However, three short horn blasts suddenly rolled down the mountain, ripping through the cold morning and cutting short their conversation.
For with those horn blasts, did all argument cease. And hearts beating with fear, all three siblings looked toward the mountain watchtower overlooking their village…then at each other.
For one short horn blast meant travelers approached the village by sea via the inlet.
One long blast and two short ones meant a new wolf had come upon them via the time gates atop the mountain.
And three short blasts meant the worst thing.
Enemies approached. Oh dear Fenrir Wolf, FJ was right!
Male wolves spilled out of their huts and longhouses with their weapons and shields in hand.
Their village was coming under attack. But from where? Myrna looked all around. The inlet had frozen over just a few weeks after her parents left on their voyage, following FJ’s claimed vision of a bride. But if attackers marched on them via the mountains, they would have had days of warning, since there was only a single pass connecting their village to the main lands to the South.
She looked to FJ for an answer, but he also seemed to be looking around in great confusion...until suddenly, a sharp and acrid scent filled the air. As if the forest that stood between their village and the mountain were on fire. But no, this was not the case. She looked toward the forest and found it standing perfectly intact, the top of its evergreen leaves covered in fresh snow. From where then did the burning smell emanate?
As if in answer, a shadow fell over the entire village, casting the dark grey morning into almost pitch black. Myrna looked up.
Her heart completely stopped inside her chest. Dread danced over her skin as the chill of the morning air crept into her lungs and stilled her breath. And she tipped her head back to stare up at the answer to her question. Make that answers. The extremely large and fearsome answers to her question about their unknown enemy.
Serpents. At least twenty winged serpents now flew in a formation above their village.
And then truly did she speak her mother’s tongue as she said, “Oh…my…God!”
It all happened so very fast. One moment Myrna was imploring her brother to let her fight, and in the next moment, she had no choice but to do so.
She emerged from the house with her shield and hatchet just as the first serpent set down in the meadow between the lake and the forest. It shook the ground with its landing, and the sight of it widened her eyes with shock.
The monstrous thing was covered in blue reptilian scales. They shone like metal, despite the lack of direct light from the morning sun, which seemed to be hiding behind thick grey clouds as if to shield itself from such a terrible sight.
There were no words in either of her parents’ languages to truly describe the enormity of the winged beast. It could be measured neither in her father’s palms, or her mother’s much more precise “feet.” Its head hung level with the tree line behind it. So far above the earth that it seemed to Myrna it might be possible for the beast to raise one of its scaled arms and wipe away the clouds from the sky.
The beast regarded the first group of warriors rushing toward it with cold eyes which looked to be made of gold ice for a few unblinking moments. Then with a simple flick of its head, it roared an astonishing torch of fire.
Myrna watched in horror as the first group of warriors to make it to the meadow collapsed to the ground, little more than burnt husks.
The fight became a melee soon after. More North Wolves rushed the meadow suddenly turned battlefield, incensed by the deaths of their brethren. And many of them met the same fate as four more serpents of varying colors, set down beside the first, each screeching fire. Myrna had never in her life heard such a horrific sound. Both her heart and ears ached at the screams of pain that rose up like a gruesome song as more of their kingdom's warriors met fiery and painful deaths.
The wolf inside of her demanded she run and jump into the fight, and she started forward again, determined to do just that. But then her father’s voice sounded inside of her head.
Stop, Myrna. You are female and therefore must you bring more cunning than your brother to every fight. Never forget to think before you raise your weapon, dear Daughter. Always keep your female mind in battle.
Myrna slowed, walking instead of running toward the melee, analyzing everything she saw as she approached.
The fighters who had not been set aflame by the serpents' fire breath did attempt to stick their swords into the terrible winged beasts. But alas, their weapons broke against the monster’s skin. She watched as one serpent scooped up Torhild, the Jelling swordmaker’s son, inside its tail. This was a male she’d played with during Papa’s visits to his father’s shop. He had a mate and a daughter near heating age waiting for him back at the cave. Yet the serpent tossed him away in the same manner, she and her family cast the stones from plums out their longhouse window. Torhild landed against a tree and slid to the ground. His neck at such an angle, she knew his life to be over even without checking for his breath.
Myrna’s eyes filled with tears. This time her human tugged at her with the urge to run to her fallen friend. But no… she reasoned with herself. Torhild was most likely dead, but she would have to mourn him later. She forced her eyes back to the melee. Forced herself to honor her father and continued to observe as she sought out her destined role in this fight.
Moments after Torhild’s death, the tide began to turn. FJ reached the field with Olafr by his side. Her ever the wolf brother launched himself at a red serpent’s throat jaw first and refused to let go no matter how hard the beast shook. Meanwhile, FJ raised The Death Maker, a giant steel sword his father had gifted to him after killing the fenrir of Gotar with his own weapon. With a fierce North Wolf battle cry, he charged at a blue serpent.
Not the same beast, who had killed the entire first group of warriors, but another one who seemed to be standing back from the rest of the fight, its eyes glowing red as it surveyed the melee. Myrna immediately understood her brother’s logic. The only serpent not fighting might very well be the one in charge of the others. Kill the leader, and it might throw the rest of the serpents doing the actual fighting into disarray.
Perhaps because it was larger and made of much stronger steel than the silver tipped ones used by the other North Wolves in their village, The Death Maker did not bounce off the serpent’s skin. FJ ran his Gotar sword through the beast’s belly, and the thing reared back, screeching so painfully Myrna feared it might scorch her brother in its outrage.
But in the end, all it did was stagger, swaying back and forth in a way that told Myrna FJ had struck a fatal blow.
When it began to topple over, Myrna expected a huge impact, the same as if FJ had felled a tree. However, to her great shock, the beast seemed to reduce in size as it collapsed, its body morphing into that of a man’s before it hit the ground.
Myrna covered her mouth with her hand because if her eyes told her true, this serpent was like her—a man who could become animal. Only in this case, instead of wolves, these men became terrible monsters indeed.
Not long after Fenris felled his blue beast, Olafr also managed to fell the red serpent he had viciously engaged. And then that beast, too, became a man as it took its last breath.
The three remaining serpents gave a great bellowing screech of rage to see their fallen brothers. And soon two more beasts set down to refill their rank. But FJ used the pause wisely, ordering his warriors to throw down their useless swords and shift, while Olafr launched himself at the other blue serpent.
Myrna inwardly cheered and threw down her own weapons. Bless her father’s heart, as her mother would say, but she was more than ready to join the fight in wolf form.
With a sharp breath, she called forth her wolf. The beast inside of her threw her forward, ripping through her clothes as it curled her spine, and covered, first her back, then the rest of her skin with black and red fur.
Yet, bec
ause of the training she received when she was a pup of only four winters, she remained herself. A woman of higher mind inside her animal’s body, she kicked the now useless shoes off her hind paws and charged forward to join the fight.
However, just as she reached the meadow, the unfathomable happened.
A silver arrow sliced through the air and sank into Olafr’s back. Olafr! She screamed, her wolf’s voice turning the sound into a mournful howl as Olafr’s wolf fell from the neck of the serpent, and transformed into a human male before hitting the ground.
Dear Fenrir Wolf… he was human. Actually human. This was a sight Myrna had not seen since her younger brother was a boy of five winters. But now, he appeared a man fully with hair the same bright flame color as hers and FJ’s, laying across his large heavily-muscled body in long tangled ropes.
Was he dead? Possibly. FJ, who was still in human form, bent over him now, shouting at their brother. Perhaps in lament? Myrna’s own lament tore through her body. And she started toward them, her soul screaming tears, as fear and grief overwhelmed her mind.
For a few crazed moments she cared not of the arrows whizzing by and taking out several more freshly turned wolves in the meadow. Olafr! Olafr! She had to help her brother!
But then her father’s voice appeared in her mind once more. Think, Daughter. Keep a female’s mind.
Listening to her father’s voice, she instinctively turned away from the meadow and as her mother so oft broke down a recipe for a dish from her time, did she attempt to reckon the origin of these deadly silver arrows. Oh Fenrir wolf, there were now two large serpents, setting fire to many of the houses within their village. Her eyes once again blurred with tears at the sight.
Daughter, this is no time for emotion…
Her father was right. Myrna blinked the tears back in order to follow the arrows flight path backward to a copse of trees. She squinted into the shadows and could just make out the glowing alabaster skin of a man. No, not a human, she reminded herself—a serpent who had taken a man’s form. And he was shooting arrows at her brethren.
Suddenly, she knew without a single doubt what her role in this fight would be.
Hardening her mind to female, she charged toward the forest, dodging arrows until eventually, she got so close, the shooter could hear her imminent attack. Too close to give his arrow good aim, he burst from the woods and started running away along the tree-lined edge of the meadow.
Myrna gave him grim chase before leaping at the archer’s throat and tearing it viciously from his human body. The blood, it tasted… strange. Acrid. Like liquid smoke. She disliked it a little but withstood it as she furiously avenged her younger brother—
But then without warning, another arrow whizzed past her shoulder. There was another archer, she discovered painfully, as her shoulder burned like no mere cut ever could.
The wound was so excruciating, she lost her wolf, morphing into her woman’s form with the serpent man’s throat still between her teeth.
“Myrna!” a voice called above her, pulling her to her feet. It was FJ…
She was wounded, but otherwise all right. However, before she could tell him that, the original blue serpent turned in their direction, its neck still bloody with Olafr’s teeth marks.
And upon seeing FJ and Myrna, its golden eyes narrowed to slits.
The massive beast charged, barreling towards them with both speed and deadly intent.
Her brother grabbed her by the arm, running with her into the forest. In any other case, the tall evergreen trees would have given them some hope of escape or mayhap even a hiding place from the monster behind them.
But one glance over her shoulder told Myrna that the grand forest would provide them with little protection. For the beast batted aside the trees in his path as if they were little more than gate pegs.
“Let me go!” she yelled at her brother, tugging at her arm. “I will engage the beast and give you time to escape.”
It was a good plan. FJ was the fenrir next, and his life was infinitely more important than Myrna's “Ever the Maid.” However, her brother held her arm fast.
“No! We must do as our father did to escape death. As I made Olafr do after he was struck down. Speak the fated mate spell,” FJ yelled back at her.
The fated mate spell…
Speaking such words would mean travel through unknown space and time that would land her somewhere she might not be able to comprehend… or for that matter, return from. Mayhap her plan was the better one. However, there was little time for debate or even a few moments more of consideration. The ground beneath her bare feet quaked with the serpent’s rapid approach. He would be upon them soon, close enough to reduce them to ashes with its fire breath.
For once Myrna decided against arguing with her brother.
With the serpent thundering behind them, she obeyed his command. Repeating exactly what FJ yelled out to her. She knew she had spoken the last words of the spell when two dark tunnels appeared in front of them, filled with stars.
She faltered before the starry tunnels, her eyes wide as amulets at the sight of the spell’s strange magic. However, the serpent bearing down on them did not, as her mother might say, “get the shock and awe memo.”
Just as a great sucking air lifted her and FJ off their feet, the monster gave a great roar behind them. The last thing Myrna felt was the heat of its approaching flame right before one of the tunnels pulled her into its mystical realm.
Three
Rafes
Baltimore, Maryland, the late 2030s
After living the first four years of his life in Viking Age Norway, Rafes still hesitated to call any item or place from the current age, old-fashioned. But if he were ever to deign to use such a word, it would be to describe La Taverne Loup.
Located in Federal Hill’s historic district, it had been founded by a French wolf who’d fought under Lafayette in the American Revolution. After a rather inauspicious start as a bar for soldiers, Loup had gone on to transform itself into a Baltimore landmark restaurant, becoming even more French and old-fashioned as the eateries surrounding it became sleeker and more automated. No robots here, an actual human dressed in a tuxedo had taken his and Camille’s order. The menu featured dishes that could only have been found in Parisian restaurants during the eighteenth century, and they were all prepared by hand on top of gas stoves. Table candles, a perfectly preserved post-Revolution chandelier illuminated the restaurant instead of the usual LED lights. Along with vintage sconces hanging on walls covered in gilded dark red leather. In fact, the only modern technology utilized in the restaurant was a bio-jamming system. Which meant the couples who came here on dates only had each other’s company for the hour or two it took to eat a four-course meal.
It was exactly as his campaign team had assured him, the absolute perfect place for him, Rafes Nightwolf, the President of the North American Lupines to propose to his girlfriend, Camille Deslobos, the Princess of Arizona.
However, the crystal ring box inside his suit pocket remained exactly where it was, long after Camille had taken a perfunctory three bites of their shared Mont Blanc dessert course. And instead of asking for the check when the waiter inquired if they were satisfied with their meals, Rafes ordered a cup of coffee, further delaying the night’s main event.
“I’ve heard they have excellent coffee here,” Rafes said, by way of explanation when Camille threw him a confused look.
Then he observed her to see how she’d handle this out of character deviation from the schedule she’d been sent two days prior to this date.
“In that case, I’ll have one, too. Decaf.” Camille smiled her order up to the waiter through perfect white teeth, adapting so smoothly, it was easy to see why his team had chosen her above all the other candidates to date the most eligible wolf in North America.
The waiter left, looking somewhat confused himself. Most likely, because according to the schedule his team had given the waiter an hour before his arrival, the only fur
ther thing he would be serving tonight would be a bottle of champagne. Since everything down to the timing of the four courses had been chosen in advance, the waiter had to deal with this sudden change, just like Camille.
However, Camille didn’t seem nearly as nonplussed as he did. She merely smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the robin’s egg blue cap sleeve dress she’d chosen especially for tonight, based on his team’s feedback, and asked, “You’re not worried about those new poll numbers, are you, querido?”
The last word rolled off her tongue easily in Spanish even more flawless than his Latina grandmother’s, who’d also been a pack princess before she married, Rafes’s paternal grandfather, the then-newly crowned King of Colorado.
“Worried, no,” Rafes answered in the cool and measured tone he had cultivated during his original presidential run. “But I am disappointed that Lowell is gaining on me. The fact that he’s within five points means too many of our fellow wolves have been manipulated by this populist candidate.”
Camille shook her head in sympathy. “My father says it was better when the Lupine Council chose the president and left the people out of it.”
Rafes decided against pointing out to his girlfriend that if that council system had stayed in place, he, the one-quarter Inuit, Latino, Black, and First American twenty-seven-year-old who ran for president four years ago, would have had to wait at least a couple more decades to get elected. After all most of the Lupine Council was still made up of older white men who thought they knew what was best for the continent’s secret population of werewolves.
He did understand Camille’s overall point, though. In the days before general elections, the issues Rafes was having in the polls wouldn’t have mattered. As the sitting president he would have taken his Black Box project to the council, explained his reasons for instituting it, and it would have been pushed through with no explanation given to the general populace.
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