4.0 - Howl Of The Fettered Wolf

by Krista Walsh

  Her childhood had been lonely, but she’d always had her family to make her feel whole.

  In all of her memories, never once had she suspected that her quiet father with the brain for numbers and the horrible jokes was more than he seemed. And a little bit less.

  It diminished her view of him, knowing that her mother had taken on the responsibility of guarding the book to help her husband cover up whatever truth he felt it necessary to conceal. The real burden had been his to bear, and he had passed it off, not once but twice.

  Vera wondered how much it had bothered him for his daughter to believe the mission had fallen to her after her mother’s death. That at twelve years old, she had eagerly sworn to him that no one would ever get their hands on the book as long as she was around to watch over it. Had he wanted to tell her the truth then, so his little girl could continue being a child as long as possible, or had he seen her oath as a relief that he could keep hiding his deepest secret?

  Resentment grew in Vera’s core until it pressed on her stomach and her lungs, and she squeezed her eyes shut to prevent the emotion from rolling down her cheeks in round, warm droplets.

  How could he have done that to his own daughter?

  It didn’t matter that no threat had come for the book during her young adult years; the fear of such an attempt had governed so much of her life. When the opportunity had come to leave town for college, she’d opted for a local program so she wouldn’t need to worry about keeping The Fettered Wolf safe in her dorm room while she was in class. She had turned down invitations for holiday getaways with her friends and late-night rendezvous with her dates, all so she wouldn’t be away from the house long enough for someone to take advantage of her absence and steal what her mother had told her was her most precious possession.

  Although she’d always been aware of it, only now could she step back and see how small her world had become because of this stupid powerful book. And now to find out that it wasn’t what she’d believed? That her father could have been the one to watch over it all those years, while she experienced some kind of life for herself?

  She wanted to jump to her feet and walk out her anger, but she was exhausted and didn’t want to fall. She was afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to get back up.

  Pulling her sleeves over her hands, she brushed her tears away and glared at her father’s name. She had sacrificed so much over a lie.

  The turmoil in her mind refused to stop, her thoughts spinning and twisting until she couldn’t see what was fact and what her anger had created.

  Pressing her hands to the sides of her head, she drew in a deep breath and held it until her lungs screamed. She repeated the effort three times before her brain settled and a sense of calm came over her.

  She might have been imagining it, but for a moment, she thought her mother stood beside her, her fingers combing through Vera’s hair the way she’d done when Vera was little. The picture soothed her frazzled nerves and made it harder to keep her tears restrained.

  As her anger washed away, she focused on trying to see the other side of the picture. Her father hadn’t wanted the truth to be lost, which suggested he meant for Ara to tell Vera the real history of the book at some point in their lives. That meant he had been prepared for something like this to happen.

  How? Had he learned something back then that warned him this fight might be coming? Rage threatened to rise up again, but she squashed it down, determined to think things through in a rational manner. The time for self-pity was over. Now she had to try to understand.

  “Why did you tell Ara then?” she asked aloud, and ran through Ara’s story again. She’d mentioned the papers on her father’s desk that made reference to her mother. Where had those papers gone? Vera had been the one to clear out his desk after his death, but she couldn’t —

  Her brain halted as she remembered a thick sheet of letterhead tucked into the back of her dad’s top drawer. It had been a response to some kind of letter from her mother.

  It’s unfortunate you chose not to join us, the letter had said, coming back to Vera as though it were in front of her now. The words had been written in an elegant script. We hope you’ll reconsider.

  Such a neutral message, and yet the tone had been sharp enough to stand out in Vera’s memory. At the time, she’d believed it had come from one of the hundred councils her mother was a part of, and wondered why her father had kept it. Now she wondered if this was the letter Ara had seen. If this was why he had told her the truth when he did. Had he discovered the letter in her mother’s effects, or had the significance come later?

  The book’s origins, her mother turning down an invitation, Rega knowing where to find the book so many years later, an ancient power coming after it at the same time… Vera felt as though she stood in front of the answer, but it was hidden in a pattern so complex that it blinded her to the full picture.

  What she did know was that, in the end, her father’s reasons didn’t matter. His hiding the truth from her didn’t matter.

  What mattered was that two groups were coming after the book, and after twenty years of swearing to protect it, she now had to step up and hold herself to her word. Whatever their reasons for wanting it, whatever means they would use to get their hands on it, she would stand against them.

  A fresh determination warmed her from the inside. New strength filled her legs, stretching all the way up her spine to pour down her arms. She rose to her feet and clenched her hands at her sides.

  “I’m sure you had a good reason for what you did,” she said, “and maybe one day I’ll discover the rest of the story and appreciate why, but I made a vow to see this through, and I won’t let you down. I promise.”

  She imagined her father’s proud smile and heard his words of encouragement as though he were standing right beside her. Goosebumps broke out over her skin.

  As she started to turn away, she hesitated and looked back. “I met someone, you know. I think you would have liked him. He’s a decent guy. He reminds me of you.” Her heart twinged and she grimaced, rubbing her fingers over her chest. “I don’t think anything will come of it anymore — it’s all a bit complicated right now — but I had a glimpse of that life you used to talk about. You were right. It would have been nice.”

  She turned toward the gate and started down the lane. Before she’d made it a half dozen steps, three dark figures emerged from behind the trees to block her path. Her legs jerked to a halt and her heart stuttered. The figures stood against the brightness of the sun, casting them in glare, but Vera didn’t need to make out the details to know who they were.

  The servants of the ancient power had caught her.

  13

  The tall figures stepped forward, and Vera backed toward her parents’ gravestone. She considered running, but what would be the point? If the ancient’s lackeys had found her here, they would track her down no matter where she was. At least the book was safe with Ara.

  The skeleton people were scarier than they’d appeared when she’d spied them during her mad rush away from Gabe’s farmhouse. At the time, their eeriness had come from the gauntness of their features and their unnerving ability to track her movements. Up close, their power tingled over her skin, threatening to overwhelm her and absorb her power into theirs.

  They fit right at home among the dead.

  She’d sworn the three who had come after her in Boston were male, and because of that, she’d assumed the same of each trio. But the figures in the graveyard with her were clearly female.

  All three wore black coats that fell to their ankles and came to points over the backs of their hands, more like graduation robes than outerwear. Two of the coats were unadorned, but the woman in the middle wore a red sash around her shoulders, adding to the impression that she was ready for a convocation ceremony.

  Their hats hugged their narrow foreheads before rising up into a flat square, exactly like a graduation cap. The two in pure black had green ribbon pressed across the top
, while the woman in front wore gold.

  Whatever or whoever these people were, they obviously liked to make a show of their hierarchy.

  Then Vera looked into the leader’s face and forgot everything else. Her skin was sallow and dry, and her hollow cheeks gave her the look of the grave. And her eyes… Their dark depths sucked Vera in, and for a moment she teetered on the edge of time, where to fall the wrong way would be to lose herself in the memory of eons.

  She pulled her mind back and crossed her arms, refusing to let the woman see how much she had unbalanced her.

  Silence stretched between them, and she was in no rush to break it. They had chased her all the way from Boston, working with whatever had pressed its way into her mind. The fact that they’d intruded on her here of all places added to their violation of her privacy.

  Vera ignored the way her heartbeat picked up, and how she wished she wasn’t here on her own.

  Although she’d made sure the block around her mind was securely in place, the leader smirked, as though she were still able to read Vera’s thoughts. “You’re stronger than I anticipated,” she said. “I admit I’m impressed.”

  Shock surged through her blood as Vera heard the same voice that had come to her so often in her dreams. It seemed impossible, so far from expectation, but she couldn’t deny the evidence: these skeletal women were not associates of the ancient power that had pursued her, they were the power. The deep huskiness of the voice had encouraged Vera’s assumption that the speaker was male, but she now realized it wasn’t gender but age that had worn such a rough edge on the woman’s words.

  “Who are you?” Vera demanded. “Why are you here?”

  “My name is Fendal Coil. These are my colleagues, Kurlow and Nadeen. You know why we’ve come.”

  From the moment of their sudden appearance, Vera had been braced for a fight. To hear introductions instead of threats surprised her, and it took her a moment to decide how to react.

  “You’re here for The Fettered Wolf,” she said, seeing no point in pretending ignorance. “I can tell you right now you’re not going to get it, no matter how hard you try to force your way into my head.”

  The woman to Fendal’s left — Kurlow? — stepped forward, and Vera didn’t wait to see what her intentions might be. She threw herself at her and swung her arm up to deliver a blow to the ancient’s face.

  Before she could land her strike, the pressure in her head returned with redoubled effort, and Vera dropped to her knees, covering her ears.

  As soon as she halted her attack, the pain subsided, and she sucked in a breath to slow her racing heartbeat.

  “I’d rather we not have to do that again, Ms. Goodall,” Fendal said.

  Vera didn’t know why it should come as a surprise that this woman knew what to call her. Although she appeared to be human, Fendal had managed to see through Vera’s eyes and had reflected her perceptions back at her. She’d known where to find her and had discovered the secrets she kept.

  And yet the use of her name sounded so personal. As if Vera should know who they were as well as they knew her.

  “Tell me why you want the book,” Vera said. “Why are you willing to chase me so far and hound me so hard for something that no one should even know about?”

  Fendal folded her hands in front of her. “Because we want to help you.”

  Vera’s thoughts stumbled and an incredulous laugh bubbled up inside her. “You what? You have a strange way of showing it.”

  She eased to her feet, watching them warily in case they attacked her again, but the three women remained still, staring back at her with their timeless intensity.

  “We’ve come to offer our aid in guarding the book,” Nadeen said. “I believe you know how important its information is to the otherworld. The people coming after it are exactly the type who should be prevented from having it. We want to make sure it remains secure.”

  Vera frowned. “I assure you, it’s perfectly safe with me and will continue to be so, just as it has been for the last seven centuries my family has watched over it.”

  Her thoughts flickered to the years the book had existed before it had entered into the protection of her bloodline, but she dragged her mind back to the present. All that mattered was getting these women away from her so she could carry out the rest of her plan in peace.

  “It would be safer in our custody,” Fendal pushed. Unlike Nadeen’s open face and Kurlow’s interested expression, Fendal remained stern, a professor dealing with a truant student. She set Vera’s teeth on edge. “We know best how to keep it hidden.”

  “My oath to keep it safe is not one I intend to break at the words of a few strangers who claim to know its history,” Vera said. “You hunted me and manipulated my mind. Such behavior doesn’t go far to give me faith in what you’re telling me.” Fendal’s expression remained one of stoic reserve, and Vera crossed her arms. “If you want to tell me a story, how about you explain exactly who you are and how you intend to keep the book safe? Tell me why I should even consider giving it to someone who keeps trying to invade my mind.”

  She expected the woman to repeat her command, or to come at her as Rega had done and torture her until she got what she wanted. Vera was ready for the fight, her hands clenched, her mind already looking for weaknesses in the unusual trio.

  To her surprise, Fendal tilted her head as she eyed her, then offered a subtle nod. “Very well. Although our time is limited, I respect your passion and determination. Perhaps an explanation is deserved for one who has served us so faithfully.”

  Vera raised an eyebrow at that. She didn’t trust the woman’s gesture of concession, but if there was anything in what Fendal had to offer that could help Vera keep The Fettered Wolf out of their ancient hands, she was willing to listen for it.

  “We are members of the Gnosis Collegiate,” the woman began. “Lorekeepers for the Justicia — what the masses call the guardians.”

  Vera’s mind went blank, already confused by this prologue to the tale. These people worked for the guardians?

  From everything she knew about the extinct species, they had fought for peace and justice. For balance between the otherworld and the mundane. How could they have aligned themselves with these people? Women who had seen fit to torture her thoughts and press her to the brink of insanity?

  “The Collegiate began when the first otherworldly creatures stepped across the barrier into this dimension. From the beginning, we collected knowledge of each species, the individual histories of each group as their numbers spread across the earth. When the first writings were set down, we created vast caverns in an alternate dimension where they could be kept safe, hidden from the eyes of those who could not be trusted with this wisdom. For millennia we gathered what we could. We studied and grew the numbers of the Collegiate into hundreds.”

  “Then why have I never heard of you?” Vera asked, not caring that her tone came out ruder than she’d intended. “The guardians were a source of hope for our world, but where have you been since they were eliminated?”

  Fendal squeezed her hands together, the corners of her lips curling downward, but Vera didn’t think the disapproval was aimed at her. The sense of time in the woman’s eyes grew deeper, like seasons shifting the constellations in the night sky.

  “At one time in your not-so-distant history, our name would have been synonymous with the Justicia. We worked as one, exchanging knowledge for protection. We lorekeepers remained in our College, among our books. Our existence was a rumor, which was how we preferred it. The fewer people who knew of our task, the smaller the chance that someone might come seeking the knowledge we possessed. But for the last hundred years or more, we have been locked in the caverns of our creation.”

  Vera blinked, her thoughts stumbling. Trapped for a hundred years in a separate dimension? Why? She wondered first if they’d been imprisoned for crimes against the guardians, but that didn’t seem to fit with what they were saying.

  Of course, they could
be lying. After all, if they’d been locked away for over a hundred years, then how were they so comfortable driving modern cars or creating such accuracy in Vera’s dreams? But what would be the purpose of such a lie?

  The questions bubbled up inside Vera’s mind, and before she knew she was speaking, she asked, “Why were you locked inside?”

  Fendal’s lips twitched downward. “When the demons first attacked, no one foresaw the disaster that was coming. Like the rest of the otherworldly who stood with the Justicia, we believed the riots would be put down without fuss. After all, the balance between worlds benefited them as much as everyone else.”

  The woman bowed her head, and a sudden stir in Vera’s mind surprised her enough to make her drop her mental guard. Memories that didn’t belong to her rolled through her thoughts. Screams from an unfamiliar time filled her ears, and her nose tingled with the sharp reek of blood.

  “We underestimated our enemy,” Kurlow said, her voice just as rough if not as dry. “They were not the angry rabble we had anticipated, but an army — organized and well-supplied by supporters in sympathetic dimensions. The Justicia were forced to make deals with those they’d previously fought, forming alliances we feared would come to no good end. When it became clear we faced a war, the Justicia locked the Collegiate away, ensuring our safety and keeping our knowledge out of the hands of those we could not trust.”

  The screams in Vera’s ears grew muffled, and the smell of blood faded as she became surrounded by images of stone bookshelves built deep into the walls of the Collegiate’s prison. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of leather-bound tomes rested on shelves that extended far into the darkness of the room.

  “We had ways to watch the outside world from the safety of the College,” said Nadeen, her voice softer and gentler than the other two, “but the distance, our relative security, did nothing to soothe the grief in our souls as the tides of the battle turned and our protectors fell.”