The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  He preferred to use his mana to shift. Elements were unstable and the domain of Mages or elves who lacked the ability to shift.

  She swallowed. “What happens during the initiation?”

  Flashes of Rush’s hit him, as fresh as the day it happened. Drowning. Water. Suffocating. Sinking to the bottom, then, just as his lungs were bursting for air...

  “Rush?”

  He met her eyes. “You don’t need to know. Only that the strong survive, and those weak in heart and courage drown in their own fear.”

  His father had not made it. He’d not intended to enter the ceremonial lake. He’d thought Rush had, and went to rescue him. The thing was, his father was an alpha, the strongest Nightstalk that had lived in centuries. He was neither weak-willed nor a coward, yet the Well hadn’t chosen him. It had spit him out until his bloated body floated on the surface for all to see his shame.

  Rush still remembered the day Thaddeus told him that his father had died because he’d thought Rush had snuck off to the lake. The shame and the guilt in his youthful mind had been all consuming. And so, at twelve, the official age allowed for initiation, Rush followed his father. He didn’t expect to come out of the lake a Guardian. Not when his father, the fae he’d looked up to, had been rejected. Floated.

  Before that, Rush had an unhealthy obsession with the powerful Guardians in Kingfisher blue. Every time they came through his village, most sneered in disgust. Many only saw the tax they paid for the protection the Guardians provided, but Rush knew their job went beyond prohibition of metals and plastic. They fought monsters. They bled to keep chaos out and harmony in. They gave their lives to preserve the integrity of the Well. For the future of fae kind.

  “Every year,” he began, “There is a mass offering from around the realm to the Order. When Guardians die, only Guardians can replace them. Metal is needed to kill magical monsters, and only Guardians can use metal without diluting their mana. When fae realized the initiation ceremony lost more than it approved, they stopped wanting to become Guardians. So once a year tributes have to be made.” He ground his teeth. “And sometimes they are taken from the age of twelve.”

  The terror on Thorne’s young face, his eyes squeezed shut as they pushed him toward that jetty edge. Rush had tried to stop it. He’d stabbed a few fae with Starcleaver, but soon they caught onto what happened. Rush couldn’t get to Thorne without touching anyone and then the sickness took over.

  “Old enough to remember, but young enough to be molded.” Her touch on Rush’s arm shook him out of his thoughts. “I’m so sorry.”

  “How do you keep doing that?” he whispered, searching her attentive eyes. Did she see all the way into his heart? Into the black pit of guilt. His father. His lover. His son... Rush couldn’t protect any of them.

  “I just know things.” She tapped between her breasts. “In here. It’s worse now than before. Or better, I suppose, if you want to look at it that way.” Her eyes turned wistful. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to take the lighter path?”

  “No.”

  Her brows lowered. “I just finished telling you I know things, and you’re ignoring me. Why?”

  Infernal woman. “I should just kill you and be done with you.”

  She gasped and took a step back. Fear was an acrid scent in the air.

  Rush growled, “But I need you. I need you as payment for lifting my curse. I’m tired of being a ghost. I want people to see me again. And not only are you human, but you have magic, and seeing as you’re related to how this world came to be in its state, you’re also important. Now you know how desperate I am, and you know there is no escape for you. Unless you want me to force you…” He pointed his sword at her neck despite the bitter taste his words left. “Move.”

  “No.” She planted her feet. “I refuse to be the person no one listens to. My nightmares are real. I saw things. Elphyne is in danger, and I refuse to be the person who does nothing to stop them. Not this time.”

  The fire in her eyes was admirable.

  “You say you’re a Guardian. You wear the coat. But you’re a coward, Rush.”

  “You’re walking on shaky ground, human.”

  “Yeah that’s right. I’m human. The most despicable creature you can think of in your world and guess what? I’m the only one trying to save it. So, go figure. You know what? I don’t care. Kill me then. Be done with it. At least I’ll know I went down swinging.”

  “Go float yourself, Clarke,” he snapped.

  “I would if I knew what that meant!”

  “It means you’re not worthy of the Well. If you’d gone through the initiation, you would have been rejected, floated and bloated.”

  She gasped. “You, sir, are the one who can go float himself!”

  With a frustrated, drawn out grumble, he gripped her wrist and yanked her down the path. It took him a good few strides before the truth of her words hit him in the chest. All this time he’d been consumed with the selfish need to have his curse lifted and see his son, but he’d failed to remember what had drawn him to become a Guardian in the first place.

  He wanted to protect.

  Instead of floating during initiation, against all odds, he’d sunk and been blessed by the Well. He’d emerged more powerful than before and blessed with the responsibility of being able to hold metal and mana at the same time. The Well chose him to be its protector. And it took a human to remind him of that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clarke clutched the jar of manabeeze to her chest as though it could protect her from the unnamed terror she felt coming. Like the imprint of a future memory, the psychic backlash already affected her. But without seeing it, she had nothing to tell Rush, and the stubborn fae refused to acknowledge she was right. His mood had soured with every mile they traipsed.

  Onward they walked. Every so often a skittering and scuttling sounded from deep within the darkness behind the branches.

  She flinched.

  He didn’t. Calm as the center of the storm, he strode.

  Goddamn you, Rush.

  But when she thought about it, Clarke was more angry at herself than him. Why should she expect this fae to be any different to the man who’d manipulated her most of her adult life? Right before she’d taken Bishop’s hand that day at the Bellagio fountains, she’d felt his bad intentions. But then the bad vibes had disappeared. It took her a long time to realize it was because Bishop’s fate had been entwined with hers, and she couldn’t see her own future, so how could she see the parts of his overlapping hers? Maybe that was why she sensed nothing from Rush that went beyond the initial fluttering when he was around. His fate was linked with hers.

  He could be just as bad as the worst, and she had no idea. He could be taking her to her doom. Glancing down at his knife again, she reminded herself to be vigilant. First moment she had, she’d take it and escape.

  A sound to her right didn’t belong. Clarke stopped, heart pounding in her throat, and listened.

  A heartbeat echoed hers.

  Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

  She swallowed and hugged the jar. The area darkened from the cover of her hands. She forced herself to relax and let more light through her fingers.

  Rush’s gaze collided with hers. “What is it?”

  “Did you hear that?”

  He cocked his head, ears pricked.

  Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

  “I hear nothing,” he said.

  “But it’s there. It’s another heartbeat. I swear.”

  “Unless you have the hearing of a wolf, I’m right.”

  “But—” Something was watching them.

  “Hurry up.”

  That feeling of ominous dread wouldn’t leave. It tightened her skin. Clarke quickened her pace, trotting to catch up to Rush.

  Every step she made, she heard an echo. Every breath, another just behind her. Every heartbeat, it reflected.

  After another hour of walking at a brisk pace, the ground grew soft and wet. It squelche
d underfoot. The sound of her own, and a shadow’s.

  She blurted, “How can you not hear that?”

  “It’s probably still a side effect of the manabee going through you.” Frowning, he stopped and focused on her and lowered his voice with serious intent. “I would hear anything that tried to get close to us.”

  “Would you? What about something masked with magic? That can happen, right?”

  He paused.

  “I want a knife,” she added.

  “No.”

  Screw him. She reached and made a grab for the one at his belt. He caught her hand.

  “Why can’t you just admit that I might be right?” she hissed.

  “Because—” His words bit off.

  A woman’s keening wail cut through the air. Clarke jumped closer to Rush. His nostrils flared, and he turned in a three-sixty rotation until he sourced the direction it came from and then scented the air. He peered into the darkness, eyes scanning for danger.

  After a breath, he murmured, “Let’s go.”

  He pulled her by the wrist. His long legs ate up the muddy floor. Clarke jogged, splashing brown mess out with every step.

  “Almost there,” he said, breathing hard. “Just another few minutes.”

  But that hollow wail echoed through the trees like a siren’s song. And that heartbeat. It followed. It quickened in time with Clarke’s.

  Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

  They broke out of the tunnel and into a clearing where the sun failed to break through thick bracken overhead. Gray mist hung low over a muddy bog separating them from the safety of the path on the other side where green willow trees grew. It was either head back down the gloomy tunnel of trees, or wade through the mud. Trees without leaves looked like dead spindly limbs weaving in and out of the bog. Stress gripped Clarke’s heart. She wasn’t sure how much of this she could take. That woman’s cry wouldn’t stop.

  “Well, this is new.” Rush rubbed his beard.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Never used to be a bog here, but I guess it’s been a while since I’ve passed this way.”

  “We have to keep going,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a shiver.

  During the walk, Starcleaver had never left Rush’s hand, but now he sheathed it in the scabbard between his shoulder blades. He tested the strength of a long thin branch jutting out of the ground. It snapped off. He used the length to test the depth of the mud.

  “About a yard,” he noted. “That’s not bad.”

  “Here, but what about in the middle?” she replied.

  “Then we go around the perimeter.”

  The eerie feminine wail turned soft, like a song. Like she was cooing and coaxing. But what? Who? Coaxing them, or someone else? The obvious answer knocked at the edges of her mind, but she refused to let it in.

  “Hurry,” Clarke said.

  “Don’t let your fear take hold of you,” he added, retrieving the manabeeze from her. “No one can see me, so I won’t be the target. As long as you ignore the White Woman’s song, you’ll be safe. And if you get caught in her web, I’ll be here to drag you out. Just follow me and do what I say.”

  The White Woman? Web? “That makes me feel so much better.”

  He pursed his lips at her sarcasm and then repacked the glowing jar before adjusting his rucksack over his shoulder. The fae moved as though this was a regular occurrence for him—the surprise danger—with swift and efficient actions. If she wasn’t so shit-scared, she might be impressed with his confidence. He made sure the knife at his hip released and then sized up which side of the bog was easiest for them to traverse.

  The eerie song picked up speed and intensity, and suddenly Clarke knew what the danger was. Her voice… it was like a drug. Soft chords melting her insides, and making her want to get closer to hear more. She shook her head.

  “That’s right,” Rush said. “Don’t listen. Ignore it.”

  “Why doesn’t it bother you?”

  “I’ve had training.”

  Clarke tried to move forward, but she couldn’t. Terror had taken control of her senses.

  “This way,” he said and gestured for her to hold his hand. “If it makes you feel safer, hold my hand. I won’t let go.”

  His unwavering confidence gave her the strength to take his hand and move forward under his guidance. The moment her feet hit mud, she sank to calf-high, but his hold kept her from lowering too far. The cape behind her lifted and floated. It stank. It stuck.

  “Dear God, I will need a bath after this,” she murmured.

  “Your God doesn’t exist anymore. I would pray to the Well for guidance instead.”

  “And where has that gotten you?”

  A sharp look made her blanch. Fine. Whatever.

  “Dear Well,” she started. “Please find me a bath after this.”

  He snorted in a half-laugh but continued without breaking his pace.

  “With lavender soap,” she added, to keep her mind occupied. “And a nice hot fire.”

  Her voice trailed off as she concentrated. They got half-way around the bog when the woman’s song became too hard to ignore. Clarke needed a distraction.

  “Tell me what happened to my world,” she said. Maybe if they talked, she wouldn’t hear the woman.

  A breathy grunt. “Not sure you should hear that.”

  “I know about the war. The sky being scorched. The nuclear winter… but is everything gone? Across the oceans too?”

  Rush’s grip tightened around her hand, but he continued to drive them through the mud. “I think nothing survived. Our Seers have seen no evidence of life beyond Elphyne. This is the last remaining pocket of life on the planet.”

  Sadness filled Clarke. “And I’m the first to wake up from my time?”

  “You’re the only I’ve heard of.”

  But she wasn’t the only one.

  “And my watch… there’s no hope of getting that back I suppose?” Not that it would work.

  “It was metal. It’s been destroyed.”

  “It was a gift from my father.”

  Silence. “That is unfortunate.”

  She bumped into his broad back. He’d stopped.

  “What is it?” she whispered, but his gaze locked on the center of the bog.

  A beautiful woman was perilously stuck, flailing. She hadn’t been there a moment ago. The area around her seemed less viscous, like a brown lake. Little dark streaks slashed across her pale skin. Muddy water glued her white dress indecently to her skin, giving them both unrestricted view of her naked breasts. Black hair floated behind her and dragged on the surface. Two large brown eyes implored them.

  “Help me,” she breathed. “Please.”

  Clarke frowned. This was too… convenient. And she wore white.

  This thing was the source of her dread. The moment she understood, the woman’s appearance shattered like a broken reflection. Gone was the stunning female, and in its place stood a humanoid bug-like creature. Enormous brown eyes that belonged on a praying mantis blinked at Clarke, as though she were its prey. It cocked its triangular head. Its frothing mouth ticked. Black hair fell from its head in stringy streaks. Folded forelegs pawed at the mud as though it drowned.

  Gross.

  “You are so not drowning,” Clarke said and shook her head.

  Focus, Clarke. Ignore her.

  It was surely a her. The breasts were real. The white tattered dress was real. But the rest… it was a warped mess of human and insect. A monster, like the ones Rush said he fought. Clarke turned her attention back to the task at hand, getting around the bog. But Rush’s gaze was fixed on the creature.

  “I have to help her,” he said. He let go of her hand and waded out.

  “No!” Clarke reached out. “Stop!”

  But it was too late. She missed him by a hair. He only had eyes for the thing.

  “Rush!” Clarke’s eyes burned. Panic gripped her throat. “It’s not real. It’s not the woman. It’s a m
onster!”

  He paused and glanced at Clarke.

  The cooing and singing picked up in strength and speed. It may not see Rush, but maybe its magic did. It focused on Clarke, but Rush was caught in the snare of its magic web.

  “Don’t you see?” she shouted. “It can’t see you, but its spell can affect you. If you continue, it will catch you anyway. Come back!”

  He didn’t. He kept wading toward the monster’s pawing forelegs. The further he went, the deeper he got. The muddy water came up to his armpits. Any second, the creature’s arms would hit him and then it wouldn’t matter if Rush’s curse kept him invisible. It would feel him.

  A rising sensation took control of her body. Panic. Desperation. The need to help him. Her instinct moved inside her, bubbled up her throat, and she let it out with a tremendous scream. All that buzzing and fluttering in her chest pushed out with her emotion.

  “You need to see the truth!” she shouted.

  The power of her voice pushed air from her body. It was more than her voice. It was power… magic. Waves rippled, branches rustled. And Rush stopped wading. Slowly, both beings turned to each other, seeing the truth for the first time.

  Rush saw the monster.

  The monster saw him.

  Understanding scorched through both of them. A breath. That’s all it took. And then they attacked.

  The monster’s mandibles screeched wide. It dragged itself out of the muddy water to reach for him.

  “Good God,” Clarke murmured. The body hidden in the water was half human, half bug. Four legs, two arms. Six limbs. All splashing and thrashing. It was like something from a horror movie, a science experiment gone wrong. It paralyzed her, but Rush… he exploded into action.

  He withdrew his sword and swung, aiming for the monster’s head. It dodged with otherworldly speed, but it wasn’t fast enough. Rush’s blade lodged in the space between the monster’s shoulder and neck. Rush strained, his muscles extending, veins in his temples popping. He pushed the blade down and down.