by H. D. Gordon
From the look on Kalene’s face, I could tell this was a possibility she’d considered as well. “But to go where?” she asked. “Where could they go where the Hounds or collars could not track them?”
The memory of the Halfbreed male dropping down from the sky and landing in the lavender wheat fields of Dogshead flashed through my mind, along with the image of Yarin scooping Amara up into his large arms and shooting back up into that star-flecked sky.
I kept this to myself, adding nothing as I listened to the others toss ideas back and forth.
“I’ve heard tales of the mountain creature,” Oren agreed, “but I’m inclined to believe the tales of the one they call the Conductor.”
I was still walking alongside Oren, and Ares wedged himself between Kalene and me, tossing an arm over both of our shoulders, more animated than I’d ever seen him at the topic of the conversation. “If there is a Conductor then where is he taking them?” Ares added. “I could believe the male exists if I could believe there existed a place beyond the reach of the Hounds and Masters.”
Kalene snorted. “Who says the Conductor is a male? For all we know, it’s a female. Males aren’t exactly known for their generosity.”
“That’s sexist,” Oren replied smugly.
Kalene arched a dark brow at him. “Just balancing the scales,” she said.
“What are you guys talking about?” I asked, unable to maintain my appearance of indifference.
To my surprise, Ares was the one who answered, speaking more words than I had ever heard from him in a single moment. “It’s like Kay said, for the past year, Dogs have been disappearing, several from right here in Marisol, most of them just pups… pups who haven’t been moon burned and collared yet.
“But it’s not just here that it’s happening. Pups are vanishing all over the Territory, all of them property of one of the five Pack Masters… No one knows how it’s happening or where these pups are going, but there are stories about a Conductor, a person at the helm of the disappearances. Someone who’s leading all those young Dogs… somewhere.”
“What about the older ones?” I asked, glancing between Ares and Kalene. “If someone is helping them escape, how is this Conductor getting the collars off?”
“Welcome to the mystery that has plagued our lives for the past twelve moon cycles, Bear-killer,” Oren grumbled.
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Kalene added.
The others mused a little longer while I turned the information over in my head, the subject finally pushing unwanted and inappropriate thoughts about Ryker out of my mind, for which I was glad. At last, we reached a side street where the buildings on either side were so close together that the males had to turn sideways to enter.
In this little alley, there was a single metal door with a covered and barred viewing window in the top. As Kalene rapped on it twice, the males informed us that they would grab some breakfast and meet us here in an hour.
I turned to Kalene, about to ask what the hell this place was when the covering over the little window in the metal door opened, and the face of a silver-haired old crone appeared on the other side. Eyes the color of thin milk stared out at us.
“What do you want?” she croaked, her voice as old as her face.
Kalene bowed her head reverently, an unusual gesture for the often brash female. “We’d like to be painted for the Midsummer Solstice, Madame,” she said and held up a small bag, the contents of which clinked with the movement. “We have silver in exchange.”
The window in the door slammed shut, and for a moment, I thought we’d been dismissed, but then the door swung inward, revealing shadows and darkness while a sickeningly sweet stench floated out from within.
I gave Kalene a look that asked without words if we really were supposed to go in there. The female only grinned and stepped over the threshold, leaving me to follow as she was swallowed up inside. Thinking that it would be damn ironic if I were to die in the chamber of some old, milky-eyed Wolf in sheep’s clothing after having survived everything else life had thrown at me, I passed through the metal door and tried not to jump as it slammed shut independently behind me.
Kalene gave me another grin as I sidled up close to her, my eyes scanning the dim, stone-lined hallway we’d been let in to. Torches lined the arched walkway, and straight ahead, a steep set of stairs led down into darkness. Kalene chuckled lowly when she noticed my hesitation.
“I already told you, Bear-killer,” she said, “if I wanted you dead, there are much easier ways to kill you.”
I waved a hand toward the staircase. “After you, my friend.”
Smiling wickedly, Kalene descended into the darkness, and I waited a breath or two for a howl of pain or death scream that didn’t come. After that, I followed her into the shadows.
The stairway led down into a stone chamber that was cool and damp and smelled even more strongly of that sickly sweetness I’d caught on the way in. The ceiling was low, the only light cast by four torches that hung upon each wall, as if marking the four directions. On the floor in the center of the small space, atop a pillow that was as red as fresh blood, sat the milky-eyed crone.
A cloak was draped over her sagging shoulders, tendrils of silver hair spilling out of the hood draped over her head. Before her, a small, circular dais waited, and it was to this that she gestured with a wrinkled and impatient hand.
“Whoever is going first,” she said in a raspy voice that sounded centuries old, “get up there. I don’t have all day.”
Kalene gave me a small shove from behind. “Bear-killer will go first,” she said, and grinned innocently when I looked back at her as though she was crazy.
The old lady waved a hand as though she couldn’t care less. “Then take your clothes off, Bear-killer, and step on up. Ten others are going to show up wanting the same thing this afternoon, and I don’t have time to dally.”
I folded my arms over my chest, and Kalene sighed and rolled her eyes, whispering, “She’s going to paint your body and it will be magnificent enough that you won’t want to cover it with clothing. She’s the best Marisol has to offer, trust me. Even the wealthy Wolves will admire us tonight.”
I considered while the old crone snapped her fingers at me. Shrugging, I shed my clothing, leaving only my thin panties intact, and climbed up on the little wooden dais, feeling slightly uncomfortable, though I had a feeling the crone was blind with those milky eyes.
“I’m blind in the sense that you understand it, yes,” the old woman mumbled while she circled slowly around me.
My body went utterly still, and my mind fumbled with the surety that I hadn’t spoken that previous statement aloud.
“Madame Rama is a Seer,” Kalene said from where she was now leaning against the wall, picking at her nails with a small knife. “Her gifts go beyond her artistry.”
The old woman turned in the direction of Kalene. “You ruin all the fun, sly one,” the old lady said, and then returned to studying me with those unsettlingly white eyes. “The one you call Bear-killer is clever. She would have figured it out.”
I leaned forward a bit and sniffed at the old female. “But you smell like a Wolf,” I said.
She grinned, revealing gapped and broken teeth, and tapped her nose. “That’s a keen nose you’ve got, Bear-killer,” she said. “Even for a Wolf.”
With this, she turned toward a table pushed against one of the stone walls, where vials and brushes and other various paraphernalia waited. After arranging some on an old wooden tray, she set the tray atop a rolling metal table and pulled it over toward me. She looked down at her paints and brushes with those white eyes, and then back at me—her canvas.
“I’m going to paint you with wings of flame and a crown of thorny flowers, Rukiya,” the old lady said, though I was pretty sure I hadn’t told her my real name. “Flames and flowers,” she repeated, “because those are the things that will bloom in your wake.”
27
Madame Rama worked swiftly, h
er wrinkled fingers surprisingly steady and sure with paintbrushes clutched between them. Within twenty minutes, she’d painted every inch of me below the neck, and to my utter amazement, she’d done so using two hands at the same time, painting with both simultaneously and ambidextrously.
Then she’d taken extra care painting my eyes and lips, brushing a slight rouge over my cheeks as well.
When she was done, she jerked her cloaked head toward where a long, silver-framed mirror leaned against the wall, and I climbed off the dais in order to go stand before it. My jaw hung open at what I saw. In fact, I was still staring at myself in that silver mirror twenty minutes later when Kalene appeared in the reflection beside me, her body having gone through a magnificent transformation as well.
Rama had kept her promise about painting me in flames and flowers, but nothing could have prepared me for the masterpiece that she’d crafted upon my body. The flames began at my toes and licked up my ankles, their fiery beauty rendered in reds, oranges, yellows, blues and violets. These flames then yielded to vines of matching hues that laced, swerved, and crawled up the curve of my muscled calf, around my knees and up my strong thighs. The flowers sprouting from these vines were also flames, the petals like whirling licks of scorching fire. Around the curves of my hips, (which had filled out considerably in the past month and a half, what with all the fine wine and meats I’d been devouring) more of those multi-hued flames burned in the shape of a short fiery skirt. Around my muscled midsection, more vines and flowers. Over my breasts she had placed small stickers to contain my nipples, and had then transformed the impressive swell of them into matching, burning flowers, the embers of which licked all the way up my neck.
“One last thing,” Kalene said, as she reached over and removed the band that had been holding my thick brown hair up off my neck. I gave my head a small shake, making my hair fall down over my shoulders in long, shiny waves.
“Gods be damned,” Kalene commented, taking in her own body, which was no less magnificent with the vibrant orange fox colors the Madame had depicted upon her. “You and I are going to paint Marisol red tonight, my friend.”
Madame Rama coughed from where she stood waiting behind us, and Kalene went to pay with the small bag of silvers it had likely taken her forever to save. Despite my astonishment at the old lady’s artistic talent, I was eager to crawl up and out of this damp, smelly dungeon and feel the light of day fall over my skin.
We thanked her and I followed Kalene up the stairs, but before I had ascended fully to the top, the Madame called out to me in her crone’s voice, her milky eyes pinning me and seeming to see something that most others were blind to.
“There are two paths before you, Rukiya Moonborn,” the old lady told me, “and both lead to two very different fates. Your choices will determine which path you ultimately tread, so be sure that you choose wisely in the days to come… Your fate is not the only one that hinges upon it.”
I had no idea how in all the holy hells one was supposed to respond to something like that, so I thanked her again and then scurried out of there as fast as I could without appearing too eager.
I emerged from the narrow alley and found Kalene, Oren, and Ares waiting for me on the sidewalk flanking the wide street. A flood of Wolves had begun spilling out into the streets of the city. Some wore mostly normal attire, but many were clad in getups as elaborate as my own, while others trotted and prowled about in their Wolf forms, as big as small horses that cut paths through the crowds.
“Good gods almighty,” Oren said as his green eyes settled upon me, flaring Wolf-gold for a heartbeat before returning to their normal jade color. “You look good enough to eat, Bear-killer.”
For what felt like the first time in forever, a small smile tugged up my lips. “I will be sure to consider the offer,” I told him with a wink.
“Get a room, you two,” Kalene said with a grin, pretending not to notice the intense way Ares was staring at her, taking in the remarkable form that was her body.
Somewhere up the street, drums had begun to sound, followed by the tinkling of bells and the blowing of horns. People leaned out of their windows in the apartments above the shops and rained flower petals down upon us, which then got swept up in the breeze that always flowed in off the ocean, making for a tornado of delicate blooms.
I marveled at all of it—at the Wolves atop stilts who towered over the crowd in their passing, at the musicians who all played independently and yet somehow in unison, making a sweet chorus of melody rise into the salty air. There were Wolves passing through the gathered handing out shots of fruity liquor, and sweet herb that was rolled up and passed from person to person.
And it was not just the street we were standing on. Every street in Marisol reflected the same celebration. In a total break from norms, one could not tell a Dog from a merchant from a Master. Wolves roamed and danced and made love against alley walls and in the corners, while children blew bubbles, chasing each other and howling down the avenues.
A hunt had clearly been conducted before this event, as various types of meat had been cooked and strung up in tents along the sidewalks. One only had to go in and rip off a piece of their preferred protein. Needless to say, by the time midday rolled around, I was feeling absolutely superb from no small mixture of contributors.
For the first time since I had come to this seaside city, I was actually glad to be here. Dogshead could never have provided a celebration the same as this, for shear lack of infrastructure and warm bodies. Every Wolf I passed seemed to be deep in the thralls of the same elation I was feeling… It was enough to almost make one forget—if only for a single rise and fall of the moon—that one was a slave.
Kalene, Oren, Ares, and I stayed together for the most part, partaking in the festivities like the oldest of friends. This made me wonder what Goldie was doing for the Midsummer Solstice, if that monster Adriel even celebrated the holiday. I sent up a silent prayer that my only real friend was at peace today… and then allowed thoughts of her to dissolve as I took another sweet shot of the numbing liquid.
We wandered from street to street, and I didn’t fail to notice the way several Wolves eyed Kalene and me in our body paint. She grinned at me and tossed the thick locks of her ebony hair over a shoulder. “What’d I tell you?” she said. “You and me, we’re gonna take our pick among the males tonight… We just have to choose one of the lucky bastards.” She gave me another wicked smile. “Or two or three.”
I couldn’t help a small chuckle, because I always appreciated a lady who was confident in her sexual prowess. Our world tried very hard to shame females for this while encouraging the males, and as a rebel myself, I related to Kalene’s sentiments.
This brought up memories of the way Ryker had looked while pinned under me… the way his eyes had blazed gold and his strong hands had gripped my hips.
I found one of the Wolves wandering through the street with a tray of shots and snagged yet another one, tossing it back in a gulp.
The day passed in a blissful haze, and soon, the sun was setting, sinking down over the ocean and creating vibrant streaks of pinks and oranges across the heavens. One by one, the green lampposts cradling the Apollo-blessed flame sprang to life, and the full moon rose grandly overhead.
Oren sauntered over to me and laced an arm around my waist, his large and muscular body swaying a bit to the rhythm of the sweet music and his green eyes glazed with the substances coursing through his system.
“Dance with me, Bear-killer,” he whispered, and swept me into the center of the street, where others were also twirling, twisting, and gyrating in musical delight.
Kalene and Ares appeared beside us, the male having apparently worked up the courage to take Kalene into his arms. The four of us laughed and danced and grinned like fools as we passed around a joint of rolled herb and drank to our heart’s content.
Never in all my life had I been part of a celebration so intoxicating, and I foolishly wished it would never end.
> But despite all the things I’d survived, all the horrors I had seen and inflicted, I was still a young Wolf, and so I hadn’t yet grasped the fact that all things have an ending.
And the endings of good things always come far too fast.
I’d wandered away for just a few moments, and I had lost my group of friends. Now I couldn’t tell what part of this blasted city I was in, or even really which way was up. Every street looked the same, and everyone around me was as smashed as I was, so I headed toward the sound of the sea and found a bench beneath a tree. I took a seat and folded my legs beneath me in an effort to stop the world from spinning.
I was pretty sure I was going to be sick. Pitching forward, I gripped my midsection, sucking in slow and deep breaths, swearing to the gods I was never going to touch another drink again. I cursed myself more than once for being so damn indulgent.
When a small breeze came in off the ocean, I closed my eyes and tilted my head into it… A moment later my eyes were snapping open, my foggy senses perking to high alert.
It was not a shift in sound, or even in silence, but I felt it, nonetheless. It was the same feeling that had come over me in the days before I’d left Dogshead—an instinctual alarm bell that was both from the human part of me and the Wolf.
I was being watched.
My legs unfurled beneath me and I set my feet flat on the ground, my back going straight despite the roiling in my stomach. I studied my surroundings; the dark ocean was still churning straight ahead, the streets of Marisol still pulsing with partiers behind me. To my left and right, the beach stretched on endlessly in both directions, meeting with the mountain cliffs on the southern horizon.
There was nothing out of the ordinary to be noted… and yet…
The fog that was surrounding my brain was steadily lifting, my stomach settling, overridden with the adrenaline spurred by the instinctual alarm sounding in my system. When I stood, pushing to my feet, I found that my balance had returned.