, a shadow among the trees, his ears alert, his nose keen with the senses of the wolf he possessed. The mage soon reached the kill site where his wolf companions were sleeping. He again freed the wolf from a human form. The possession of the wolf was terminated.
~
Far away, a young mage awoke from his trance. His companions joined hands with his and they chanted until they saw all he had seen. They decided that the baron’s daughter was as good as a prisoner in the mountain monastery. She would be going nowhere until the spring thaws. They were somewhat satisfied. One mage was not satisfied at all. “You fools. You did not lay eyes on the girl.” He slapped the young mage’s face. “Why did you not possess a raven and fly to the top of the mountain?” He glared at the other mages. “You are stupid fools. We shall tell the baron his daughter is still atop the mountain. We have no more time to waste coddling the baron. The Dark Lord has ordered us to hasten our efforts to infiltrate the surrounding kingdom.” The lesser ranked mages bowed before the powerful mage, critical of their best efforts.
The young mage was exhausted from his possession of the wolf. His face reflected the disappointment he felt at being criticized. It surprised him how physically drained he felt and when he arose from his chair, he needed to urinate. He excused himself and went outside to empty himself. He wondered how many days he had been in the trance. Adjusting his robe to relieve himself his eyes widened as they looked down. The blood splatters on his groin frightened him and excited him at the same time. Animal possession was more than he expected it to be. It would be easy to fall to the lure of hunting, the lure of the immense feeling of power, the god like feeling of watching the life fade from eyes wide with fear as the neck of a victim snapped between powerful animal jaws. Any more experiments with possessing animals would depend on how quickly he recovered his strength he decided. He consoled himself with that feeling of predator power. The powerful mage was unfair with his criticism. He had followed orders, not made the plan. He touched his face where the older mage, Morpheus, had slapped him. He fingered the welts on his face. His lips curled. He snarled like a wolf.
Alas, the young mage waking with a dangerous thirst for power never got a chance to experiment with shifting. The older mages who had strengthened him with loans of their own powers sucked back their powers from him as he slept to regain his strength. They drained him of his life force while he was weak. Drained him until he was a thin shell that shattered to dust when the old mages clapped their hands to signal the end of their power and life draining incantation and spell. He never woke. The older mages felt safer. The balance of power among them remained as it had been, safely divided. The young mage should not have enjoyed his task so much. It made him a threat to be eliminated. It would please the Dark Lord that they punished one of their own, if Morpheus was to report to the Dark Lord of their ineptitude. And so it was again that stronger predators had killed a weaker one. The young mage’s soul was keenly appreciating the irony as his soul drifted to a dark hole that was sucking the last of his essence into the heart of the Dark Master.
Baron Rolfe was informed of Akira’s last known whereabouts by his council of mages. The baron ‘s bloodshot beady eyes narrowed. He called for a map and called for his hunters. It would be a difficult journey but there was a chance when the passes were cleared of snow and ice he could skirt the mountains and be on the side of the mountain Akira would have to descend to get to her mother’s people. He rubbed his hands in anticipation. The troublesome prodigal daughter would be brought home. No girl would make a fool of him he vowed. Perhaps then he could silence the voices that laughed at him and made him look suspiciously at the servants. Their lips were not moving but his ears heard the laughter and snide remarks.
The voices followed him everywhere. Beads of sweat would form upon his forehead for he knew those around him could not hear them. The stupid fools were deaf and thought him drunk when he asked who laughed. He no longer asked who laughed, for he worried they would soon think him mad, and try to usurp him. The sons he boasted about now seemed like vultures waiting for him to die so they could divide the spoils of his estate amongst themselves. His complexion was no longer just ruddy. There was a yellow cast beneath his skin. The whites of his bloodshot eyes were jaundiced looking.
The ruthless baron now slept with his dogs on his bed instead of a wench. The dogs would get blamed for the urine soaked bedding. The servants knew the truth, but wisely cursed the dogs when they refreshed his bedding. Finding Akira would put everything right he told himself as he demanded another bottle of wine.
The servants hurried to give him his bottle for the evening. With any luck, the miserable unpredictable tyrant would pass out for the evening. Rolfe refused to drink from a goblet anymore. Only a cork sealed bottle was acceptable, less chance of an enemy in his household trying to slip poison into his drink. A feeling of impending doom had him in its grip and it had grown stronger every day after Akira had disappeared. Perhaps she is a witch, he thought. Had his own daughter cursed him? Or was his late wife’s ghost trying to drive him mad? The baron was a sick and evil man looking for remedy. He decided Akira was the remedy. That was where the loss of his control had started, with the damned girl. That would be his salvation. The damned girl placed in a locked cell would restore his pride, his authority. With that belief in his diseased brain he passed out. His dogs climbed off the bed and curled in front of the fire hearth. Even his dogs wanted nothing to do with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
T
he monks of the monastery untied the small note tied to the leg of the latest pigeon to arrive at the lofty summit. The note confirmed what they could observe from their vantage point on a clear and sunny spring day. What was spring like weather far below them was yet to be enjoyed atop the mountain. The last icy grip of winter was slipping fast. The veil of white the mountain wore was becoming shorter and shorter. The pass would soon be passable.
The monks, mages, guardians and soon to be new guardians and members of the Order of the White Rose were all feeling the anticipation of a new season, new arrivals, and sad but hopeful departures full of purpose, with assignments to be carried out through the various kingdoms surrounding the mountain home that protected the mages and healers; mages and healers and great thinkers were often persecuted for being what they were. The powerful thinkers among the monks, the academicians and philosophers, wondered how the world could function without magic, without healers and without a society to restore balances of power when power hungry kings, queens and even emperors failed to find and maintain a measure of stability. When men and women with gifts from ancient heritages that may have been other worldly were feared by those without the same gifts, fear and jealousy were often the precursor of persecution. And sometimes the fear was justified when those with bloodlines with gifts used those same gifts for dark purposes.
Great debates, long debates, were made possible from passing time in isolation. Atop the lofty mountain one could not easily escape or ignore the problems at hand. The isolation kept those training and learning any of the arts undistracted while the people below were less likely to worry about fighting while trying to survive the winters. Winter cooled the efforts of those stirring up trouble by making travel more difficult. Preparing for winters busied idle hands and minds. With spring coming, it was time to plant more seeds of reason and tolerance among the population below.
Akira felt the anticipation. She felt hope. She felt strong. Her mother had sent word on wings that she had found refuge with family, and instructed her daughter to travel down the mountain when the passes were open. Lady Shy’s short message came with a caution. Akira would need to travel with Dimitri. Other terse messages carried on wings warned Lady Shy that Baron Rolfe was on the hunt and taking the long way around the mountains. Akira was to accept the hospitality of Dimitri and his household until mother and a contingent of soldiers could provide safety, and with luck, send the Baron back from whence he came, alive or dead. Preferably dead. Finding out that Lady Shy was not dead would make him even more dangerous than a rattling snake. His poison needed an antidote delivered by sword or arrow.
~
Lady Shy had been content to slip away, annul her marriage, and let sleeping dogs lie. Had her soon to be ex-husband stayed on his own side of the mountain range and continued his miserable life making other people miserable, she would have disappeared quietly with her daughter and moved forward with her life. However, a most surprising message from her youngest son, Benjamin, meant for Akira if she had found refuge with her family, warned of the renewed hunt for Akira.
Despite the warning, Lady Shy’s heart had been lifted to new heights. Her sons’ cared for their younger sister. Cared enough to try warn Akira. She wept with joy, dried her tears, and enlisted her family to protect her daughter. Strong men, gathered arms to turn back the raging monster who had stolen away the daughter of Suraj, away and do her daughter, Akira, harm.
With the truth of her own circumstances finally exposed, Lady Shy had no difficulty raising a small army. If the fates were kind enough to make up for their earlier indifference to her suffering, justice would be soon dispensed and Akira would never have to look over her shoulder again.
Lady Shy smiled as she imagined the look of shock Rolfe’s face would have if he were to meet Akira now. Akira would be unrecognizable as the cowed and quiet daughter. Morgan sent reports regularly of Akira’s transformation into a spirited and disciplined warrior. Akira had earned her white shield, and had a small rose tattoo inked onto her shoulder in black. According to Morgan, her daughter was no longer a vulnerable young woman. But alone, she would be no match for the evil of Rolfe backed by a contingent of ruthless hunters. Lady Shy lit a candle and a sweet incense stick, invoking the fates to help her. She dared to believe that this new turn of events was reward for her years of suffering.
~
While Lady Shy invoked the gods of her people, Akira stood atop the rock wall of the mountain refuge and looked into the distance. Her unbound hair danced about, whipping in the wind. Her high cheekbones, pinkened by the wind, matched the rosy hue of her lips. Her blue eyes sparkled with pride. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with her comrades in arms pledging allegiance to the White Rose Order before the world below, to the gods above and to each other. She had not been compelled to do so. She could have declined the responsibility, but it was not in her heart to do so. Akira felt grateful. A dream had come true. With skills to protect herself, with acceptance from men, yes men, as an equal, Akira felt her life was about to start fresh. It would have been wrong in her mind to use those skills to protect only herself.
Now she would be free to explore the possibility that Dimitri was interested in more than her fighting skills. She dared suspect he had been avoiding her because to not do so would have been a temptation both of them would have regretted. There was a hungry look in his eyes today. She wasn’t too sure how to go about wetting his appetite even more, but she was eager to learn. Her mother’s advice would have been very welcomed.
Mage Morgan looked upon his daughter standing shoulder to shoulder with the new guardians and ambassadors, his pride not hidden. Akira was every bit as beautiful as her mother, strong, well trained in in hand to hand combat, proficient with a sword and accurate with bow and arrows, and best of all they had made peace. She smiled back at him as she repeated the vows with her comrades. For a halfling, she was blessed with more a’kil power than some halflings. He was convinced she had more powers untapped. He had reason, he decided, to show his pride. When she stepped down from the wall amid much back slapping of congratulations, and manly arm braces in lieu of hugs, he presented her with a silver arm bracelet stamped with roses and vines. A woman warrior was allowed to adorn herself. He had other gifts made for Akira. It pleased him that she did hug him, and only him. Her lips did not speak but her eyes spoke volumes of appreciation.