by Laura Taylor
WOLF'S GUILE
Laura Taylor
Copyright 2017 Laura Taylor
All rights reserved.
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Cover design by Linda Gee
https://www.facebook.com/artbymeisarn/
Cover images used under licence from Shutterstock.com
ALSO BY LAURA TAYLOR
THE HOUSE OF SIRIUS
Book 1: Wolf’s Blood
Book 2: Wolf’s Cage
Book 3: Wolf’s Choice
Book 5: Wolf’s Lie coming soon
DEDICATION
For Richard Brauner, who told me I have the storyteller’s gift.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you Linda, for your endless patience while I changed my mind a dozen times.
Thank you to Ellen, for telling me nothing was wrong, and thank you to Narinder, for giving me explicit details about everything that was wrong.
Thank you Fabien. You were right, even when I didn’t want you to be, but in the end this book is better because of it.
And a special thank you to the LMBDW, for all the advice, support and encouragement.
CHAPTER ONE
“This is incredible.” Jack Miller stared down at the ancient book lying open on the table in front of him. “This was written six hundred years ago? At the beginning of the Endless War?” He stroked the paper reverently. “How have you preserved it so well?”
Seated opposite him at the long table in the library of the Lakes District Den, Heron let out a laugh. “Oh, no, this book isn’t that old. This copy was made about a hundred and fifty years ago. All of our books are re-copied every few hundred years. We use them on a regular basis, and we have neither the facilities nor the time to try preserving them for much longer.” She fingered the pages fondly. “The job of copying them is overseen by a team of scholars at Council headquarters in Italy. For important ones like this, a copy is given to every Den, but for the more obscure texts, there might only be two or three Dens in the whole of Europe with a copy of the text in its original language. With modern printing technology, that’s improved, but a lot of our library here still consists only of the English translation of the ancient texts.” She paused to glance around the large room, and Miller couldn’t help but admire the view. The library was both wide and long, every wall covered in floor-to-ceiling shelves, with plenty more bookcases freestanding. There had to be a couple of thousand books in here. Of course, not all of them were ancient texts. There were plenty of modern books as well, novels, nature books, biographies and the like. But a good section of the room was filled with thick, leather bound volumes that held the secrets of the shifters’ history and culture and comprised the Den’s most valuable possessions, of far more worth than the antique furniture, the weapons stockpile or the masses of technology housed on the upper floor.
“It’s nice to have a copy of the texts in their original language,” Heron went on, “but there aren’t many people who can read it well, so in general, the English version is more useful. But as you’ve already seen, there are certain difficulties with translating things from the Old Language, so not everything we have is guaranteed to be accurate.”
Miller nodded, running his eyes over the pages again. “What language is this, anyway? I mean, it’s not Greek, it’s not Latin, it’s not Russian, but it bears certain similarities to all three. Who spoke this, and when, and where did they come from?”
“That’s a subject of intense debate amongst our scholars,” Heron replied. “Some believe it was an actual language spoken by the ancient shifters, but others believe it was more like a code – a deliberate blending of several different languages designed to make it difficult, if not impossible to translate for anyone who didn’t already know the code. That’s why we often have such difficulty understanding it.”
“But you said some of these documents originated anything up to thirty thousand years ago. There was no written language back then.”
“No, I said the first shifters could have been created thirty thousand years ago,” Heron clarified. “We have no way of knowing the exact dates, and we have a certain reluctance to seek more expert help in analysing the evidence we have. It’s the sort of thing that would bring the Noturatii down upon us in a heartbeat.” Miller cringed at the reminder, knowing all too well how true it was. His own defection from the Noturatii to the wolf shape-shifters had happened less than three months ago, and much of that time had been spent trying to convince the shifters that he wasn’t going to run off and betray them at the first opportunity. But now that he’d been accepted as one of the pack, Baron, the Den’s alpha, had decided that extensive lessons into the shifters’ history were required, and so Heron and a few of the other residents of the estate had begun teaching him.
“We believe that the ancient stories and prophecies were passed down verbally,” Heron went on, “until they were finally written down sometime around 500BC. Which is why you’ll find that some people believe the myths about the origins of our species, and others firmly believe that they’re nothing but fairy stories.”
“What about the other pack of shifters that lives in the north east? You call them the Grey Watch, right?” Miller asked.
“Correct.”
“Do they have their own version of this history? Or do they believe largely the same things you do?”
Heron sighed, a thread of annoyance showing through, though Miller was fairly sure her irritation was aimed at the other pack, rather than at him and his endless questions. Heron was nothing if not a patient teacher, and he got the impression she actually enjoyed these long discussions.
“The Watch lives in the wilderness,” Heron explained. “They have little contact with humanity and an aversion to any form of modern convenience. They have copies of some of the more important texts, this one included,” she said, indicating the book in front of Miller, “but their living conditions are not conducive to keeping books in good condition. So they expect Il Trosa to provide new copies for them on a regular basis.”
“And you do?” Miller asked, not sure why the more progressive of the two packs would go to such lengths to help their rivals.
“We do,” Heron admitted. “I suppose because the Council cares more about preserving our history than about getting the Watch to pull their own weight. Which is neither my decision, nor my problem.” It was a rare thing to witness any kind of ill temper from Heron, the ageing woman one of the most temperate and patient of the shifters, and Miller took it as a sign of just how deep the rivalry between the two packs ran that it could get even Heron annoyed. “But moving on,” she said, not wanting to dwell on the issues between the two groups, “this is the Treaty of Erim Kai Bahn.” She redirected his attention back to the book in front of him. “Or in English, the Treaty of Destruction or Victory.”
“Seems an odd name for a Treaty,” Miller observed, examining the open page. As with the other books he’d seen today, the text had been copied out by hand, each letter precise and delicate, each page a work of art.
“Indeed,” Heron agreed. “It was created in the 1400s, in response to the imminent extinction of the wolf shifters. At the time the Treaty was written, there were only ninety-eight of us left in the whole
world. Those who survived couldn’t agree on how to best protect the species, so they split into two factions, one that would later become Il Trosa and the other who would become the Grey Watch. Il Trosa would attempt to continue to live alongside humanity, though they would have to hide their true nature from the public, while the Watch retreated into the wilderness, cutting all ties with civilisation. The name of the Treaty was derived from the idea that none of them really knew which strategy was going to work. It was hoped that at least one group would manage to survive, but if both failed, then the entire species could end up being destroyed. Hence the Treaty of Destruction or Victory.”
Miller lingered on the page, running a reverent finger over the unfamiliar letters. This version was in the Old Language, but Heron had told him that further on in the book there were translations in English, French and Italian. They would be studying portions of the English text over the next week or two. “So if the two factions were going down such different paths, what was the point of the Treaty?”
“The ultimate goal, of the Treaty and of both factions, was to preserve the shifter species. The Treaty enforces alliances between Il Trosa and the Watch, forbids certain actions against each other, dictates how conflicts are to be managed. It’s an incredibly complex document, and we have scholars who spend years studying it, but for today’s purposes, we’ll just be focusing on the most important points.”
Miller felt an odd thread of unease shiver through him as he listened to Heron’s explanation. “It enforces alliances between you? I thought you and the other pack were rivals. Enemies.”
Heron hesitated before answering, searching for the best way to explain. “In many ways, we are. We have vastly different philosophies on life, different tactics for survival, different beliefs about our magic. But the Treaty is what binds us together, whether we like it or not. If either side ever breaks the conditions of the Treaty then war will break out, and the entire species will be put at risk once again. The purpose of the Treaty is to ensure such severe consequences that no one would ever dare to break it. Just like neither Russia nor the USA would ever dare to push the big red button. There are no winners in a nuclear war. And there can be no winners in a breach of the Treaty.”
“So what sort of actions would constitute breaking the Treaty?” If it was that important, it was little wonder Baron had been so eager for Miller to start learning about it.
“There are a number of possible situations,” Heron explained. “But the most significant ones – and the ones most likely to affect you – are that each pack must attend an annual meeting with the pack of the other faction within their own country, and neither faction may ever betray the other to the Noturatii, or any other organisation like them.” Miller felt his blood run cold at that simple pronouncement. Heron peered at him in concern, clearly picking up on his sudden change of mood. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently. “Don’t worry, Jack, you’re not affected by that part of things. Although you came from the Noturatii, you renounced your ties to them. You’ve committed no act of betrayal since being converted into a shifter.”
“No, I haven’t,” Miller agreed, feeling his heart race. “But I know someone who has.”
CHAPTER TWO
“How dare you?!” Sempre’s screech could be heard right across the clearing, and Genna winced as she saw every wolf in the Grey Watch camp turn to gawk while Sempre yelled at her. “You foolish, stupid, selfish girl!” The rant went on while they crossed the clearing. “You’re an embarrassment to our species and a liability to this pack.”
Genna wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed by the scolding. She’d had worse before, as had plenty of the wolves around her. Being told off by Sempre was no more unexpected than seeing the sun rise in the morning. No, the thing that was currently making her face turn beet red and her arms flail about like a windmill was the fact that Sempre had her in a headlock and was dragging her about the clearing like a rag doll. Women of the Grey Watch were supposed to be warriors, and here she was being tossed around like a dog’s chew toy.
“Get in there,” Sempre snarled, opening the door to the tall cage that sat at the edge of the clearing, and she tossed Genna inside. Genna herself had become remarkably fit as a result of her life in the wilds, lean muscles standing out in high definition on her arms and legs, but the strength Sempre used to shove her inside the cage was staggering, far beyond Genna’s own strength, and she stumbled as she all but fell into the small prison.
She righted herself and turned around just in time to see Sempre snap the padlock shut. The alpha stared down at her in open disdain. “You think you can defy me?” she asked, every word a challenge. “Think again. Let that be a lesson to you all,” she announced loudly, turning to glare at the rest of the pack, watching on from around the clearing. “I am your alpha, and you will respect and obey me. Anyone else who thinks they can defy me will find themselves in the cage alongside this useless dog.” The watching wolves visibly shrank under her glare, and then, satisfied at having cowed her pack, Sempre turned back to Genna. “You try my patience, girl,” she hissed. “Put your misguided morals aside and start realising that the only way to true greatness is to embrace this gift. Why do you think Sirius gave us this magic if he didn’t mean for us to use it? You are being unbelievably selfish, as well as putting the whole pack at risk. What if the Noturatii were to attack us? Your gifts could disarm them, destroy their weapons, maybe even kill them. And you refuse to even try, because you want to throw a little tantrum about a couple of birds? You’re pathetic.”
It was a speech Genna had heard before, half encouragement, half threat, a blatant attempt at manipulating her that lacked even the slightest hint of subtlety. She feigned indifference, staring up at Sempre with a bored expression until the woman hissed out a curse and stormed away. Only then did Genna dare to acknowledge her heart thudding in her chest and the way her gut was rolling in dread.
This was the very thing she’d been trying to avoid for weeks, the threat of the cage a well known and terrifying consequence of disobeying Sempre. Built of thick bars of hardwood, it was little more than a metre square at the base and about two metres high. Sempre had promised that she wouldn’t be coming out of the cage until she agreed to perform the blood rituals that Sempre had been demanding for weeks. And while she was inside it, there would be no food, little water and not even a hint of shelter from the rain. If Genna had thought her everyday struggles in the camp were bad, they were nothing compared to how unpleasant things were about to get.
It had been drizzling for days, autumn in the north of England delivering a truly dismal affair this year, and Genna glanced at the sky, already feeling the cold drops seeping through her thin cloak. She shifted automatically, her wolf fur providing far better protection from the rain, but even in this form, it would be unpleasant being stuck out in the weather for extended periods of time. Her stomach growled, food scarce at the best of times, but at least while she’d been free she could go hunting, catch a rabbit or a pheasant and take the edge off the ever-present hunger. Now she had nothing but the slow creep of time wearing her down until she finally gave in to Sempre’s demands when the hunger and cold became too much to bear.
Genna felt her lip rise in a silent snarl, and she huddled up in the corner of the cage as the rain began falling harder. It was all well and good to take the moral high ground, she thought blackly, but no one told you what you were supposed to do when those very efforts to stand up for what you believed in landed you in dire straits. She’d been thrown into this cage for refusing to kill an owl – a beautiful, wild creature that should be living freely in the forest, not kept trapped in a cage for Sempre’s wicked schemes. And aside from the life of the bird itself, there was also the issue of the taint to her magic that the blood rituals would cause. According to the ancient stories, blood rituals were permitted amongst the shifters so long as they used only their own blood. Killing innocent creatures to enhance their magic was not only forbidden, it was comp
letely abhorrent to Sirius the Wolf God, and he denied rest to those who practised such rituals, forever banning them from returning home to his Great Hall at the end of their life.
Or at least, that was how the story went. There were rumours aplenty among the wolves of this pack and claims of ancient myths were among them, though Genna had to wonder where the stories had originally come from. Sempre, the pack’s alpha, and Lita, their mage, had never spoken of such things, openly encouraging blood rituals and flaunting the benefits of the magic in front of the pack. It was only the wolves in the middle of the pecking order who spoke of the myths, those who had been here long enough to have learned about such things, but not long enough to have fallen under Sempre’s spell.
But Lita had died not too long ago, collapsing without warning in the middle of one such ritual, and that by itself was warning enough for Genna that some aspects of the shifter magic should not be messed with.
So what was she supposed to do when Sempre was demanding she perform the rituals in Lita’s place and the only alternative was being locked in this cage? Genna was no hero, not even much of a warrior, and at the age of twenty-two, she still felt like little more than a child some days. How was she supposed to stand up to a woman who had been converted into a shifter some thirty odd years ago and who had been delving into the secrets of shifter magic since she was twelve years old?
Genna could get out of the cage, of course, and a belligerent spark of temper had her eyeing the lock. The unique gift she had inherited along with her wolf form was a rare and powerful one: the ability to make objects disappear by sending them into the other-worldly realm where their human bodies went while they weren’t using them. It would be a trifling matter to wrap her hand around the lock and simply make it vanish.