by Connie Flynn
He went on to remind her not to leave the circle, no matter what happened, describing in graphic terms how capable he was of ripping her to shreds. Darkness fell while he spoke, and soon the fire was their only light. Occasionally it popped or one of the dogs stirred. Otherwise, all was unnaturally quiet.
So was Dana. But more than once he saw her cringe, and he kept up his litany of warnings, wanting to frighten her so badly she wouldn't dare disobey.
Then he asked her to repeat the ceremonial words.
Dana rolled her eyes, but Morgan had seen the terror there and knew her action came from bravado.
"Do you think I'd be here if I didn’t already know them?"
"Indulge me."
She made an annoyed sound, then began.
"Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may. Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may. The power of love triumphs this day."
Morgan smiled approvingly, and Dana picked up her tempo, moving through the remaining stanzas without once faltering.
"What a woman!"
She laughed weakly. "What a man!"
"One more thing." Morgan leaned forward soberly, felt a rock jab at his backside. His knuckles were growing raw from the cold. "I've blocked the opening to Lily and Jorje's den, but I'm sure they have a second exit. Maybe the whelp believed me when I said we wouldn't do the ceremony, but Lily surely won't. They'll come." He paused, intentionally being dramatic. "Whatever happens, don't pull a trick like you did up there in the meadow. You cannot defeat a werewolf. Don't even try."
"What if they hurt you?"
"They won't. At least not mortally." He stood up. "Trust me on this, Dana, for once. Never forget that I am your greatest enemy tonight. The love that protects us also makes you vulnerable."
She stared into the flames. "I'm afraid, Morgan."
"So am I."
The wind picked up, blowing under the edges of his fur blanket like a freezer blast. Morgan's testicles retreated deep into his body; gooseflesh rose on his legs. But the discomfort would soon be over, for him at least.
"The moon is rising," he said ominously, seeing the pale disk peek over the canyon wall. His muscles flexed, stretched, screamed from the effort. Hair appeared on his arms. He plucked the cloak from his shoulders and tossed it into the ring.
"Put it on," he ordered in a thickening voice. "The night will be long and cold."
"But, Morgan, the book says I'm to have only one."
"It will do us little good if you freeze to death before morning."
He turned and fixed his gaze on her. She turned away, but still picked up the fur and obediently draped it over her head.
"And Dana?" Morgan could scarcely see her answering nod through his glazing eyes. "The ritual has begun. Remember, I'm your enemy. Don't meet my eyes again."
Then he fell to the dirt and rolled into a ball of pain.
* * *
"Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may," Dana cried, stretching her arms to the moon. She was supposed to repeat this until his alchemization was over, wasn't she? Dear God, she'd memorized it so completely she thought she could never forget.
But now, with Morgan writhing in the dirt, hearing his screams, seeing his skin actually split apart, her mind had turned to mush. She drove her hands deep into her windswept curls, pressing them against her skull, willing memory to return.
"Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may. Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may."
The moon moved up, deepening in color. Dana reached higher, repeating the phrase over and over until her tongue grew numb, her mouth grew stiff. The wind heightened, howling around her, whipping tendrils of hair into her eyes. The dogs arched their necks and let out endless howls. And still Dana chanted.
What horrors he had endured through all these years. She'd heard him cry in pain, of course, but never in her wildest dreams had she imagined such tearing and wrenching of bone and sinew and muscle. His screams tore her heart like his changes tore his body. And to think she'd begged to be like him. What a fool he must have thought her.
For just a heartbeat, she thought to rush outside the circle, drop beside him, and hold him to her heaving breasts until his agony passed. Then reason returned. Not self-preservation, but the knowledge that if she weakened, she would doom Morgan to suffer this forevermore.
Her head cleared. The words came back. She continued chanting. Soon Morgan's pained moans diminished. He lifted his head, leered at her with wolfish avarice.
"Da-a-na-a-a," he crooned. "Please he-el-lp me. Let me in."
Dana shook her head furiously, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the craters of the moon. She was supposed to say the next line now. What was it? Dear heaven, what was it?
"The power of love will triumph this night."
She sensed more than saw Morgan's head drop. The sound of terrible weeping reached her ears. She must not look. Oh, she must not look.
The next stanza . . . please, let the words come . . .
"Lady moon in her great fullness trines sweet Venus now.
Yet fickle Lady waits for none and soon moves on."
A howl sounded in the distance, different from the ones the dogs had been endlessly repeating. Another followed, deep and baleful and horrible. Dana shuddered. Still, the words flowed from her tongue.
"Oh, spirits of transcendent love arise and heed my cry.
We need your light to vanquish those dark foes who curse this man."
Time passed. She completed the verse, began again.
"Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may,"
The dogs howled more furiously. Morgan scrambled to his feet, hunkered over, gaping savagely at Dana. His arms were bent and lifted, curled fingers dripping with long claws. He drooled and snarled, and several times Dana's eyes drifted down. He'd never looked more abhorrent. For a moment, her love quavered.
"Let she who loves him ."
I love him, thought Dana. Love him more than I love my own life.
She tore her eyes from Morgan, reached higher for the moon, wanting to also touch benevolent Venus, who she prayed would fulfill her promise.
"Let she who loves him plead for grace this night.
Show mercy, please, oh, Venus.
Restore my love's humanity.
Erase his fangs, his claws, his wolfish strength.
Oh, make him pure again."
The forest rattled as if a steamroller were smashing it down. Branches snapped, roots groaned and screeched, seemed pulled from their very ground by passing hands. Garbled utterances mingled with these horrible noises, and Dana shivered with the dreadful realization that she'd heard those same sounds on the night she freed the sheep.
Lily had arrived.
* * *
Morgan was lost in a haze of bloodlust. Horrifying and cruelly satisfying images filled his mind's eye. He saw Dana under him, eyes wide in mortal terror, his slavering jaws lowering to her tender throat. Blood flowed, rich and fragrant. He salivated, preparing to feast.
No-o-o-o! Never!
Reality lurched into focus. How long they'd been there, he couldn't say. The muted thuds of werewolf footpads reached his ears. He felt the forest quiver, heard Lily's shrill voice even over the baying of his dogs.
"You stupid omega fool," she shrieked in the guttural werewolf tongue. "Did you really believe they would not do the ritual?"
"But, Lily," whined her companion. "Morgan—"
"Blocked us in our den, all because you led him to us."
"Fast, fast, fast, sweet powers of love," cried Dana, drowning out Jorje's response.
Morgan then heard the pair skid to a stop, almost saw Lily putting up one arm. "Listen! Listen, you stupid pup. The vile female chants the words even as we move."
"How can we stop them now? The h-holy water ." Dread filled Jorje's young voice.
"I have ways," said Lily slyly. "Oh, I have ways."
Then their pads fell again upon the pine-covered earth.
As they neared, the dogs spun to face away from the circle, and Morgan fel
t a moment's pride. He'd trained them well. Then the moon tugged at him again. He looked up, fell beneath its spell. Huge now, round, and glowing yellow-orange, its man face called to him. Foul images rose up. Instrument of Death, they cried, move swiftly. His hunger erupted with a howl that split the air.
Lily and Jorje burst from the forest. The dogs bayed more furiously. Dana's chants increased in volume.
Morgan fell into a mindless fog, and just before it enveloped him he heard the whir of flapping wings. A bird alighted on the stone edge of the fire pit, cocking its head watchfully, the crimson flames reflecting darkly on its white feathers.
Its outline quickly blurred, replaced in Morgan's mind by images of bloody slaughters and screaming deaths.
Chapter Twenty-Four
"Okay, men and women," Schumacher blustered, pacing back and forth before his troops. "Come sunrise, I want every man jack of you in uniform, armed and ready to march. We're wiping this wolf scourge off the mountain by sundown."
A low murmur ran through the troops. Schumacher scowled and it immediately ceased.
"I know these things seem fearful, but they're just a pack of wild dogs, that's all."
"Canine lupus," muttered Rutherford.
Ignoring him, the captain went on. "Stiffen your backbones, folks. Shake off those willies, and start hunting in earnest. I expect nothing but the best from all of you. Hear that? Nothing but the best." He put on his most inspiring smile. "You can do it! I know you can!"
When he dismissed the unit, they wandered listlessly off, convincing Schumacher he'd been wasting his breath.
"Quite a speech," said a now-familiar voice from behind him, in a tone that suggested it wasn't a compliment, and the captain turned to see Rutherford, who was wearing a wry smile.
"Don't put the troops down," the captain said. "Most of them are young. Can't blame them for being scared."
"Oh, I wasn't putting them down."
Deciding to ignore the implication, Schumacher started to walk away. But Rutherford stopped him with a restraining hand on the shoulder.
"Do you really believe we'll find wolves out there?"
Schumacher stared at the man's hand. Rutherford finally dropped it. But he took his time doing it.
"You saw those plaster casts," he continued. "Can you honestly say they belong to a wolf?"
"Obviously, you don't think so. Just as obviously, you're going to give me your opinion whether I want it or not. So shoot."
"A clever man is trying to throw us off by disguising his tracks, that's what I think. What I don't quite get is why you aren't changing the focus of this mission."
Schumacher's blood began boiling, making him warm for the first time in days. "Look, you goddam weenie," he growled. "I'm fed up with you trying to get this wolf hunt called off. This unit's going out tomorrow, and we're coming back with a load of carcasses! If you know what's good for you, you'll stay outta my way!"
"A waste of time," Rutherford stated definitively. "But suit yourself."
The captain whirled awkwardly, then stalked back to his motor home. Sunrise would arrive soon enough, and he needed his sleep.
A short while later, an elephant began battering at his door. An enormous beast, with padded feet like a wolf, its trunk a long, undulating tentacle covered with gaping suckers that wanted to draw him in, absorb his essence. The ramming intensified. Soon the beast would break through. He was helpless to prevent himself from becoming fodder—
"Captain! Captain Schumacher!" Each word was punctuated by a slam on the door. The captain shot straight up in his bed, gripping his covers tightly around him.
Dragging a blanket with him, he got up and moved to the door. He still trembled from the aftermath of his nightmare, so he ignored the insistent knocking for a minute until he regained control.
Finally—and slowly—he opened up. The cold chill of predawn greeted him as he gazed into Fishman's face.
"Don't you hear that?" Rutherford asked, waving excitedly into the distance. "It's been going on for hours."
"What?" Then it came to his ears. Bloodcurdling sounds that brought back the horror of his nightmare. Howls and yowls, screeches and screams. His first thought was to whirl and climb under his bed.
He couldn't. Steeling himself, he asked where the sounds were coming from.
"We think from the clearing in Ebony Canyon," replied Rutherford, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind him.
The captain stared speechlessly into Rutherford's pale face. He could see the man was frightened, too, but his shoulders were resolutely squared and he was fully dressed, clearly prepared to face the horror happening just a few hundred yards from where they were. If the captain had been a better man, Rutherford's courage would have shamed him.
"Your people are ready, Captain. We need to move quickly if we want to save that hiker."
"Who ordered that?" Schumacher asked sharply.
"I did, sir." Rutherford shuffled, then planted his feet firmly on the ground. Schumacher could tell he was waiting for the ensuing challenge, so he didn't disappoint him.
"On what authority?"
"Officially, your sergeant ordered the mobilization. We couldn't wake you, Captain. We've been trying for several hours."
Schumacher couldn't hide his shudder. "It's been going on that long?"
"The first report came shortly after midnight. We have to hurry, Captain."
The captain nodded numbly. But he knew his job, if nothing else, and he hurried to pull on his clothes. Now his professional side was taking over, and as he zipped up his parka, he glanced at the clock. Five in the morning. The sun would be rising soon.
He turned back to Rutherford. "Order a helicopter. Tell them to be heavily armed."
"I already did. They'll come at first light. The rest of us are meeting at the trailhead in five minutes."
With that, Rutherford returned to the screaming darkness.
The heinous sounds swept inside along with the frigid, whining wind and beat at Schumacher's ears. He slapped his hands against his head and rammed the door shut with his shoulder. But the cries continued, rising and falling, falling and rising, and he pressed his hands ever more tightly. His lobes stung in protest and still he pressed.
He couldn't face it. He just couldn't. Couldn't. Stumbling to his bed, he fell and rolled into the blankets, seeking warmth to melt his frozen bones. But warmth didn't come. His teeth chattered. His body quivered violently, and even his hands couldn't block out those chilling sounds.
The elephant returned to his door, and he scrunched deeper into the blankets. No matter what, he wouldn't answer. Maybe it would go away.
Finally he heard a voice—imagined it came from a hungry sucker.
"Maybe he's already down there."
Another voice agreed and the elephant retreated.
Schumacher wept in relief and soon his trembling eased. He looked up, realized what he had done.
He was ruined.
But at least he was still alive.
* * *
"Look at me, look at me, look at me, look."
Lily's singsong carried above the heads of the dogs and rang in Dana's ears. Steadfast, Dana kept her eyes on the sinking, fading moon and called the next stanza. Her arms ached from reaching up, her wounded shoulder throbbed, and cold tears streaked down her frozen face. Her robes had long ago fallen to the ground and her teeth chattered. She was growing weak.
"Speed, speed, speed," she ordered. "Oh, blissful love."
Was it any use? Some time before, Morgan had changed completely to a wolf. No trace of humanity remained. He lay on his side, halfway between his howling dogs and the edge of the circle, body convulsing horribly. His whimpers tore into Dana's soul. Soon the sun would rise. She'd be trapped in this glen with these lethal creatures. Nothing between her and them but a few drops of holy water and seven dogs.
"The Lady rolls on," she mouthed, although each movement of her chapped lips was excruciating.
"Da-na
-a-a," trilled Lily. "I see into your heart and can give you its desires. Come out and I shall make you one of us."
"Time grows short," said Dana, trying to quell her rush of alarm. How had Lily known she'd once wanted to be one of them?
"Da-na-a-a," Lily repeated seductively. "I'll give you everything you've ever dreamed of."
Involuntarily, Dana's eyes drifted lower. She saw her tempter's coat shining silver in the fading firelight. Behind her, Jorje paced in agitation.
Suddenly, Lily jerked her head, caught Dana's gaze and held it.
"I know you're tired, Dana. So tired. Cease your struggles now and come to me."
Dana lowered her arms. Lily was right. Her every muscle ached with fatigue. It wouldn't be so bad being one of them. Not so bad at all.
"Meet us in haste. Meet us in haste," she intoned automatically. "Time grows short; meet us in haste."
With each word, she took a step forward, coming ever closer to the protecting line. "Yealanay, cawfanay, nayfanay, may."
"Cease that loathsome babbling!" screamed Lily.
At that very moment, Dana stumbled. She looked down, breaking Lily's hold on her eyes, and saw a heap of crumpled fur, then another. Why two? she wondered numbly. The text clearly said there should only be one. Was that why the ritual wasn't working? Her spirits soared with hope. With one swift movement, she bent, snatched up and hurled the robe. It rose in a long furred sheet, then fell to cover Morgan's writhing body.
"Dana." Lily's voice sliced through Dana's surge of will. Although she fought it, she could not stop her head from rising. She saw her reflection in Lily's dark and scheming eyes. Helplessly, she lifted a foot, replaced it on the ground outside the ring.
"Yes," Lily urged, her voice as smooth as honey. "Come forth."
Dana lifted her other foot.
Lily stepped between Fenris and Aphrodite. Abruptly, the dogs stopped howling. The bird screeched a shrill alarm.
* * *
Rutherford looked through the formation of men and women lining up at the trailhead and searched for the captain, but found him nowhere. The yowls had stopped, at least for the moment, but that only scared him more than ever. He thought then of Charlie Lonetree's horrifying interpretation of his attacker and of Schumacher's hidden but still transparent fears.