by Lisa Daniels
No one, except Erlandur Malgrave, with his dead blue eyes and his solemn demeanor. Something felt off about him. Yarrow assumed that whatever had happened in the Fractured City, it had scarred his soul – done something to it that no amount of magic could ever heal.
Vrin panted underneath her, his huge footpads crunching into the snow, leaving long pawprint bounds behind him. A total of about three hundred werewolves and six witches made up their entire expedition. A formidable force.
Yet, Yarrow couldn’t help but picture all of them within the Fractured City, surrounded by an infinite number of Shadows, their numbers draining until the whole army whittled out, dead and tainted and forgotten, whilst the wind shifted the snows over their lifeless bodies.
No one entered the Fractured City for a good reason. The culmination of all evil resided there. People whispered about it at night like children hiding under their covers, scared of the noises that haunted them outside, or the way the candles created flickering, distorted silhouettes upon the walls, like spidery hands and lashing tongues.
Yarrow hoped that her visions, her innate fears never came to pass. She knew as well as everyone else that the attacks were getting worse. Something was up with the Fractured City. The Lunar Wastes no longer did their duty the way they had centuries before.
The wind seared her eyes, so she settled her face into Vrin’s mane, trying to keep the heaviness of her heart from weighing the werewolf down.
Travelling by werewolf foot took just over a week. They ran through the day and part of the night, before setting up camp for eight hours – two for hunting and eating, and six for sleeping in shifts, making sure they kept themselves in prime condition, not allowing the travel to cause mental and physical fatigue. Each sleep, Yarrow curled up with her family amongst the Dreadwood section, as they isolated themselves more than others during the shifts. Sometimes Vrin came over to talk to her as well, but the hackle rising of her father to have her associate with a Lunehill wolf, let alone ride one, and her mother’s stern gaze made it hard for them to have any sort of decent conversation. At least, not without side glances and speculation.
She did catch Vrin on his shift duty on one of the nights, his yellow eyes surveying the landscape in the dark. Yarrow’s eyesight saw nothing, but she sat next to him on a log, next to the low flickers of a warm flame, wrapping her fur robes tightly.
“Do you really believe Erlandur will lead us to victory?” Her breath unfurled in the air like dragon’s breath. Vrin stared at her, the light causing odd, distorted contrasts upon his high boned cheeks. A thrill of excitement and fear went through her. He looked so regal. So full of purpose. Something about him drew her to his presence, made her want to dig into that mind with fervour, to see what lay underneath.
He scrutinized her as well, eyes trailing over her dark, short hair, her sharp features flushed from the cold. The temperature dropped the further north they headed. His high cheekbones were so elegantly curved, that Yarrow wanted to run her hands over them.
“I don’t know, honestly. I don’t know if anything will happen from this. I certainly don’t know if any of us will be alive once we cross the threshold. But I do suspect this. If we continue trying to live the way we do, I think we will all die. Their attacks are growing more frequent. Bolder. Stronger. Raine and Linther met a Supreme, as well. A Shadow with intellect.”
“What’s the working theory on the Supremes?” Yarrow asked. She’d only heard about them in whispers before hearing the tale of Raine and her inn, and the creature she kept imprisoned in her basement.
Vrin wrinkled his nose, rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet. “Erlandur and Raine claim they are puppet masters. You kill a Surpreme, you kill the army associated with them. The Shadows alone have no mind of their own. They merely obey the summons of their masters, or are summoned and released to do whatever they want. Unfortunately, we haven’t exactly met any Supremes ourselves, or killed any. We don’t really know where to go from there.”
“Doesn’t the Snow Witch know about them?”
“Yes. She knows they were dangerous. Just not quite how dangerous. This is the first time for her to see such magic like Erlandur and Raine’s.”
Yarrow chewed the inside of her cheek, briefly admiring the lines furrowing between Vrin’s eyebrows, before sighing. “It’s all speculation. And the best lead we have is Erlandur.”
“And the Blood witch.”
That’s what they’re calling Raine? Irritation flared. Witches like Raine were opportunists, talentless without the use of forbidden magic. And she got a name like that? “She’s an enchanter. A lucky one.”
“Whatever she is, we need her enchanting skills. And we need your mother’s lightning.”
“And mine.”
Vrin smiled. “And yours.”
They sat in tense silence. The aroma of smoke wafted into their nostrils, and the warmth sank into their bones.
“This is one of the biggest expeditions we’ve done in years,” Yarrow said, gesturing to the other troops that sat around their fires, eating, sleeping, or keeping watch in the night gloom.
“More when we reach the Spine. Erlandur wants us to stop there. He says the Fractured Spine have several Shadows chained up like Raine did, and the plan is to deck up as many warriors as possible with the Shadow armor and weapons.”
Raine gave a little gasp, along with a shudder of revulsion. The image of all the wolves around her, being undead, blue eyed entities, soulless and silent, stabbed her mind. “We’re playing with fire. We use their magic, it will backfire.”
“Maybe,” Vrin agreed quietly, his eyes focusing fully on her. Part of Yarrow wished in that moment that no one else was around, so that she could spend some time exploring the body that hid beneath his clothes. “Maybe not. But you do agree that in a time where we have no true answers, sometimes it is best to think of things we wouldn’t… normally consider.”
Yarrow shook her head stubbornly. “I refuse to use that kind of magic. My mother will as well. I will not lie in bed with my enemies. I will not use their vile taint to further my powers.” Her voice came out a snarl. Anything but that disgusting magic. Even though Erlandur had persuaded people that this was part of the answer.
She now let loose on another small suspicion. “I don’t know about him. He came back from the city, but he’s the only survivor. I can’t be the only one thinking these thoughts either, right?” The firelight illuminated a scowl on Vrin’s face, as he considered her words.
“You Dreadwood lot aren’t so trusting, are you?”
Yarrow smiled thinly back, before sensing eyes upon her, stirring the little hairs upon the back of her neck. She turned to see her father watching her in his wolf form, the chilling savagery displayed in his curled lips.
“My dad doesn’t approve of me talking to you.”
“No,” Vrin said, checking out the hate-filled stare. “He doesn’t. But I don’t care. It’s not like anything is going to happen.”
“Isn’t it?” She allowed a faint note of disappointment to curl her voice. Except, it wasn’t completely fake. Something did drop in her stomach at his words.
Vrin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more on the matter. She gave him a wry smile, before whispering goodnight into his ear, and returning to her family’s side.
She noticed how her father tactfully positioned himself between the campfire and Vrin, who ignored the whole show, focusing on his watch in the highland terrain.
Briefly, one of the witches and her warrior friend from Ghost Lake stopped by, open in her admiration of Yarrow’s mother.
“I heard once that you managed to kill eight Shadows with one spell,” the witch said as she addressed Priya, open in her admiration, dark eyes alight. Her friend, a short, stocky woman with two blades belted into her waist, looked bored.
“Once,” Priya responded, smiling modestly. “It did give me a banging headache for a few days afterwards.”
The witch tossed her lon
g, frizzy dark hair. “Impressive, though. I’m a fire witch, but it’s the same principle. I have to be careful with my power, in case I combust.”
Yarrow laughed. “Still a neat ability, though. Are you a witch as well?” She directed her question to the silent sword wielder, who nodded.
“Yes. But I’m not a caster. My magic is combat intuition.”
Priya inhaled sharply. “A rare, rare talent.” She stood up then, to inspect the witch carefully, allowing her fingers to trace over her cheek. “Almost unheard of. What are your names?”
“Geraline,” the fire witch said. “Faith,” the melee witch murmured.
“Why don’t you sit by our fire tonight? I’m sure we must have some tales to swap,” Priya said, although Yarrow knew her mother was particularly keen in gouging information out of Faith.
Ah well. Best leave her to that. And Yarrow, in the meanwhile could close her eyes, and try not to stress herself out with the ominous grasp of the future. It pervaded her mind, though, like rustling leaves, gradually closing in on every inch of her brain until nothing but blackness remained.
Something told her that if they failed, if they died… the northlands would likely collapse. Because, what if the Supremes who dwelled within the city had the same strange power Erlandur held in his gear? Could they stand up to that?
We might all become their weapons. How can he be so sure? How do we know he’s not a Supreme himself? Leading us into a trap. Leading us to death.
She curled up in the snow beside the fire, pulling her hood over her face to protect it from the cold. Her breath steamed up the inside, and a blanket of silence fell.
She thought of Vrin. She thought of lying by his side, and hearing his soft, measured voice wash over her. Maybe in another time, another place, they might have had a chance to associate better even with the death glare of her father and his blanket hatred of anything that wasn’t Dreadwood.
To be fair, the Dreadwood ways were lonely and harsh. They never stayed in one place for long. They wandered up and down the entire Wastes, and had likely explored more than any other clan out there. They’d been everywhere except the Fractured City. The few numbers that braved their lives for it had vanished like all the rest. The Lunar Wastlands, after all, had a way of claiming the lives of those it gave birth to.
The thoughts continued swirling in her head, preventing a restful sleep, filling her mind with the bone deep worries that existed there.
She heard her mother and the two Ghost Lake witches murmuring to one another, before they returned to their part of the camp, where about fifty Ghost Lake warriors lay.
Fifty Ghost Lake. Thirty Dreadwood. Two hundred Lunehill and around twenty Spine, with more waiting to join them once they arrived at the main clan.
Such a small number, compared to the clans that existed. Yet, it was also one of the biggest collaborations in years.
The wind hissed over her body, and she shivered, despite the heat of the fire, and the comforting presence of her mother and father.
When she finally tipped into the realm of sleep, the nightmares made her twitch. They never went away.
Chapter Two
She knew it was a dream. She always experienced the same one – them standing at the entrance to a city shrouded within darknes. Shadows roaming the derelict buildings, the ruined streets, and hundreds upon thousands of bones aligning the roads. She saw her big, monstrous father growling, before he dived after a Shadow. The Shadow grabbed him mid leap by the throat, and his paws flailed uselessly. Somehow, in the Shadow’s reach, her father looked pathetically small, and the creature itself massively huge, dwarfing out everything else in sight.
Her mother screamed, and flung out both arms, the scream empowering the red lightning that slashed out of her fingertips, whipping the Shadows that coalesced in the streets, except they reacted as if nothing had happened.
Her father’s snarls turned into yelps and whines.
The Shadow in her dream, the one holding her father, turned blackened lips and a dead smile to her. “You cannot win. Not whilst you cling to your inferior ways. Everyone you know and love will die. Everything you stand for, turned to dust.”
Again, Yarrow watched as her father fell limp, before his body stirred, and his eyes changed to ghostly blue. She watched as her mother, sobbing, dashed into the streets, before crumbling into bones by the ravenous touch of the monsters around.
“You will become one of us. It is destined. We await you. Every step you take towards the Great War is another step closer into our arms.”
The Shadow smiled as it descended upon her. Her limbs were frozen, unable to move.
“Give in.”
It touched her on the face, and her veins blackened. She began to scream…
“Wake up.”
The voice came from a great distance.
“Wake up!”
In a great suction of noise, Yarrow yanked herself out of the dream, eyes snapping open to a tumult of noise, snarls and yells. Her mother shook her, slapping her face, and Yarrow exclaimed, before her brain worked double time to comprehend the madness around them.
“Defend!” Her mother barked the command, before whirling and dashing into the night, a hum emitting from her throat, along with crackles of lightning.
Shadows crawled out of the snows, attacking them in the absence of moonlight, and the chaos superseded everything else.
Father? Her eyes settled upon her father, circling around the witches with the rest of the Dreadwood, their barks piercing the air. A Shadow formed near her father, and he lunged after it, catching it in expert grace and power, tearing it to shreds. Small fry. Yarrow scanned the erupting battle scene, her thoughts a mess, trying to register every little detail as her heart pulsed wildly. Adrenaline coursed through her blood, and she felt the influence of her magic at her fingertips, begging to be used.
Vrin in his russet wolf form fought two Shadows at once. Every single wolf had at least one Shadow upon him as far as Yarrow could see. So many Shadows! They want to try and decimate us before we even reach the Fractured Spine!
Shafts of fire spewed out from the Ghost Lake encampment. Geraline lived up to her reputation as the Blaze Witch, delivering great swoops of fire like burning scythes through the air, ending the Shadows that dripped out of their hiding spots. Faith, dear sun and moon, she moved with unerring precision, every step perfect, every slash and thrust timed as if choreographed. Somehow, she only just managed to avoid blows, only just managed to sidestep in time…
That’s insane. I would have loved to have a power like that!
Raine, the enchantment witch, used a small crossbow to fire off into the enemy, and a sabre when a Shadow got too close. Alyssa, along with Kain at her side, fought with ferocity and valor, not quite as unearthly as Faith, but with enough skill to merit her place upon the expedition.
Two Shadows formed behind Priya’s back. Immediately, Yarrow released the building energy inside her with a roar, forked lightning snaking out her hands and electrocuting the attacking Shadows into ash.
Somehow, Yarrow knew she needed to move. She needed to find Erlandur and the other leaders.
She knew where Erlandur was, the biggest danger would be. She ran through the melee, ignoring fights that looked underhand, firing bolts and accumulating the headache in her skull when she saw fighters in dire need of assistance. She passed Alyssa, Linther – and saw Vrin leap into pace beside her, his muzzle black with Shadow ichor.
“I need to find Erlandur,” Yarrow hissed, and the werewolf nodded, before bowing, and she clambered on, gasping in fright as a Shadow swiped at her from the side. Vrin bounded off, howling a battle cry, and the other werewolves imitated it, bolstering the morale of all the fighters.
Yarrow clutched his fur tight, her heart squeezing painfully when she saw werewolves fall, overwhelmed or tricked.
Destiny and fate didn’t exist for the werewolves of the Lunar Wastes. The Moon Goddess watched her children with quiet compassion
as they fought, without ceremony or congratulation. If they fell under her watch, they were welcomed back into her arms, without mockery or sadness.
Vrin galloped over the hordes, frenetically seeking Erlandur – and he hurtled up a steep hill, where werewolves scrabbled against their eternal foes, spotting Erlandur upon the slope, his undead wolves circling around him in a toothy shield. His weapon was drawn, his visor down, as he faced a Shadow upon the hilltop.
Vrin skidded to a halt alongside Erlandur and Yarrow vaulted off, electricity crackling in her hands. Erlandur appeared to not notice her, swaying as if in a trance.
“You steal our magic…” the Shadow hissed, its sibilant voice infecting their ears, as if maggots had started wriggling in them. “But you are nothing but a pale imitation.”
Fear iced through Yarrow’s veins. Vrin let out a mournful howl, his hackles rising. The undead wolves, silent as the grave, continued their menacing circle around their master.
The armored human wasted no breath upon words, on taunting or boasting. He stepped forward.
The Shadow cackled, before black bolts of noxious energy whisked out of its body like tendrils. Erlandur’s armor tanked the hit, acting as a sort of lightning rod, and he moved on, his footsteps dogged, raising his sword.
Shadows stirred around, grasping at the undead bodyguards, who lunged upon them with mindless rage.
Yarrow, teeth clenched, spread out her arms, fought past her headache to summon more lightning from her fingertips, arcing out in a cone to the Shadows on either side. Vrin tackled one that formed behind them, and Yarrow followed behind Erlandur, nervous, heart frenzied, as the armored knight took on the Supreme.
She knew Supremes were bad. They hoisted incredibly destructive power, but were only found in the confines of the Fractured City, unable to take a single step into the Lunar Wastes without severe limiting abilities on their powers.
Yet, one of them stood here now, directing the Shadows to kill, firing darkness at them, seemingly limitless in energy. If Yarrow spouted out that much power, she’d be dead.