by Sam Hall
Be bigger, I said to it. Be sharp, able to cut through anything. And it was. I felt a throb of power, a drawing sensation, as if something was pulled out of me and into the stone as it lengthened, but it wasn’t a feeling of loss. This was the power of life, what the White Wolf represented, if not Branwen. It bubbled up, easily replenished. It didn’t require the pain and degradation of others to feed it, it just needed someone with the ability to open up to it.
I walked past the rape tables and the smaller crystal clusters, waving a hand as I had in my dream to send the furniture to dust, the crystals growing duller and duller red before fluttering out and becoming green. The guys were at my back as I crossed the floor, not making a sound, until we came to the great crystal of Lonan. We all stood around it in a loose ring, the stone wolf humming with power, making that same strange sound as the ones in the ruins as we drew closer. Sylvan began to sing again, that song from Wolflantis, the same verse over and over, until the sound grew bright and pure, filling every corner of the room.
This is it, love, Brandon said, and when we stepped forward, we did so together, his fingers wrapped around mine as we slammed my crystal into the chest of the wolf.
It shattered like it was made of ice rather than crystal, great chunks falling to the ground and becoming pure white again. It wasn’t power, but it was a way to augment, channel it. The guys bent down and plucked the pieces they wanted, tearing the stone apart like it was spun sugar. They shaped the stones into weapons of their choosing, or in Aaron’s case, augmented existing weapons. I picked my crystal back up—it was a sword now.
Morgan and his pack’s descent into the cavern was on our mind as we walked down the steps into the depths of Leifgart. Sylvan continued to sing as we went, until we reached the opening of Lonan’s den.
Our vision hadn’t exaggerated anything. The sheer scope of the space was hard to get your head around, which was odd because the hill the Volken had built was big, but not this big.
“So how do we tackle this?” Jack said. “Smashing a crystal wolf ain’t like taking out a wolf god.”
“My brothers.”
Our heads jerked up to see Lian standing just in front of the Great Wolf’s paws, his eyes scanning the crowd with barely contained glee.
“It has been a long time between Great Rites, but I promise you, it will have been worth the wait. We come together at each Rite, lay ourselves at the feet of our Lord, give ourselves unto him, submit to his judgement to see if we are worthy to be agents of his will.” Lian’s smile grew wider. “During each Rite, we give everything we have built and collected to our Lord. We destroy, debilitate, wreck, and ruin, spreading out as far as we can go throughout the land to assert the Great Wolf’s dominance.”
A roaring cheer went up through the cavern, the sound reverberating through the whole space, growing louder and louder. Lian waited for the sound to finally die away before continuing.
“Brothers, this Great Rite will be different than any other before it. The destruction that will take place will operate on the grandest of scales. We have been brought low by the machinations of women, bearing daughters where once there were only sons. Men who would join us in our worship of the Great Wolf himself. It is time to take that back. The Great Rite feeds our Lord, who provides for us. This time, we must generate untold levels of destruction to give him the power to get through the witches’ portal and to take back what was ours.”
Does any despotic regime manage to whip up this kind of hysteria without the uniforms and the fists pumping and the demonisation of one group of society who’s just going about their business, doing their thing? There’s a terrible power in the symbols and the rah-rah and the ‘us vs them’ dynamic. Power I was determined to see an end to.
“Watch the wolf. Lonan comes,” Sylvan said.
At the seer’s order, our focus switched to the Black Wolf, and as if on cue, the wolf seemed to… glitch or shiver, as if reality fragmented for a second, and it wasn’t entirely clear what stood there—a wolf, a man, or a wolf and a man in the same body. The earth groaned as the two fought for dominance, the Volken dropping to the ground, both because it was the safest place to be and to show respect to their god. They missed, therefore, the moment he stepped free of his god and stood before the Volken, paying them little mind. Rather, his eyes were on his hands, flexing them experimentally, then his arms, his chest.
“Lonan was trapped,” Sylvan said, watching his doppelgänger move through narrowed eyes. “Hurt mortally by the fall of Eomis. He retreated to this realm, hid out in this cave until the locals started bringing him sacrifices. For the Black Wolf, this would have been enough. That, and the natural cycle of birth and decay. Nothing could harm him, not really. But Lonan…” He watched him move to Lian, then say something only to him that had the man’s face paling.
“Lonan needed more power than what nature could provide. He’d been satisfied with that in the past, but… He and Branwen learned ways to squeeze yet more power, move beyond that which came naturally to the Great Wolves, and use them more as a receptacle to what they created. For Branwen, it was sex, abandon, ecstatic orgies, wild bouts of creation—all the things Eomis was known for. For Lonan, it was the opposite. Branwen’s rise made him weak.” He turned to look at the lot of us. “This is what he’s been doing the whole time, since the Volken came. He made us his agents, gave each one of us access to his powers. In every single one of us, he created a reward system for each act of degradation and pain and suffering.” His hand went to his own crystal that hung around his neck. “Made us all power sources for him to draw on.”
Our eyes scanned the crowd below us and caught the many glowing red points of light across the cavern. The men rose, and with them, they held up those knapped crystal spears, red light streaming from each one.
“We’ve got to take out the crystals,” Aaron said.
“We’ve got to starve Lonan. He can’t have the women and kids,” Finn said.
“He can’t have the men either. That’s what he wants, what all of this is about in the end. They are the final sacrifice, they just don’t know it yet,” Sylvan said, and then he was on his feet. “I know what I have to do now. She made it seem like…” He sighed, then flicked me that devilish smile of his, that promised equal parts pleasure and pain. “Rule well, little queen,” he said to me before sketching a bow, and then he jumped off the edge of the ledge we were crouching on.
31
Sylvan
I should have been a mass murdering butcher.
Everyone thinks their perspective is a unique one, and maybe that’s true in subtle ways, but I’d be willing to bet very few have had the consciousness of a violent, sadistic psychopath beating down on them from the moment they were born. One minute I was all crying, shitting, squalling need, and then I felt it, like a wire ligature curling around my neck—Lonan.
I grew up in the outer limits of Leifgart on my mother’s small property, so I was protected—at least during my childhood—from the worst of the Volken excesses. My mother was gentle, if distant, but the community that had sprung up on the outskirts was such that I had plenty of concerned adult attention and affection when I wanted them. I ran with a rag-tag group of boys, something I never understood the worth of at the time, but by roaming around the farms with them, growing up young and strong under the sun, tossing balls around and climbing trees, I had a family. But more importantly, I had a model for healthy human behaviour.
When the impulses came to dash a newborn kitten against the wall just to see its brains splatter, or to torment the younger members of the group to the point of tears, or much worse, I initially went with them, not really knowing any better. But when the others saw the blood dripping from my hands or the tears in the other boys’ eyes, the punches, the censure, the rough and ready playground justice that came into play soon made it clear. I could either turn my back on all human companionship, be relegated to complete isolation with only broken bodies for friends, or I could learn.<
br />
I learnt.
I learned to look to the others for a moral code, studying the sense that seemed innately within them of right and wrong, and I followed it, constantly adjusting for all the many caveats and exclusions that shifted and changed with the circumstances and relationships between the people involved.
For example, lashing out at Old Nicky, who liked to lure young kids into his front room so as to touch them, was sanctioned, if not encouraged. I felt that pressure around my neck as we sank our boots into his sides when we found he’d managed to get my mate’s three-year-old sister inside his room, intervening before he’d done any damage. It curled tighter, twisting inside my head with each vicious strike, wanting more when the old man finally started coughing blood. But when the older kids held up their hands, holding the rest of us back, I did as I was told. There was a time for fun, there was a time for those quiet moments where you connected with others, and there was a time for violence, as long as it fit within the narrow, shifting confines society endorsed.
Then it was all taken away.
I looked down the rows of Volken as I walked towards Lonan and the Great Wolf. It had been several of them that had come to my mother’s door, seeking me. Yet more had knocked on every door of every farm and establishment when they didn’t find me. We’d watched them, safely hidden behind bushes or holed up inside barns, wondering what the hell they wanted, right up until the point people started getting hurt.
I’d known this was going to happen. I’d woken up from a dream that left me horrified and strangely thrilled, the chaotic fragments my mind held on to showing me all the ways the Volken were going to hurt my friend Greg’s mum. I hadn’t paid too much attention to it. I’d always had weird, adult dreams, where people did that strange naked wrestling thing that Greg’s older brother and Jean’s older sister used to do when they thought no one was looking, or where blood and brains were splattered with gay abandon, like my own primitive experiments. I’d shrugged it off as I always did, just assuming whatever strange twist lived inside my mind was active again for some reason, and my best bet was just to ignore it.
I shouldn’t have. We were all clustered up inside Greg’s tree house, a flimsy construction if ever there was one, when the Volken attacked his mother. His parents had opened the door to find five Volken warriors standing there, then one grabbed Greg’s dad by the collar and dragged him out, holding the massive bull of a man, even though the Volken did not look as strong. I remembered the burn of the red crystals on the Volken’s glove as he held Greg’s dad, the stones doing little to stop his shouts or her screams.
We’d stiffened as one when the first cry cut through the peace and quiet, all of our eyes and ears trained on what was happening, a small sound of protest coming from Greg’s mouth. One of the older boy’s hands went to Greg’s shoulder blade, and I remembered the feeling of comfort that brought when I was upset, so I mimicked the gesture. Then the Volken brought his fist back, lining it up with Greg’s mother’s face.
Slipping from the pile of my friends, spidering down the ladder with the broken steps, and walking towards the house was one of the few truly altruistic things I’d done at that point. It had felt good, right, up until the Volken took me away and beat me into the shape they wanted. I felt some of those same feelings now. My hair flowing over my shoulders, my steps sure and true when I felt it the least, the knowledge I was doing the right thing, despite wanting to turn tail and run. My life had been one long chaotic stream of weird visions and horrible impulses that I’d struggled to make sense of, but I could see now. It boiled down to this.
He’s coming for me, Branwen said inside my mind. Her connection with me had come at puberty and had gone a long way to protecting me from the twisted bullshit of the Volken, despite all their attempts to brutalise me otherwise. He’s going to kill everyone here until he’s strong enough to come for me.
I know, my love, I said in return. And I’m going to stop him.
The Volken didn’t notice me as I made my way to the front. Stupid and unthinking, they were as they always had been—overgrown babies allowed full reign to indulge every impulse on anyone who didn’t wear a black uniform, and sometimes even with one. Somehow, this all-powerful culture of men was missing something that even the simplest farmer on the outskirts knew—that violence was an unstable surface to build a culture on. It had its place, to police the members, to make sure the strong did not ride roughshod over the weak, but not like this. As they all joked and roared and cheered for the massacre they believed was coming, not once did they consider that they might be the victims, rather than the perpetrators.
I watched Lian take his place beside Max, an eerie juxtaposition. It was like looking into a mirror. Gods knew how often he’d stood beside me, whether I wanted it or not. As the seer, I was his favourite, before Max had come. Naked, clothed, we’d spent a lot of time using the exact same intimate body language. So when Lian made a small gesture, his eyes roaming around the edges of the cavern, I knew it held weight.
I looked around me as I kept walking, my view of the periphery constrained by the excited Volken, but I had a fair idea of what was coming.
“The pincer movement is always advantageous, if the terrain and conditions are in your favour,” Lian said, reclining naked in front of his map table, a fine sheen of sweat covering his golden skin. I nodded, mopping up the blood and the cum that came from being in an intimate space with him. “If you have the numbers, the right conditions, you create a killing box,” he said, and then pushed the little figurines he used to represent different soldiers until they surrounded the enemy column.
I looked at the board with a nod, the words ‘killing box’ all that stuck in my mind. It supplied a disturbing array of imagery from that presence in my mind I now knew was Lonan, some I’d even been participants in, but I brushed them to one side. One had to, to survive in Leifgart. Instead, I memorised the formation, something about it attracting my eyes before submitting to Lian’s persistent fingers as he tugged me closer and down between his legs.
The most vicious of stabs plunged into me as I saw some of the Volken approaching the women. They shrank back, forming a tight, then tighter circle as they struggled against the chains. The women strove to shove the children behind them, but eyes darted upwards to where the Great Wolf’s eyes now looked down on them. A single drop of saliva formed and then fell from his jaws onto the floor below, sizzling when it hit the stone. My eyes found Arelia’s, as they always did. Across the banquet hall, breeding pen, across space and time, it often felt. This time, they were wild with fear and something much more familiar—defiance.
The ground rumbled as the women’s cries grew louder, their fear, their anger, all food for Lonan, and therefore, the Black Wolf. The god’s eyes flashed a brighter red, as did Lonan’s, a grin splitting his face. The Volken approached, probably fancying that they did so like predators, but what kind of apex carnivore faced down a prey pinned and hemmed in? There was no hunt, no skill there. The women had been defanged and declawed by Volken society into a package that made them the most vulnerable. It was as if secretly, they realised what a threat the women were, that they would have no means to master them without institutionalised subjugation.
Change, I said inside my mind, despite never having the bond with Arelia that let her hear me. Change and become the beast I know you can be.
This was the refrain humming in my head as I began to run, as I saw the Volken jockey to be the ones to first lay into the women, as I saw my Kiralee push forward, her green eyes blazing. She shouted something at them, that whip of a voice forcing some of the closest to stop, even for a moment, much to the amusement of the other Volken. The stilled were shoved and pushed until they shook my daughter’s command off. I enjoyed that momentary pause, where they looked down onto a tiny girl and felt it, the most foreign of Volken emotions—fear.
Then I heard the shouts.
There were few apart from Lian that enjoyed a special position wit
h Volken society. Sandoz was the Chancellor of the Exchequer, little more than an overly powerful civil servant, but he controlled the funds we generated and distributed them for the greater good. Malafen took the horde on campaigns, leading the troops once they got clear of Leifgart, expanding our empire, taking new slaves and bringing them back. But it was Lian that maintained law and order, as the Volken saw it, within the walls of our city. He trained the young soldiers, tearing the boys from their mothers and installing them in the barracks.
It had been his hand that had pinched down on my shoulder when I had come into the city as a screaming, crying boy, when I had mastered my first fight sequence, when he led me into his private residence to discuss my visions. He’d tried to make me one of his personal guards, a misleading enough name, as they did little to protect the lord and were more the unofficial police force within the city, not that there was much law and order to maintain. Rather, it was just Lian’s will. So, when I saw a few of them move, carrying the larger crystals the elite used, I was not surprised.
The Volken’s attentions dropped to their spears as the crystals began to glow red. A common enough thing, especially at this time of the year. It was a two-way power flow, from the Volken to Lonan and back again, so they didn’t suspect what was coming. I put my hand around mine, felt the heat against my skin, before yanking it free from my neck. Then I felt the pull. Not as strongly as the Volken host, who went to their knees, something I’m sure they were unprepared for.
Including those around my daughter. Her green eyes glowed with an inner fire as she watched them go down, a reddish tinge creeping in. Did she imagine she had created this? I couldn’t have wished for anything more, but as I ran down the gap left between the rows of now prone Volken, I saw Lian’s elite step forward, crystals in hand. What had once been a network joining all men together, now became a net to ensnare them with.