WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds)

by Susan Cartwright

  The wolves had had enough. There was little left on the carcass. Let the scavengers have the rest. Ash touched them. “So, are you gluttons finished?” He asked with droll good humor.

  Long Fang looked up, his deep yellow eyes flashing. “I eat more than you, two-legs. I am twice your weight and must sustain myself.”

  Ash grinned at the insult. In wolf terms, being small and light was synonymous with being weak. Traditionally it was always the biggest and strongest that would lead the pack. “As you say, four-legs. But I challenge you to a race. I wager you cannot beat even my two-legs to the crest of this mountain.”

  “You are only half the way there,” Long Fang rejoined, unperturbed by the competition, his attitude vastly superior. “You need more advantage.” Long Fang had little regard for the capabilities of a human man. Men were soft and slow … and they only had two legs.

  Seeta yelped, interrupting. “Long Fang will beat you to the top of this hill, my cub, from where you stand. My mate is strong and fast. No one can best him.”

  Teella danced back and forth, wagging her tail with excitement and expectation. She was in awe of her parents and looked up to her older “brother,” Ash.

  Ash pretended to be calm, in case it might provide some slight advantage over Long Fang. His adrenaline was already flowing, his nerves tingling in preparation for the race. For some time he had been sizing up the best route to take.

  Feigning casual indifference, he asked, “And what shall you risk, Mother? Perhaps you and Long Fang wish to wager the kill from the next hunt? I bet that I will get to the crest of this mountain before Long Fang. If I lose, I will fell the next beast. If you lose, you do the same … only I want my meal to be brought to the den.”

  “The den.” Long Fang was disgusted and voiced his contempt and protest accordingly. “I take an animal to the den in my stomach. How is it that you still have these strange man ideas, pup?”

  “Are you afraid to lose?” Ash swiftly rejoined.

  Long Fang snarled. “Lose a race with puny two-legs? Never.” He bunched his muscles.

  “Ready, set: go!” yelled Ash.

  More than four years with the wolves had made Ash fit of body, sure of foot, with endurance and speed. If he had not flourished physically — as well as becoming a vigorous, persistent fighter — he would never have survived in the wild.

  Ash scrambled to the top of the mountain, loosening small stones and occasionally slipping. His heart and head were pounding with the drum of his pulse, his breath rasping in his chest. One hand was cut by a jagged rock as he gripped the surface of the steep incline, and the sharp sudden pain spurred him on. He slipped and a bush slapped him in the face, but he placed his foot on the root of it. It gave better purchase, allowing him to leap up and over a small crag. Ash used all his strength, every limb and muscle — wanting to win.

  The wolves were right behind him, gaining. Long Fang was well out front.

  The race was going to be close, but it was Ash who reached the top of the rise first. He fell to the ground exhausted. Chest heaving as he recovered his breath, he lay on his back, spent. Long Fang arrived only an instant behind. While still panting, Ash managed to sit up and give a nod of success to his adopted father.

  Long Fang topped the rise and casually sat down, his tongue lolling out; his exertion barely showing. He looked at Ash with amused complacence, and to Ash’s surprise there was a gleam of pride in his adopted father’s eyes. If a wolf was able to smile, Long Fang was doing it now, his long straight teeth gleaming in a bold grin.

  Seeta and Teella arrived, Teella collapsing, Seeta wagging her tail. Seeta had not raced, choosing to keep time with her young daughter.

  “You have become fast and strong, cub,” Long Fang observed. And then, not wanting to sound too pleased, he added, “For a two-legs.”

  Ash was flattered. Long Fang rarely gave compliments. “The race was not a fair one, Long Fang.” Ash wanted to lessen his triumph, to help his adoptive father save face. “I only suggested the race because I knew I’d be able to best you. I had the advantage.” He smirked and began to giggle. After a difficult run, laughing was hard on his stomach, the jagged movements already causing a catching pain. Ash doubled over, laughing all the more, holding his middle. “You,” he sputtered, pointing a forefinger toward his adopted father “… you had just eaten half that boar!”

  Long Fang snarled, realizing that he had been tricked. His stomach was unpleasantly full. “Treacherous pup. I should have known. You are wolf … yet also man. I will remember this deviousness. You are cunning.”

  It was the longest sentence Ash had ever heard his gruff adopted father say, and once again Ash was taken aback by the praise. A pack leader must be shrewd; this was pack lore. Long Fang was paying tribute, suggesting that Ash would make a good leader.

  Ash stopped laughing, instantly sobered by the compliment. He said, “You honor me, father.”

  Long Fang looked at him but made no movement. His yellow eyes, perfectly motionless, clearly communicated everything he wanted to say.

  Filled with unaccountable emotion and strangely embarrassed by it, Ash turned his gaze from his father’s penetrating regard.

  Shortly after, the family lay down peacefully, enjoying an indolent repose. The winter’s ice was gone, and the morning sun was warm and agreeable on their backs. The last snow season had been mild, but the new spring’s warmth was still a welcome and refreshing change. Birds sang, the sky was green, and everything in Ash’s world seemed perfect.

  Ash looked at his sleepy friends and thought, “This is more like what one should do after a big meal, eh, Long Fang?”

  Long Fang raised a somnolent eye lid, but didn’t deign to reply to such an unnecessary question. Instead he rolled over languidly, shut his eyes, and let the sun and his meal send him back to sleep.

  Ash lay back with his arms behind his head as a pillow. This is the life, he thought, with profound satisfaction. Surrounded by friends, enjoying a full stomach and the sun — what more could one ask for? It was at times like this that he felt content. He had mind-touched the animals for so long he thought like one.

  Trueborn! Inhuman!

  Wolf instincts were like shadows in the back of his mind and this disturbed him not at all. When he was wolf he was never bothered by the burdens of the Dark Sankomin.

  Ash accessed Icom, checking out the local news. Nothing much new — a football game at the entertainment center tonight. He would watch it on holovid. A slight trade dispute, found to have been caused by off-world influence, now set to rights. Various shows, games and contests available, but again he couldn’t participate.

  He had at one point or another mentally contacted many of the local fringe dwellers, like the wrinkled, bearded, toothless old woman, Jani. Stooped and gray haired, with virtually no education, she still had more common sense than most people. She had killed a man, buried him and no one had ever found out. Ash was glad. The man had needed killing. One of the few people he actually spoke to, Ash traded with Jani. She was an honest dealer and ignored his off-world accent.

  Ash had touched both women and men who had committed various crimes and had always been interested in the rationalizations they used. For rape: “She deserved it” or “She was asking for it.” For cruelty: “No one was ever nice to me.” But there were acts of generosity and sacrifice as well.

  The Ferals had a peculiar system. They were in hiding from Opan police and moved constantly. Off the grid, they could do what they wanted. They sometimes even kept slaves.

  It was about eight months after arriving on Opan that Ash had mind-touched eight-year-old Dorian. With a man in close pursuit, Dorian had been running into the woods in fear of his life. Ash had been practicing using a stave, so it had been easy for him to strike the larger man to unconsciousness and then to catch the fleeing Dorian.

  Dorian was light-brown skinned, green eyed, with wavy black hair. Dorian had fought Ash valiantly and violently, giving in only when it wa
s clear that Ash was stronger and would not release him. When Dorian had finally stilled he had looked at Ash with a strangely adult combination of fear, distrust and calculation.

  Ash had given Dorian a particularly hard shake. “Listen to me,” he commanded. “I can help you, and you can help me.” Ash held tightly to Dorian’s upper right arm.

  “Why would you do that?”

  “You want your brother back, don’t you?”

  Dorian’s expression closed with suspicion. “What do you know about my brother?”

  “I know he’s your twin. I know you escaped and he did not. I know how to get him back and how you can both be free. But we need to trust each other.”

  They measured each other for some moments — Dorian looking up at the older boy, Ash looking down. Ash saw complete mistrust in Dorian’s expression. That was okay. He didn’t trust Dorian either. In this they were equal.

  Ash studied Dorian, recalling the brief mental contact he had with him. The boy had a formidable mind, as well as a longing that Ash could appreciate. With sudden intuition he knew the exact lure that would bring this boy to him, which would capture him body and soul. Although he knew the answer, Ash asked, “Do you have Icom?”

  “No,” Dorian replied bitterly.

  “You need the neural interface while your brain is still young and adaptable, or you may never be able to operate it. There’s a extremely small window for insertion. You’re close to that time.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Dorian said in a resentful tone.

  Ash nodded, understanding Dorian’s anger. Without Icom he would be a lesser citizen, cut off from the rest of the world except by a handheld that was slow and inefficient. Further, a handheld was a device that was difficult to come by, as almost everyone had Icom. Ash understood Dorian. The boy had amazing strength and resilience, but in his soul was an imperative need: he wanted more than bare survival. He thirsted to learn everything, and despite his trials, or perhaps because of them, he was determined to flourish.

  Ash said with confidence, “I can guarantee that you’ll get Icom.” He let go of Dorian’s arm and stood back. He was offering him a choice. For a moment Dorian’s face reacted with surprise and yearning, before his expression became guarded once more. Dorian’s eyes assessed him, taking in Ash’s worn clothes, his handmade stave — all the signs that made him appear to be on the run as well.

  “My name is Ash. You should trust me, Dorian.” His voice was persuasive. He knew he was offering the ultimate temptation

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I know many things, Dorian.”

  Dorian’s expression displayed no emotion. “You can free my brother and get us both Icom?”

  Ash put his hand on his heart. “I swear it.”

  Dorian stiffened, clearly steeling himself. He appeared to be preparing for all manner of insult. “What do I have to do?”

  Ash gave a low wry chuckle. Given Dorian’s experience he could well understand his apprehension. “Don’t worry; you won’t be doing anything you won’t want to do.”

  Ash knew Dorian and Anton were twins. Their parents had died, and with no family they were Indentured. An unscrupulous woman had immediately seen the potential of two attractive young boys. She had sold the boys to an unlicensed pimp.

  Ash knew that providing sexual relief — called “Service” — was a heavily regulated and lucrative business in all the United Worlds. The position of licensed courtesan was vigorously sought. Hopeful applicants, men and women who passed the most stringent psychological tests, were allowed to train for Service. After successfully completing four years of study and a three-year apprenticeship, they became accredited by the Courtesan Guild. It was a well-paid and honorable career. A licensed courtesan was rated as the second most trusted profession, right after Sister of the Temple of Jana. They were highly skilled mental and physical health professionals, confidants and personal counselors, with specific and varied abilities well beyond providing sexual release.

  Dorian and his brother had not been Indentured as willing and possibly successful courtesans in training. They were too young for such a choice. Instead they had been imprisoned as black market sex slaves to pedophiles. Dorian became aware that the food he and Anton were given was drugged, making them somnolent. He had the intelligence to stop eating, hiding his uneaten portion, in order to have the wits to flee. Ruthlessly overcoming the ethical dilemma, he had put his own interests first and escaped without his brother. Ash was appalled, but he had seen much of both good and evil on the fringes. Nothing shocked him anymore. What could he do about any of it? Except that he could help Dorian.

  Ash had outlined his plan. He had pried two Damithst crystals from his armguard. Dorian was to go to the Temple of Jana and seek sanctuary. The jewels were worth a fortune. In exchange the Sisters of Jana would buy the contracts of Anton and Dorian and Indenture them in the Temple until they were of age. They were also to supply a list of items to Ash, meeting at an agreed time, in a specific place: heating, lighting, cooking utensils, food — Ash had a long list. In addition, they needed to provide him credits that he could use in trade. These would support him for the next few years.

  Dorian had fulfilled his part of the bargain and so had the Temple Sisters.

  The Temple Prefect had carried out Ash’s trade requests although she had included many extras. Ash had been only fourteen years old, but his memory of the Temple Prefect, the Lady Lindha, stood out clearly in his mind. He had mind-touched Lindha, when she and a number of others had left his items at the designated position. In the dark hour specified for the drop, Ash had only been able to make out her silhouette. She was young, and like all Temple Sisters she was no doubt beautiful. Ash had only had a fleeting mental contact, and while unable to fully view her body, he had been within her flesh and in her mind.

  It had been fantastic. Being with Lindha was like drinking water from a fresh, clear mountain stream. Her mind and body had been a joy, uplifting … arousing. The Prefect had been curious about Ash; she thought him kind to have saved the twins. Wholesome, humane, and well intentioned, her thoughts were direct, honest, and soothing. Ash had never touched anyone like her. Awake or asleep he often thought of the Temple Prefect, and these visions were frequently erotic. But sometimes, in his dreams, he simply watched her, soothed by the sense of peace she gave him. Ash longed to see her again. When he was of age it was the Lady Lindha that he would apply to for help getting off-world.

  Ash had never lost that sense of connection with the Prefect, that link he sometimes got after mind-touch. Such bonds were rare. For example, he felt linked to the wrinkled old Feral, Jani, because of her integrity and courage. But this connection to the Lady Lindha was much stronger than anything he had ever felt before. He was drawn to the woman, to the soulful pull of her body, her calming mind and the purity of her spirit.

  Ash had not heard from any of them again. One curious thing happened, however. When he had put the stones into Dorian’s hands, the small gems had burned with light, a sudden unmistakable flash. It was as if they were sentient and had agreed to the transaction, as if they wanted to go with Dorian.

  Ash glanced over at his wolf family. They hadn’t moved. No wonder, after that large meal. Shutting his eyes, Ash did what he always did whenever he had some time to himself: he searched for an animal mind to touch.

  Reaching out, he made contact.

  Ah, Ash thought as a light cool breeze stroked his pure white feathers in a loving, soft caress. Tenderly the gentle currents of air lifted him, pushing him higher. When he soared like this, in the body of a bird, he recalled Delian folklore concerning fairies, knights, monsters, magic, wiccans and warlocks. Childhood stories told to him by his parents came back to him, such as Gilbert the wise and Nacastri the brave. Air, Earth, Fire and Water — while all four were fundamental, Air was always what Ash from his earliest memories had most identified with. Flying seemed so natural. Often as a child, when fighting desperate il
lness, he envisioned the magical power of air — the soul and breath of life. In times of near death it seemed to him that he had floated ethereal and disembodied; as if he could mind-touch the air itself.

  The magic of air was also associated with the color white. Auspiciously Ash was in mind-touch with a whitehawk, a creature as elemental as the air itself. Supremely elated, Ash soared far above his own body in the winged form of the great white bird. He thought it strange that he should so completely identify with air and spirit when his own powers were more closely linked to heat and fire. The whitehawk, like Ash’s wolf family, had also already eaten well, and was serenely catching updrafts for pure enjoyment and, of course, to look over its territory.

  “Air keeps trouble and strife at bay, blows positive thoughts to those far away.” At least that was how the saying went as Ash recalled. But who might he send a positive thought to other than Seeta, Teella and Long Fang? The answer sprang into his mind as soon as he considered it. Peace to you Lovely Lady Lindha — I hope to meet you soon, Ash thought.

  A sharp turn in the green sky drew his attention back to the whitehawk. They were haughty creatures, considering themselves superior to other animals by virtue of their wings as well as their speed and agility. They often fought among themselves over imagined ills or to protect their territory or their mate. Ash had never known them to feel fear, and all whitehawks enjoyed a skirmish. Fighting gave them an excuse to perform daring stunts in the air. When two whitehawks fought it was not to the death. Usually one whitehawk gave up, conceding defeat to the other by virtue of the other’s flying skills.

  This particular whitehawk currently had no desire for combat, which was a blessing. The last thing Ash wanted was to become involved in a dizzying maneuver or dive. Exhilarated, Ash soared high above the mountaintops, catching an occasional thermal updraft. The air was crisp and cold the higher he went. It was empty in the green open sky, quiet except for the soft whisper of the wind through his wings. There! With the whitehawk’s keen sense of sight, he spotted something. It was a shiny reflection that seemed out of place.