Daughters of Artemis

by Della Buckland

  "Peter, if you stay here with them, you can consider yourself banished too. You will no longer be allowed to run free with my pack in our woods on the islands," Micah called back without turning around.

  "I know. I accept those terms," Peter replied—also without looking back—before rushing over to take Coral into his arms. Micah and the rest of his entourage walked away, and the guard gladly closed the door behind them. Peter turned to Syrene and asked permission to join his mate in her pack by promising complete allegiance to Syrene. Syrene agreed, and soon Luna felt another consciousness join the rest in the back of her mind.

  "Something tells me we've haven't seen the last of him," Luna told Syrene as the rest of the pack dispersed to go about preparing for the night.

  "Unfortunately not. Micah isn't happy he lost another pack member tonight—in addition to you—to his nemesis daughter. I feel for the rest of his pack having to deal with his moods once he returns to them empty-handed and one man down. We may no longer be part of that pack, but the friends and family we grew up with are there, and as long as they are, we will always long to be reunited with them one day," she replied as she wrapped her arms around Luna and began steering them towards the stairs. "Until then, we will be each other's family, and we'll protect each other as well as what belongs to us."

  Luna believed her, and though she didn't know what her future held, she was happy Syrene was the one fate had chosen for her to share it with.

  The smell of the deer filled her nostrils. It overrode everything else, set a fire in her mind. Dimly, she could hear the other wolves elsewhere in the forest, in threes and fives, chasing down prey of their own. But this one was hers. She'd seen him twice before, this beautiful buck. She'd watched him, followed him. He was three years old, mature yet unmated. A fine challenge for a pack of wolves, let alone a single bitch.

  The deer paused in his nightly walk, looking around cautiously. Had she moved? Had he sensed her? His eyes scanned right over the burrow in which she was crouched, and her hackles raised involuntarily. A tense moment, another, and then the deer continued on. The wolf-bitch waited another few seconds, long enough for the buck to turn fully away, and then sprang from her hiding place. The buck was quick, jumping instantly into a full run. The wolf stayed close behind, eager for the chase, to stretch muscles held in tense readiness for too long.

  The buck darted through the woods, over roots, and around ravines, never missing a step. But the wolf had grown up in this forest, too, and had the benefit of a predator's instinct. Little by little, she began to close the gap. The edge of the forest was approaching fast, though. If the buck made it beyond the tree line, he could easily outpace her. The wolf put on a final burst of speed and threw herself into a leap. Her outstretched claws raked against the buck's hindquarters and dug in, dragging the deer to the ground.

  The wolf sat beside her fallen foe and gave a keening howl. Slowly, the howl became a scream as the wolf's fur receded, bones shifted, muzzle compressed. In a matter of minutes, where the wolf sat, a naked woman now knelt. Susan Runningwind placed her hand on the buck's flank and thanked him for his life. Then she took the buck's head into her hands and, as swiftly and gently as she could, snapped the neck to give the dying creature a quick release.

  Susan heard the excited voices of the children long before she broke from the cover of the trees. She frowned and hefted the buck more firmly across her shoulders, wondering what could have set them off. The other hunters would surely be back by now, but that had never caused this level of commotion in the past. A few more steps, and she scented them. Outsiders.

  It wasn't unheard of for their tribe to receive visitors, even this far away from the white man's world. Just because they lived isolated didn't mean they eschewed all contact. Hikers that occasionally stumbled across their community, tourists on the hunt for the 'authentic' native experience, or amateur genealogists who had been told there was some Sioux 'somewhere' in their heritage. Still, it was a rare enough thing that the young ones always squealed with glee at the chance to meet new people.

  When at last Susan emerged from the forest, and her eyes had adjusted to the sudden swelling of light, she looked around for the newest visitors to their home. They weren't hard to find: the garishly large black SUV was immediately obvious. Not far from it, a woman and two men were talking to Black Crow, who was leaning on his walking stick. Or rather, the woman was talking to Black Crow while the two men looked on. Interesting, that. But the hundred and fifty pounds on her back was a more pressing concern, so she continued on toward the hanging area.

  By the time she finished hanging the buck to drain and age, she'd all but forgotten about the outsiders. It wasn't until she was halfway back to her cabin and she heard Black Crow calling her name that she remembered. She turned and got her first close look at the visitors to their home. The two men could not have been more different. One was tall, thin, and pale, with blond hair and light eyes, like a Viking torn out of time. The other was shorter than Susan herself, stout without being pudgy, and dark of hair, skin, and eye.

  It was the woman with them, though, who was the most striking. At first glance, she might have been mistaken for a man. Her sandy brown hair was cut short and above her ears. She wore jeans faded enough that to call them 'blue' would be generous, and a man's flannel shirt buttoned up against the morning chill. But a single look at her face (and chest, Susan noted with a tiny flush) confirmed her femininity. Her face was round, all gentle curves and smoothness. Her green eyes seemed to take in the entire world around her and thank it for existing.

  "Susan is the youngest of our tribal elders," Black Crow was saying. The mention of her name snapped her wandering mind back into place. "Susan, this is Jesse Westfield, Tyler Elison, and Jorge Rios." He indicated the woman, the Viking, and the stout one. "They are making a documentary about the wolves."

  Susan's mouth went dry, but she kept her voice casual. "Which wolves are those?"

  "Oh, the Werewolves of South Dakota," Jesse said, but followed it up with a laugh. "Well, that's what people call them, anyway, seeing as they're almost never seen except during full moons. I've spoken to several people who claim to have seen them, and most of them were in this general area at the time."

  "So you want to know if we have seen them, too?" Susan darted her eyes nervously toward Black Crow.

  "That's one reason. But I did my research before coming out here. Other Lakota refer to you as Shungmánitu Thánka Thiwáhe. Family of the Wolf."

  Susan raised an eyebrow at that. "Your pronunciation is excellent," she noted. "But I assure you that has nothing to do with these... werewolves. I don't believe we can be of any help to you."

  "I have told Miss Westfield that she and her friends are welcome among us," Black Crow said, a tiny note of reprimand in his voice that meant 'be nice'.

  Of course he had, Susan thought. Black Crow was friendly and welcoming to a fault. If the white man's devil walked among them, Black Crow would offer to sharpen his horns and hold his pitchfork. "However, we will do our best and share freely anything that we have," she continued smoothly. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must assist with the cooking." She didn't wait for a reply, choosing instead a hasty retreat. Even so, the memory of those green eyes lingered well into the afternoon.

  That night, the tribe favored their visitors with a traditional welcome ceremony, complete with feasting and dance. Susan watched the festivities from her preferred seat on the far side of the fire. She sat in that ambiguous zone: close enough that she wasn't actively separating herself from the tribe, while still far enough away for everyone's comfort.

  A reflected glint on the other side of the fire caught Susan's attention, and she realized it was the lens of a video camera. Apparently, Black Crow had convinced the other elders to allow the dance to be taped. It was the tall one, Tyler, using the camera while Jorge held a large microphone on a pole over the dancers' heads. Susan didn't see Jesse, which strangely saddened her. The other woman was at
least an interesting puzzle to figure out, and Susan was beginning to look forward to the challenge.

  "Hi."

  Susan jumped at the voice, surprisingly close given her usual alertness. She looked up and found Jesse standing beside her. "Hau," she replied automatically once she'd recovered herself.

  "I didn't mean to startle you," Jesse said. "I just saw you sitting over here and thought I'd come meet you properly."

  Susan shrugged and gestured to the other side of the log she was sitting on. "Not your fault; my mind was wandering. Not enjoying the dancing?"

  Jesse took the offer and sat down next to Susan. "Oh, the dancing's beautiful. But the drums were starting to hurt my ears. I'm just not used to it, I guess."

  "It does take some time," Susan agreed.

  They sat silently for several minutes, watching the flicker of the fire throw shadows across the dancers. Then Jesse rubbed her hands across her jeans and said, "Okay, I have to ask you this. That deer that you were carrying this morning. How much did it weigh?"

  Susan frowned at the question. Hunting was such a natural function that it was completely unremarkable to her. "Around a hundred and fifty pounds, give or take. Why?"

  "Oh, my God!" Jesse let out a low whistle. "And you carried it all that way and threw it up on a hook like it was just a big winter coat. That's incredible."

  "No, incredible is watching Two Feathers pull it off the hook and carry it to the butchering table. She's eighty-six."

  Jesse stared at her. "You're kidding."

  "Not even a little bit," Susan replied seriously.

  Once again, the only sounds for several minutes were from the dance and the dancers. And once again, it was Jesse who broke the silence. "Can I ask you another question?"

  Susan shrugged. "You're a reporter; isn't that your job?"

  "I'm a documentarian," Jesse corrected. "My focus is more on observation without interference."

  "I see. Ask your question, then."

  "Why did Black Crow say that you were one of the elders? Don't you have to be, you know, elderly to be an elder?"

  The nervousness in Jesse's voice combined with the gentle innocence of the question made Susan laugh, a sharp bark of a laugh that briefly drew attention from a few of the other women seated nearby. She quickly regained control of herself, though. "I apologize for laughing. But just then, you reminded me of one of the children afraid they are asking a silly question."

  Jesse turned away from Susan, leaving only her profile lit by the firelight. "Yeah, except that I'm twenty-seven." Another pause. "Is it a silly question?"

  "Not at all." Susan smiled gently, even if Jesse couldn't see it. "Becoming a tribal elder is more involved than simply growing old. There are a limited number of positions, and to be considered, one must undertake a number of physical and spiritual tests. Passing them all at age forty, as I did, is not unheard-of, but certainly rare."

  "Wait a minute. You're forty years old?" Jesse's head snapped back to Susan.

  "I was forty when I passed the trials. That was five years ago."

  Jesse looked Susan up and down. "Damn, you look good for forty-five. Seriously, I would never have guessed that. Thirty-five, tops."

  Blushing wasn't something that Susan Runningwind had much experience with—and would deny if accused of it—but there didn't seem to be another word to describe the heat she felt rushing to her cheeks. "Well, thank you for that. And you certainly carry yourself with the confidence of someone much older than twenty-seven."

  "Umm, thanks?" Jesse's laugh seemed a little forced.

  "Was that rude?" Susan asked, frowning.

  "Nah," Jesse said, waving her hand away. "Unexpected, I guess, but not rude."

  "It was meant as a compliment."

  "No, I get that. It's just not the kind of thing I usually hear. But thank you."

  This time, it was Susan who broke the uncomfortable silence that followed. "So, are you and Tyler dating?" It was the first question she could think of, and she immediately felt foolish having said it.

  Jesse laughed again, but this was an easier laugh, like she'd been asked the same thing a million times before. "No, we're not dating. Tyler's actually gay. And, well, so am I, to be honest. I hope you don't mind."

  Susan quirked an eyebrow. "We're not savages, you know," she pointed out lightly. "The Lakota have accepted homosexuality since before we knew the white man's word for it."

  "Oh. I didn't know that." Jesse worried at her lower lip. "What about you? I mean, do you have a partner, not are you—Never mind."

  "Me? No, no, I've n—No." Susan noticed she was wringing her hands together nervously, and looked about for some excuse to change the subject. And thankfully, Wakan Tanka took pity on her. "Oh, you won't want to miss this," she said quickly. "Black Crow is going to dance. Your friends must have really sweet-talked him; he only dances on special occasions." She took Jesse's hand and stood up, leading them both back to the fire.

  Black Crow's dance was as beautiful as she remembered, exhilarating and heartbreaking all at the same time, and Susan allowed her mind to be consumed by it. By the time the dance ended, Susan realized that Jesse was no longer sitting beside her. She looked around and found that Tyler and Jorge were gone, too, and that the gathering was starting to break up. She sighed and started toward her home as well. Sleep was slow to claim her that night, and quick to depart, yet it left behind a dream of Black Crow's dance. Except that the drums were her heartbeat and Black Crow's eyes were green.

  "Okay, tight in on me."

  Susan looked up from tending the fire at the sound of Jesse's voice. The younger woman was standing not far away, with Tyler pointing a camera at her and Jorge holding a microphone on a pole over her head. Obviously doing some shooting for that documentary of hers. Susan tried to turn her attention back to her tasks, but her ears continued to strain to hear the words.

  "Three, two, one. Here in the wilds of South Dakota, there's a mystery. Blech. That's horrible. Okay, three, two, one. South Dakota is home to a great number of wolves, but perhaps none are as mysterious as the Werewolves. Their territory is believed to be not far from where I'm standing, among the tribal lands of the Lakota Sioux reservation. I say 'believed', because their very existence is in dispute. This is an area not known for wolf activity. What's more, the sightings of this strange pack of wolves only ever seem to coincide with the full moon, hence the name Werewolves. Scientific explanations range from dismissing the sightings as random lone wolves wandering too far afield to positing them as a new subspecies with an odd monthly migratory pattern. One thing's for sure, though: If there is an answer to be found, this is the place to find it." Jesse paused for a moment, and then asked, "How was that? Sound natural?"

  "Sounded good to me," Tyler said.

  "You sure? I could run through it one more time."

  Jorge jumped in. "It's fine, Jess. You're too much of a perfectionist. If there are any wobbles, we'll fix it in editing."

  "I guess," Jesse agreed with a sigh. "Let's just move on. Hey, Susan!"

  Susan startled when she heard her name. She looked up again and saw Jesse hurrying over to her. "Um, hey?"

  Jesse was already huffing by the time she crossed the short distance. "Wanna be in a movie?" she asked after catching her breath.

  "Do I—what?"

  "I'd like to interview someone from the tribe about the wolves, and I was wondering if you would like to be the one. If not, that's totally okay; I can ask someone else."

  Susan weighed her options. It was unlikely that any of the other elders would be willing to do an interview—a few of them barely spoke English at all. Which meant that if it wasn't her, it would end up being one of the younger members, who might let something slip accidentally. That made the choice pretty easy. "Sure, I'd be happy to."

  "Great!" Jesse waved Tyler and Jorge over. "Is now okay? It's just that the light's perfect."

  "Now's fine, sure." She'd actually hoped to have a little more time to prepa
re, but the words were out of her mouth before she realized. Instead, she spent the few minutes while the guys set up frantically thinking of as many ways she could to diplomatically say 'we don't know anything, stop asking'.

  Once the three were done, Jesse sat down and gave Susan a few pointers. "Don't look at the camera; just look at me. If you start stumbling or saying 'um' a lot, just take a deep breath, count to three, and start over. We'll just keep the good one."

  "I think I can manage that."

  "Great! Anytime you're set, Ty."

  Tyler nodded. "We're rolling."

  "All right, Susan. First of all, is it true that wolves aren't often seen in this part of South Dakota?"

  Susan tried not to look up at the camera over Jesse's shoulder. "Wolves are very isolated by nature. They try to stay away from areas of human occupation—there's limited prey and the chance of their own death from hunters. So it's true that wolf sightings tend to be rare. But of course, as people continue to push farther into the wilderness, there is always a period of adjustment before the wolves again pull back from inhabited areas. In that sense, seeing a wolf here and there is always a possibility."

  Jesse's eyes widened a little, and she gave a tiny nod of encouragement. Susan had to admit she felt pretty proud of herself as well. Maybe she could do this after all.

  "And what about these so-called Werewolves? Are wolf sightings more common around the full moon, and if so, why do you think that is?"

  "More light." Susan laughed softly. "Actually, that's true. Wolves, like most predators, tend to blend into their environment. So just because you don't see a wolf doesn't mean that she's not there. People are probably only remembering the ones they see in the full moon because those would be the clearest sightings."