Fated for War

by Travis Bughi

  So, it came as no surprise to her that these elves now treated her with a measure of contempt and suspicion. They did not know that she was a changed woman, that the malice in her heart had been drained. They could not see that beneath her auburn hair, wide nose, and firm jaw was a mind set to task and given over to ambition. The only things they saw were two werewolves in human form, sitting on the ground in their village, waiting patiently for one particular elf to return and speak with them. One of the werewolves was an ex-amazon accused of treason. The other was her son, a three-year-old boy with short, but curly, black hair.

  “Mommy!” Cyrus said, and pointed to an elf that walked by them.

  “Yes, Mommy sees,” Belen whispered and pushed the little boy’s hand down.

  She looked up at whom Cyrus had pointed. She was a particularly young elf with beautiful piercing eyes and long pointed ears. Her hair fell all the way down to her lower back and flowed behind her like golden water. It was no wonder Cyrus was taking notice of her, but it was rude to point, and these were a people of manners, honor, and respect. Fortunately, the young elf seemed to take no offense.

  Belen sighed in relief. She didn’t expect to be kicked out, not until she’d spoken with Elidin Nathok. However, it wouldn’t help to aggravate these elves any more than her presence already did. They tolerated her, but just barely. It would be a miracle if they accepted her request, because that would mean she’d be seeing them many more times in the years to come.

  Still, she had to try.

  “Uhm, mmm.” Cyrus mumbled and squirmed, becoming agitated in his mother’s lap.

  She cooed and blew on his ear, distracting him from the monumental curiosity that plagued children his age. Yes, this is the perfect time, she thought.

  Cyrus was growing demonstrably more interested in the world around him each and every day. Formerly a shy, quiet, and fearful child, he’d returned from the angel’s care brave and strong-willed. He asked countless questions, but he never asked for help and would even deny it if offered. He’d even tried to sneak out of their werewolf camp when no one was watching.

  Cyrus had been given a small taste of the outside world, and now he was famished for more.

  “Mommy, look!” He pointed again.

  “Shush, stop.” She pulled his hand down again. “Don’t point. What?”

  “Hm, elf!”

  She followed his eyes and saw he had found the young girl again. The elf had taken a seat amongst a small field of flowers and pulled out a scroll of parchment from the basket she carried. Quietly, she began to read, and Belen envied such a concept. The werewolves had few books and little time to read. Such was a symptom of their curse.

  Every full moon, she and her people changed from humans into ferocious beasts of madness and hunger. They roamed the southern end of the Forest of Angor in packs, tracking and consuming any flesh they could. Occasionally, they ventured into the northern end of Themiscyra for manticores or the rare wyvern that failed to take flight swiftly enough, and sometimes they’d prowl further to the north for centaurs, kobolds, or bugbears. They rarely caught elves, though, because they ascended into the trees each full moon to avoid slaughter at werewolf hands—or rather claws.

  Sometimes if the werewolves couldn’t find food, they would fight amongst themselves, tearing apart their own camp. They would wreck tents, food stores, books, clothes, tools, anything really. In the morning, come first light, when they changed back into humans, they would have to repair the damage. It was a vicious cycle—one they could watch but do nothing about. Belen knew full well what she was doing when she was a werewolf, but she was helpless to stop it.

  To her knowledge, only Cyrus was different.

  Belen’s broodings came to a swift close when an elf she recognized came marching through the camp straight towards her. His raised chin, broad shoulders, and aura of command made him appear as tall as a colossus, but in truth, he only came up to Belen’s chest. She stood as he approached, taking Cyrus in hand and putting him in front of her.

  “Nathok,” she said.

  “Amazon,” he replied.

  He stopped a good three paces away and raised his chin a hair higher. On either side of him were two elves. Each stood straight and tall with the kind of poise one would expect from creatures who lived for several hundred years.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” Belen said with a nod. “Do you know who I am?”

  “You look familiar. As I recall, you were bound and gagged amongst the amazons who accompanied Emily Stout. What was that, four years ago?”

  “Roughly, yes.”

  “And now, here you are, back in my village, unaccompanied save for a young boy who shares your jawline and nose.” He leaned down and peered into Cyrus’ eyes. “And that’s a peculiar thing. I’ve only seen such grey in werewolves when they transform.”

  Belen swallowed and felt Cyrus grip her leg. The elf was looking at him now with a hard and inquisitive stare, his forehead scrunching together. Cyrus, to his credit, held his mother’s leg, but met the stranger’s gaze. Belen’s chest swelled with pride.

  “Do you, by chance,” Nathok paused, glancing at Belen, “know what became of Emily? Last we spoke with the amazon queen, she was overseas, pursuing the true traitor they’d sought.”

  “She’s dead,” Belen said, trying to force some sympathy into her words. “Both Emily and the traitor, Heliena.”

  Nathok turned his gaze from Cyrus and took a deep breath. Then he let it out slowly, his stance relaxed, and his arms fell to his sides. He gave a deep nod, and then several more, before taking a step closer to her.

  “How did you come by this knowledge?” he asked.

  “I was told,” Belen said.

  “Is this why you come to our village, to inform me?” He raised an eyebrow. “Seems excessive, as I would have heard it from Adelpha soon enough.”

  “No, I come for another reason. If you would allow me to speak freely, I have a story to tell and a request to make.”

  The elf flicked his eyes from her to her son, and then glanced at the elves who flanked him. One stayed rigid, but the other shrugged with one shoulder.

  “You two stay here,” he said, then turned to Belen. “Follow me.”

  The elf led her further into the village, and Cyrus held his mother’s hand, his little legs moving as quickly as they could to keep pace. Meanwhile, his head swiveled all around, taking in the sights of the elven village. Countless elves walked about with quiet dignity from one place to the next among simple structures made of fallen wood, camouflaged by thick brush. If he noted the way they lifted their chins in disdain at the two werewolves, he did not say so to his mother.

  Nathok took them to a simple lean-to pushed up against a massive column of an ancient tree. Under the lean-to was nothing more than a blanket stretched out across the ground and a wooden chest. Nathok sat on the chest and waved his hand over the blanket. Belen and Cyrus took a seat.

  “Speak,” he said. “You’ve come a long way, and just the two of you. I assume you have much to say.”

  “First, I just want to say that you are much more hospitable than last I remember. I expected more resistance from you.”

  “Yes, well,” he said, scratching his neck, “I was taught a lesson by a young girl with more willpower and integrity than some of my own race. I’ve been attempting to be less judgmental since then, which has proved to be both difficult and humbling. My patience, on the other hand, is still short. Please, tell me why you’re here.”

  Belen nodded and pulled Cyrus close. He’d been trying to pull up grass at the blanket’s edge, and although she didn’t mind him doing so, she wanted to be sure he stayed within reach.

  “Adelpha may have told you, but not long after we left your village, I was turned into a werewolf. I was pregnant then, and my son was born a werewolf, like I am. His name is Cyrus. Cyrus, say hello to Nathok.”

  “Hi,” Cyrus said and waved a tiny hand.

  Nathok nodded.

>   “I asked Emily to send a letter to Cyrus’ father for me. It seemed the least she could do, being as how she had a hand in dooming me to this life. However, although Emily delivered the letter, she died before she could return the response. In her place, a samurai and a knight came to the forest looking for me. I see the surprise in your eyes—or is that doubt—and yes, I was skeptical as well. However, they carried signed letters from my husband, and also news of Emily’s death. You’ll no doubt hear the details from Adelpha or anyone else you meet. The story grows into a legend. They call her the Angel’s Vassal. They say she rose from the dead to command the last colossus in the world and save the city of Lucifan from annihilation. Sounds horribly farfetched to me.

  “But I’m not here to tell you that story. This is about my son. You see, I hoped to save him from the life I’ve been confined to. I hoped to cure him of his werewolf disease. The samurai confirmed that one angel still lived, and I decided to entrust them with my son.

  “Listen carefully, as this next part is difficult to understand. I feel it will interest you above all others, knowing your connection with Emily. The two warriors returned six months later with my son and told me the angel could not cure my son’s disease. However, the angel did grant Cyrus control over his werewolf form. When the full moon comes, Cyrus does not become a monster driven by hunger; he retains his thoughts, his feelings, and his senses. He is, by all accounts, normal.”

  Cyrus, cuddled quietly into his mother’s lap, had become interested in what the adults were saying when he realized the conversation was about him. The little boy hunched his shoulders, afraid he’d done something wrong. Nathok's intense stare only made it worse.

  “That’s quite a claim,” Nathok said. “Extraordinary, if true.”

  “It is. I’ve seen him turned.”

  A moment of silence passed between them.

  “Assuming I believe this,” Nathok said, eyes still on the boy, “what is your request, exactly?”

  “The angel said he did this so that Cyrus could choose his own fate when he’s older. If he wishes to stay with me, he can, because he’ll still be a werewolf. If he wishes to leave the forest, he can, because he can control the monster within. The knight and samurai promised to return when the boy is sixteen to see if he wants to leave Angor with them. I don’t know if I trust them fully, but I suppose I trust them enough.

  “My request is that you train my son to survive. We know little of fighting and surviving beyond the forest, being that everything in this place avoids us, and less of the outside world, being that we are shunned or hunted down if we leave our prison. Well deserved, for some of us are just as vicious in human form as the beasts we morph into.”

  Belen raised a hand and touched her face. It was instinctive. She hadn’t actually meant to do that, but it drew Nathok’s eyes anyway. He’d missed it before, but now that he’d noticed the healing blemish there, he could look at nothing else. Belen pulled her hand away.

  “In short, I am here for my son,” she said.

  Her words had a dual purpose. For one, they drew Nathok’s eyes away from the fading bruise on her cheek, and for two, they instilled confidence in her own decision.

  She was taking a risk coming here. Ralph didn’t care for Cyrus or what became of him. After Cyrus returned, the leader of their camp had written him off as a nuisance, a blight on the pack—something tainted by the outside world. No, Ralph wouldn't care where her son went, but he would care where Belen went. She had decided this on her own, without his consent, and that would infuriate him. She would have to keep this a secret for her own sake.

  “Please,” she said after a long pause. “I would ask this of you for Emily.”

  The elf touched two fingers to his chin and raised his head, letting the fingers slide down his throat. His aura of authority had returned, and it hung over Belen like a shadow.

  At one point in her life, she might have lunged at the elf, shouted and seethed at him, threatened to cut his pointy little ears off if he didn’t do as she demanded. Now she was intimidated, and she begged, like the animal she was.

  Don’t doom Cyrus to this fate, she thought. Please, let him forge his own destiny.

  “If I do this,” Nathok began, words drawn out, “it will be done on my terms. You are asking me to train an outsider in our secrets and knowledge, as Emily once did, yet this boy hasn’t even decided what he will do with them. This concerns me. If I train him, it will not just be in how to fight and survive, but in how to think and act. If I become dissatisfied, if I find malice in his soul, the training will end. My word will be law in this matter, and you will not argue. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, oh please yes,” Belen said, sighing in relief. “And thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Cyrus looked from Nathok to his mom, his grey eyes revealing just how little he understood about what was going on. He tugged Belen’s sleeve and opened his arms for a hug. She gave him one, and he felt better. The world always felt safer when she held him.