Much to his surprise, Troy emerges from the dense foliage. Bonaveer meets him but hesitates. From this distance, something seems off about him. For one, he is riding too fast. And, he is wearing his hooded cloak over his head. For what purpose? Bonaveer gallops harder, matching his speed. A dawning realization finally emerges and as soon as it does, Bonaveer reaches for his revolver and fires lightning quick, successive rounds at the intruder.
As quickly as he fires off shots, the foe fires near simultaneously. One shot hits home in Bonaveer’s collarbone, knocking him flat on the saddle and breaking it, causing him to be partially immobile. Crimson spurts from the fresh wound, staining his grey colored frock.
Latimer does not emerge unscathed from the first round of bullets either. He is hit through the chest, opening up another small deluge of sticky crimson spurts; nowhere near his heart luckily, but nevertheless a devastating wound. He clutches his chest reflexively, trying in vain to stop the blood flow, but to no avail. He will be dead soon. The horse bolts upright, knocking him to the ground.
Bonaveer is seriously injured but not mortally. He is in need of a healer and soon before infection sets in. He approaches the downed rider, dismounts and winces as his feet touch ground. Broken glass feels like it has imbedded itself deep in his shoulder. It is excruciating. He stifles a cry. He walks over to the man, looks at him and points the revolver at him. When he does, Latimer unexpectedly shoots out his leg.
When Latimer topples to the ground, emitting a cry of pain and surprise, Latimer pulls a switchback knife from his shirt pocket and pushes on the trigger, emitting a razor-sharp blade. He plunges the blade deep into the neck of Bonaveer, who looks at Latimer with a look of consternation. Prodigious blood flow erupts from the wound in crimson spurts. “Kiss the devil for me on the way to hell, you murdering cunt!” This final act literally consumes him, and he is dead as his head hits the ground.
(5)
There is no visual of the other riding partners due to rendezvous with Turk, so he can only assume the worst.
Fortunately, he is alive. He observes the family escaping on horseback. Despite his misgivings about butchering children, he knows it is certain death for him and his own kin if he defies Herod. One can argue by eliminating the family, he is saving his own.
Turk kicks his reindeer harder, venturing to within a kill shot of the family.
Chapter 8: The White Wolf
She is high-spirited, agile, unusually quick, the most ferocious and adept hunter the pack has ever seen, attributes akin to the rare white wolf breed. Her intelligence is unrivaled by anyone. Her stamina proves indispensable in long drawn out hunts. She is a rare alpha female, pack leader, much to the chagrin of the Omega male, the next in line. By all accounts, the position should have been his.
He deems her position as pack leader to be inappropriate. Although no one could argue her attributes, she is different. Her intelligence invokes jealousy, outrage, and loathing, especially from the Omega male. The pack comes to an agreement she will be exiled. Those who disagree with the Omega male and his followers are induced into agreement by fear of retribution-ostracizing, injury, even death.
And thus, a plan is formulated to rid her of the pack for good. When she is on a hunt, her cubs, who are awaiting the return of her mother and in the care of a surrogate, are butchered mercilessly. With no cubs left to care for, she will be induced into leaving the pack. They will make it clear that she is no longer wanted. She will be cast out.
She returns from the hunt with the spoils, a medium-sized buck that can satisfy the pack for a couple of days at least. They feast on the spoils. As is customary, she picks up her share and brings them to the cubs, who had recently been weaned off their mother’s milk. They are now eating solid food.
Upon seeing the death of her cubs, the white wolf is stricken with grief and lays by her cubs for two days, howling almost incessantly. Eventually, sustenance and dehydration move her and she emerges from her den and makes her way to the nearby brook. The pack stand in a front to block her path. They are resolute and determined. When she ventures closer, they growl out a menacing warning. No further.
Vengeance is not innate in the canine species, but upon seeing the obstinate pack and their newly appointed leader, seething anger overtakes her. She launches herself at the leader and a violently, gruesome struggle ensues. The wolf pack watched as the two spar off. Inevitably, the formidable of the two emerges the victor-the white wolf.
With crimson staining her white coat, she walks off from the pack, never to return again, her rare sense of vengeance having been satiated. The next day, she catches a medium sized rabbit and feasts on it. On the next day, she smells a plethora of unusual smells which piques her interest.
Like most wolves, she avoids humans, who are as vicious as they are mercurial. Physically, they are easy prey to overcome, but their intelligence makes them formidable and their vast array of weaponry are no match for wolves.
Still, her motherly instincts are strong and against her canine inclinations, she ventures closer and approaches a meadow clearing. She watches and waits intently as humans on beasts of burden are galloping at full speed. Her ears perk up as several shots ring out.
As they do, Sophia cries out and leans back in the saddle, letting go of the reigns in the process. The horse naturally slows down and comes to a halt. Her side has been hit by one of the shots and blood seeps from out the wound in a fair amount. In retaliation, she produces her revolver and begins to fire back. But before she fires three shots, she is hit again. This time in the shoulder and the kick back of the devastating shot propels her from her horse. Blood seeps from the wound in spurts and she fears perhaps a vein has been severed.
Upon hearing the shots, Dante, who is driving the horse, doubles back. He hears his mother cry out, and as he looks back, his suspicions are confirmed. Both he and Isabella, cry for their mother. “Mama!”
Fearing for her children’s safety, she yells back at them. “Isabella, Dante, Go! Now!” Dante slows the horse but is indecisive. He has his sister to look after, but he can’t leave his mother. She fires off several rounds. Dante’s indecision disappears as his mother is hit again, knocking her to the ground. She has been hit directly in the gut. Crimson stains her camisole. He rides over to her. He will see her to safety.
Before Turk fires another shot, a surprise visitor bounds up on him-Mitz. The dog jumps up unexpectedly and seized his leg in a vise-like grip, even as the horse whines and bucks. He emits an ear-shattering yell and instinctively smashes the butt of the revolver down on the dog’s head, who continues to bite down harder.
With excruciating pain inducing him into action, Turk butts the dog on the head harder; and when that doesn’t work, he turns it around and shoots the dog through the head, who falls in a slump. The angle of the shot does not leave him unscathed as his leg is grazed by the bullet.
Dante runs to his mother, who is now completely drenched in blood. “Mamma!”
“Dante, you must go now! You must protect Isabella.”
Stinging tears run down his face in a torrential downpour. “I will not leave you Mamma!” He proclaims defiantly, while tears run down his face.
Blood seeps from her in a relentless flow and with it, the life from her. “You must go.” She is unable to muster the sense of urgency in him with her words. She takes one last breath and is silent. “Mamma. Mamma!” cries Dante.
Dante kisses his mother and reluctantly leaves her. A part of him tries to convince himself she is merely resting, but the logical part of him says otherwise. Dante’s attention is diverted when a shot and a whimper ring out from the rider. Dante looks in his direction and sees with a sense of dread his dog in a slump by the ground. He wipes away tears and mounts his horse but not before he picks up the revolver, which is in his mother’s hand.
His dad taught him how to fire a revolver and the boy has a natural proclivity for the weapon. Firing in a fit of rage and sorrow, he is not as proficient with the w
eapon and he over compensates for his shots. Two successive rounds go wild. A third shot pierces the rider in the leg and through the reindeer, eliciting agonizing whines from it. The fourth and fifth shots pierce him through the head, ending its cries for good.
With the reindeer crashing down to the ground, Dante mounts his horse and rides off with his sister, who is without tears altogether. She is ghostly white and appears catatonic.
As fortune would have it, Turk’s reindeer falls on the left side, Turk’s good side. As the reindeer begins to fall, Turk lunges out of the stirrup and avoids being pinned underneath a split second before it would have crushed him. He bounds up painfully and as soon as his right foot hits the ground, he winces in pain. He surmises he has approximately five rounds left, so he uses his bullets sparingly and effectively.
He fired off three careful and deliberate rounds. The first one shoots Isabella through the torso, expelling her small frame violently from the horse. The second and third shots penetrate the horse in the neck, who topples over with Dante in the rider’s seat.
His head hits the ground concussively, sending shockwaves of pain through his brain and temporarily jamming up receptors, resulting in blindness. He is now without sight and trapped underneath a 2,000-pound animal.
The white wolf watches this scene; her vision unusually acute. Although she is too far away to preclude the demise of mother and daughter, she will not abide while the young one is mercilessly butchered as her pups had been. Perhaps she can redeem herself for losing them.
Turk approaches the boy. What was supposed to be an easy and straightforward campaign has turned into a bloodbath. He walks as quickly to the boy as his injuries will allow, cursing with every excruciating step.
As he reaches the boy, he cocks the hammer and puts a bullet into the horse and turns toward the boy. He hesitates for a brief moment of repose. The boy is innocent by all measures. What did Herod want with him? Who was he and what possible threat could he have posed for him? Unfortunately for the boy, it is not Turk’s place to question the likes of Herod Antipaz.
He looks at the boy contemplatively, unaware of the white wolf, which is approaching him at an alarming rate.
“Christ forgive the likes of me. It was not without much misgivings I must do this boy. Cry pardon, so I do. You will be with Christ soon. The Falcon commands and we must heed his call.” The boy looks at him with a dazed look in his eyes, as if he isn’t seeing him at all, but merely looking through him.
“To hell with you. Pull the trigger and be done with me. You have taken everything else.”
Turk brings the gun up and as he does, he hears a menacing growl, only a few feet from him. He looks in that direction and observes a white wolf with razor sharp teeth bared in a death threat. Blood loss slows his reaction time. He brings up his gun to kill the beast.
He manages only to bring up his hand a few feet and it is seized in a death grip as the beast bites down hard on it. His gun is thrown from his hand by the sheer twisting motion. He screams as if he has suddenly become possessed by a ten-year-old girl at the moment of his injury. The wolf is massive, but its jaw muscles are much stronger than her size would indicate.
She violently twists the hand, severing it as blood pours from it like a gurgling fountain. Crimson stains him. Turk tries to use his other hand as a weapon, but it is in vain. Smelling Turk’s recent injury, the wolf viciously attacks his leg, holding and tearing it in another display of raw super strength. The wolf does not merely want to kill the man but to punish him as well. Mind-numbing pain erupts in torrents through his body and with it, his acquiescence to defeat. And death. He is unable to stifle his effeminate cries as death envelopes him in its grasp.
With so much blood loss, the pain soon abates and Turk grows numb and unable to muster any defense at all. The wolf observes this and with no more pain to inflict on the man, she seizes his neck and rips his throat out, ending his cries for good. She goes to the boy, who remains pinned underneath his horse.
He senses her. The stare of another animal, especially a human would have been disconcerting to her under normal circumstances, but this is different. She looks at him tenderly and cocks her head in a doting gesture.
“I’m stuck. Help me.” The plea is unnecessary. She grabs up part of his smock in her massive jaws and begins to pull but to no avail. She succeeds only in ripping his clothes. Sensing this, she begins to formulate another plan. Her intuition is strong. She must use her massive strength to hoist the boy out. She turns around towards him, looks back in his direction and barks. Being in shock and blind blunts his normally acute senses. She barks again.
When he will not comply with the plan, she wags her tail frantically, hitting him in the face numerous times. Finally, he understands and grabs her tail. She digs her powerful legs into the ground and pulls. She pulls and the boy begins to be pulled free. Not realizing that she is succeeding, she over-compensates and pulls the boy for several yards on the ground. He emits a startled cry of pain.
Sensory overload afflicts the boy. The concussive blow to his head has blinded him. His mother died in his arms and he is fairly certain that his sister is dead as well. For him, it would have been easier if he had also perished. Perhaps God has other plans for him. Maybe he is here for a reason. Shock could have killed him, but he is more resilient than that.
His mind begins to compartmentalize the problems which afflicts him. Then, he realizes he must take each problem at a time or risk a mental breakdown. First, he cannot not feel anything below his waist. The wolf, who he cannot see, can be felt by Dante and he is grateful for her presence.
He lays on the ground for hours, willing himself to move a toe, but he cannot. The wolf waits. Frustrated and forlorn, Dante begins to cry. Sensing the boy’s desperation, she jumps on his legs. Surprised, Dante cries out and yells at the wolf to get off. She causes him pain-in his legs. A wave of relief washes over him. He has use of his legs after all.
Sensing his hope, the dog bites down gently on his feet. Dante feels it. He cries out in pain. And relief.
Dante wills himself to move his toes. Several minutes pass in which he cannot move them. And then it happens. He can move one toe. After several minutes more, he can move his entire foot. Another hour passes, and Dante can move both feet and his legs. Upon getting to his feet, he is as wobbly as a newborn calf, but able to walk. Thank God.
Walking without sight is scary for Dante, but with the aid of the wolf, he can do it with some confidence. Someone now has his back.
His brief moment of content is soon replaced by the somber task he must perform. He must check on his family. The wolf senses his purpose. She weaves in and around his legs, leading him to their corpses.
After several hundred yards, he finds his sister. He calls out to her in a vain attempt to verify she is alive. “Isabella.” No answer comes.
Dante reaches down and feels the cold, unresponsive flesh. Tears well up in his eyes and come down in a torrential downpour. He feels for a pulse but knows there will be none. He picks up her body and immediately feels the sticky residue of dried blood.
Dante cries incessantly as he walks with his dead sister in his arms. The task proves to be extremely difficult, considering he has not gained back enough strength in his legs. Though he wobbles uncontrollably, he is determined to give them dignity.
Once again, the white wolf senses his purpose and leads the boy towards his mother. Dante gently and reverently sets down his sister. He feels the lifeless corpse of his mother, the cold, unresponsive flesh bringing more stinging, wet tears to his eyes. Dante goes to his downed dog, Mitz and is unable to pick him up. He weighed nearly four or five times what his sister weighs. Several vain attempts succeed in only fatiguing him.
Again, the wolf sensed purpose in his frustration and aids him. She bites down on Mitz’ tail and drags the dog to the corpses of his mother and sister.
With the task complete, Dante sits down next to his deceased family. His light tears becam
e a torrential downpour and cascade into hysterical sobs. Now, a part of Dante feels foolish, giving into such drama, but he is as helpless to prevent it as he is to stop the tides from coming in.
He falls in a heap next to his mother and continues his sobs. Eventually, dehydration stops the tears and fatigue overtakes him. He sleeps.
Unbeknownst to Dante, the white wolf does not sleep through the night. It is impossible. The night grows cold in the night and if the wolf had not hovered on top of the boy to give him warmth, he would have succumbed to exposure. The smell of fresh meat brings relentless scavengers from everywhere.
Once, a large vulture that flies too close to Dante is immediately snatched from the air by the wolf and nearly devoured whole.
As a devoted parent, she divides her time between hovering on top of Dante to keep him alive and fighting off would-be predators. After a brief tussle with a hyena had proven deleterious to him, the message was established loud and clear. Stay away. Do not venture closer. This is sacred territory. With the numerous carcasses littered in a two-hectare radius, the only beasts large enough to subdue the wolf most likely taken their fill. Still, such an easy meal within grasp is hard to resist.
Chapter 9: Survival
Dante awakes the next morning, shivering uncontrollably. The wolf senses his discomfort and moves to give him body warmth.
Despite Dante’s agonizing suffering on every level, duty to his recently departed is of paramount importance. He needs to bury his mother, sister and dog, Mitz. He can’t leave them where they lie and expose them to mutilation by scavengers. Dante will not have it so. “You stay. Understand?”
Though sightless, Dante can sense the wolf’s tail wagging in affirmation. It is not imagined. He can hear and feel the undulations in the air, almost imperceptibly so but palpable. His loss of sight has the effect of amplifying his other senses, almost supernaturally so. He smells the meadow and hears the numerous vultures finishing off the corpses which are littered throughout the meadow. Dante has no trouble finding the assassin’s corpse. He has no shovel but does possess a sword. It must suffice. He pulls the sword out of its sheath and returns to his family, noting the wolf has stayed put.
The Brotherhood of Merlin Page 5