White Fangs

by Christopher Golden

  "I'm no beast," Jack said, a chill running up his spine. Somewhere far off in the forest, his wolf howled, but Jack did not know if it was in farewell or in accordance with Ghost's words.

  Now Ghost smiled in earnest and released his hold on Jack's arm. He leaned in, his breath hot on Jack's cheek as he growled a whisper. "We're more alike than you'll ever admit, my friend. If you refuse to admit that, you will wander the rest of your life trying to find a place to fit in, but you will never feel settled. You'll never be at home."

  Anger rippled through Jack. He felt the heat rushing to his face and he opened his mouth to reject Ghost's words, only to find he could say nothing.

  The snapping of a small branch made both of them spin quickly around, on edge after so many violent clashes, but it was only Callie approaching. She stood by a tree, a heavy pack on her back, pistols hanging from her hips. Jack had felt a weight lift from him when morning had broken, but the same familiar expression of grim determination was etched on Callie's face. Her hunt wasn't over.

  "We're ready to go, Jack. If you're comin', let's get along," she said.

  Jack hesitated, still feeling as though something remained unsaid between himself and Ghost. But when he looked at the wild man, he knew that was only an illusion. They understood each other perfectly.

  He started back toward Lesya's cottage, Callie falling into step beside him.

  Ghost did not follow.

  Jack adjusted the straps of his pack as he trudged eastward along a ridge, the sun warm on his face. In his mind, he could practically hear the music of the little trio that sometimes played in the bar in Dawson — jaunty banjo, jangling piano, and sad, weeping harmonica — and he wetted his lips with his tongue, thinking about the whiskey that would go along with the music. He had no interested in staying very long in Dawson, but he looked forward to getting back there, to the noise and stink and general unruliness of people. It was said that absence made the heart grow fonder, and Jack knew that was the case here. Once he'd spent a few hours amongst them, he'd be longing for the wild. But at the moment, he wanted a steak and a drink and the sound of music, even poorly played.

  Up ahead, Callie led the way along the ridge, with Louis following close behind. The gruff, rough-hewn woman was a damn fine tracker, but it didn't hurt to have a werewolf at her side, sniffing out the trail of their quarry if she became stumped for a minute or two. Sabine strode along about twenty feet behind them, with Jack bringing up the rear. He watched Sabine, enjoying the way she moved and the blowing of her hair in the wind. The time spent with Lesya had restored her to full vigor and her beauty in that state left him breathless. There were other changes in her that went beyond that invigoration. Whatever secrets Lesya had shared with her had brought a lightness to Sabine's step that had never been there before, and now, when lost in her own thoughts, she had an ethereal quality about her, as though at any moment she might take flight for the heavens. In those moments, Jack wanted to reach for her, to kiss her and love her hard enough to hold her down. Most of the time when she smiled at him, his concerns abated. But from time to time she glanced at him with a sadness in her eyes that gnawed at his gut.

  At a break in the ridge, where a rock-fall had left a gap, Callie and Louis paused to sort out some confusion over the direction of the vampires' retreat.

  "They can't have gone too far in just a few hours of dark," Callie said. "If there ain't a trail, we just go on in this direction till we hear tell of some folks done in by bears or drained of blood, and we'll find 'em."

  While Louis explored the gap in the ridge and Callie called out encouragement, Sabine turned and walked back to Jack, smiling.

  "This could take a while," she said.

  Jack nodded. "No doubt. And I admit, I'm impatient. I'm surprised you're not. I thought you'd be in more of a hurry to get back to the sea."

  "Oh, I am," Sabine said, but her gaze shifted off of him as she said it, and he knew there was something she wasn't saying. Renewing her smile, she stepped up and gave him a gentle kiss. "You didn't say goodbye to Lesya."

  Now it was Jack's turn to look away. "You two were talking and I didn't want to interrupt. Anyway, what would I have said? She wanted to keep me as her prisoner, once upon a time. Then she tried to kill me. We're not the best of friends."

  Sabine gave a small shrug. "She wouldn't have tried to keep you there this time. She's got Ghost, now, and he's willing."

  "More than willing," Jack said.

  "She did ask me to thank you for her," Sabine went on. "For rescuing her."

  "We all did that."

  "Yes, but you had an excellent reason not to, and you did it anyway." Sabine kissed him again, and spoke in a whisper. "You're a good man, Jack."

  They pressed their foreheads together, resting there a moment with him inhaling the cinnamon aroma of her skin. They had rarely been closer or more intimate. So why do I feel as if she's drifting away?

  "You're not going to tell me what Lesya said? About your past?" he asked.

  Sabine's eyes glittered,. She touched his face, running her palm over his stubbled cheek. "Not just yet. But soon enough. I promise."

  The way she looked away that time, he wanted to stop her and tell her it was all right. That whatever she had to tell him might be something he didn't need to hear, that she should keep it to herself and just keep looking into his eyes and touched his face and kissing him. But he didn't stop her. The recent part of Sabine's life had been all about others using her for their own ends, trying to turn her into something they envisioned instead of helping her define who and what she was. He wouldn't be a part of that.

  "Come on, you lovebirds!" Callie said. "We're movin' on."

  Sabine took Jack's hand and the two of them made their way along the ridge.

  "I'm sorry, Callie," Sabine said, "but I'm afraid this is where we must part. Jack and I are headed for Dawson, and the city's southeast of here. If you're headed north — "

  Callie put a hand over her heart, a sad expression on her face. "Don't say another word, darlin'. I may be rough around the edges, but that don't mean I ain't a tender soul. I ain't never handled goodbyes well."

  The woman threw her arms around Sabine and their embrace was almost comical. Then Callie turned to Jack and held out her hand. Jack shook it, feeling both the strength and the sincerity in Callie's grip.

  "It's been a real pleasure knowin' ya, Jack."

  "You, too, Callie," he said, surprised at just how deeply he meant it. "I'm not going to forget you any time soon. I'm sorry we can't continue on with you."

  She waved that away. "Don't be foolish. You got to get your lady back where she belongs. We had, whaddayacallit, shared purposes for a while, but this was always my hunt. Safe travels to both of you."

  Callie glanced at Louis. "What about you, Frenchie? You goin' back to Dawson, or you gonna help me finish this batch of devils?"

  Louis grinned at Jack and Sabine, his gold tooth glinting in the sun. "Why not?"

  "Are you sure?" Jack asked, frowning with concern. "Staying out here in the wild — "

  "Don't worry, my friend," Louis said. "I'm not going to forget what I've learned. It's a part of me now. And the best way for me to remember I'm not a monster is to hunt the real ones."

  "Safe journeys, then," Jack said.

  "And to you, mon ami," Louis replied, bowing low. When he rose from the bow, he met Jack's gaze and his eyes were kind. Human. "Once Ghost had made me a monster, I never thought I would have another friend. It's been my pleasure, Jack."

  Louis extended a hand and Jack shook it.

  "And mine," he replied. "Truly."

  Jack might have said more, but Sabine took his hand then and led him away. When they had managed to descend the treacherous ridge, aiming toward the southeast, where they knew they would come upon the river, Jack glanced back. But Callie and Louis were already gone.

  They spent a night beneath the stars, making camp beside the river. Jack caught fish and fried them in a
small pan he'd had stowed in his pack and then they lay down together and listened to the wind and the rushing water. Sabine fell asleep long before he did, and Jack propped himself on one elbow and studied the peaceful beauty of her face, wondering where she went in her dreams.

  In the morning they continued their trek, entering Dawson early. They found the sheriff at his breakfast table, his wife pouring him a cup of coffee to go with his eggs, sausage, and toast. Jack and Sabine spotted this domestic scene through the window as they walked up to the front door, and they were hesitant to break it up. Now that Jack had returned to Dawson, the romantic sheen had been stripped off the notion of music and whiskey in a bar full of hopeless dreamers and gold-stampeders. He loved and hated the Yukon in equal measure, and wanted to put it behind him.

  When he knocked, Sheriff Killebrew called for them to come in. Jack tried the door and found it unlocked. As he pushed it open, he saw Mrs. Killebrew standing anxiously by the stove with a heavy cast-iron skillet in her hand. Walrus had a mouthful of egg and sausage, but his right hand was under the table. Jack figured he had a gun under them, aimed right at them, but the moment the sheriff recognized them, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

  "All right, Martha," he said to his wife. "They're all right." The sheriff arched a bushy eyebrow and set his heavy gun on the table beside his plate. "Surprised to see you alive, though. That mean we don't have to worry about bloodsuckers anymore?"

  "There were three left," Jack admitted. "But Callie King and our friend Louis are still after them. By now, chances are good they're all done for."

  Walrus grinned. "Now that is a cause for celebration." Flecks of egg dotted his mustache. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at his wife. "Martha, if we've got enough breakfast to go around, cook it up for these folks. I expect making the world safe from monsters works up a mighty appetite."

  The whistle of the riverboat made Jack squeeze Sabine's hand more tightly. They were standing near the dock with Hal Sawyer, who'd come down to see them off. Jack could feel Sabine's excitement, but the melancholy within her had not abated, and neither had his quiet concern for what awaited them next.

  "You'll write me?" Hal asked. "I have a feeling you have a lot of adventures ahead of you, and I don't want to miss a one of them."

  "Course I will. We'll both be writing quite a bit from now on, I'd guess."

  The boy Jack had first met two years before had become a young man. Hal's face had thinned out, his profile becoming more angular, and he needed a shave. He wore a hat tilted to one side and he had filled out enough that Jack doubted much trouble would come his way in the future. Once upon, Hal had needed Jack's help to keep from getting beaten up in the streets of Dawson, but no more.

  They'd spent the previous evening talking over dinner and drinks in a quiet corner of the bar. Word had spread all through the day that the monsters who were the cause of their terror were dead or being run to ground, but people were still nervous and afraid. Folks gave Jack, Sabine, and Hal their space, and so Jack and Sabine had told Hal what had become of Lesya and Ghost, of Callie King and the werewolves.

  Hal had listened with rapt attention, as he had when Jack had regaled him with tales of previous journeys. Afterward, as usual, Jack had sworn him to secrecy, but he'd been surprised by Hal's reply.

  "I won't breathe a word," Hal had said, with a sly grin. "I plan to tell my own stories from now on. I got a new job, writing for the newspaper."

  Jack had cheered him and they had all toasted to Hal's new job and his future success, but it had gotten Jack thinking. He'd been remiss in recent months, not taking nearly enough time to write in his journal, which was foolish because if anyone had ever had a story to tell, it was Jack London. The thing was, he didn't just want to recount his adventures. He wanted people to feel what it was like to be in the wild, or out at sea with a brilliant, savage man like Ghost as master of your fate. There were other things that concerned him as well. He saw the dreary, soulless lives of the people who'd come to Dawson and failed to find gold, and it reminded him of the hoboes and itinerant workers he'd met before his first trip to the north. He knew he wanted to do something for them. They needed someone to speak up on their behalf.

  He'd spent the night contemplating all of this — when he wasn't distracted wondering when Sabine would finally tell him what she had learned from Lesya — and now the time for departure had come.

  The riverboat blew its whistle again.

  "Jack," Hal said. They shook hands, and then embraced, clapping each other on the back. "They're your stories to write, but you should write 'em. People should know about the things you've done and seen. The monsters and the dark things that are out there."

  Sabine kissed Hal on the cheek. "Nobody would believe him, Hal. You know that. Ordinary people want ordinary lives. They tell themselves there are no such things as monsters because they need to believe that."

  Hal frowned, but nodded. "I guess you're right."

  "It's okay, Hal," Jack said. "There's a lot more to what I've learned about the world and about myself than just the monsters. I'll write about those things. And one of these days, after I'm gone, you can write down all of the other stuff."

  "Don't talk like that," Hal said. "You'll be around just as long as I will."

  A hush fell over them after that, for none of them seemed to believe it. After a few moments Jack gave a nervous laugh.

  "Ah, well. Look me up if you ever get down to San Francisco," Jack said, shaking Hal's hand one last time before he and Sabine hefted their packs and started down the dock toward the riverboat.

  "You won't be there," Hal said quietly.

  Jack arched an eyebrow, looking back. "What's that?"

  "You won't be there. You'll never be happy staying in one place, Jack. It's your blessing and your curse." Hal raised his voice to be heard. He wore a sad smile when he said it. "You got something in you that's gonna be restless forever."

  Jack tried to think of a reply to that, but could not. After a few more steps he just shrugged.

  "Guess so," he said.

  Sabine urged him along as the riverboat let out a longer whistle, warning of its imminent departure, and they started to run for it.

  Sabine kept her secrets until they were on the open sea.

  Jack enjoyed the time he and his love spent together as the steamship made its way back downriver. They talked about their adventures — how they had met, their time on the Larsen, Ghost and his fate, and the vampires that had revealed to them the true meaning of evil. Jack spoke of his family, and Sabine could only listen, because she had none. She told him about what the sea meant to her, and he liked to believe that he had some understanding. Her eyes glazed a little when she spoke of the sea — as if she were somewhere else — and he suspected the same happened to him when he spoke of the wild.

  They talked about things that had happened in the past, and spent lighter, sweeter moments discussing the present — their feelings for each other, the time they had together on that steamship journey, and speculating on what Louis and Callie, or Ghost, would be doing at that moment.

  One thing they never discussed was the future. Jack tried, once, and Sabine turned away and sighed. "Oh, Jack," she said, "can't we just live in the moment for a while?" That said so such more than Jack really wanted to know.

  The moment when the present inevitably met the future arrived on their first evening on the open sea, after they had left the river behind and made their way once more to the coast, where they boarded the southbound ship, the Prospero. He had been dreading it, though he knew it must come. He shivered as Sabine took his hand and walked him along the deck, and closed his eyes when she turned to him, sadness simmering in hers.

  "Jack," she began.

  Jack pressed his finger across her lips. "Just a little while longer," he said. She smiled and leaned into him, and together they watched the sun sinking into the sea. The sunset was sublime. It could have been a moment meant for them, though
Jack had become certain that it hid a future lacking in something precious to him.

  "So tell me," he said, as the last of the sun smeared across the horizon like the sky's spilled blood.

  "Lesya told you of her own lineage," Sabine said.

  Jack nodded. "That she had a human mother, and that Leshii is her father."

  Sabine nodded, her eyes somehow upon him, but also not. It felt to Jack as if she saw through him, into some ancient, primal age he could not imagine — as if she were both here in the present with him and somehow, at the very same time, wandering that primeval world.

  "Leshii is even older than I am," she said. "He is precisely what Lesya claimed, a forest spirit. A wood god. In ancient times there were many like him, distant cousins, and as Man began to populate the world, they worshipped such creatures. In Greece they were always female, and called dryads. Though her mother was human, Lesya would be one of these.

  "And then she told me of my lineage, Jack. Things I had always . . . felt, or suspected, but could never put a name to. She told me that there are many elemental spirits in the world. She is a forest spirit, and I . . . I am something of the water. A water spirit! Lesya believes I am a Nereid, one of the three thousand daughters of Tethus and Oceanus, who were Titans of myth."

  "You're no myth," Jack said. "And, elemental, yes, but you're no spirit, either."

  He gathered Sabine in his arms to feel the flesh and blood of her, and she relaxed in his grip, slumping down and letting him take her weight.

  "Perhaps not, but that spirit is inside me. It's what drives me! Everything she told me makes sense, and it's like . . . I'm discovering myself again anew. It's why I have always lived near the sea and for the sea. I fade when I am taken from water, as you saw when we traveled inland, Jack. Lesya begins to fade when she is taken from the parts of the forest where she has rooted herself. I'm lucky in that respect. There is no one part of the sea, just . . ." She pulled from Jack and looked down again. The sea was giving her comfort, and Jack felt a momentary pang of jealousy. She needs me, not the ocean! But he also realized how foolish that idea was. He was just a man, after all.