Brace For the Wolves

by Nathan Thompson

  My father shook his head.

  “They normally only come once every couple of generations. You shouldn't be able to become one. But...”

  My father was trailing off again. He didn't seem relieved or happy anymore. “But something's coming. To all of the worlds. Avalon. Its sister planets. Earth. I'm going to try and stop it myself if I can. But I know you. If I fall, you'll take my place. And you'll win. Because it's what you do.”

  “How would I even do that?” I asked. “And I'd rather you not... fall.”

  “Me too,” my dad said, lightening up a bit. “But I know you, son. You don't realize it, but there are two things you do the most: protect and prevail. You step up whenever someone near you gets hurt. And when you do, you don't stand down until you find a win.”

  I shifted. My mind shifted with me.

  “Dad,” I said slowly, ashamed. “I don't feel like I'm that person, anymore.”

  “Tell me why, son,” my father said patiently.

  “Because I screwed up,” I admitted. “People depended on me, and I screwed up. And I feel like I've been screwing up for the last two years. In fact, I feel like it's all I've been doing.”

  “I doubt that,” my father said quietly.

  “I know you do,” I replied. “You've always believed in me. Always thought the world of me and supported every dream I've ever had, even when I was five and I wanted to be a wizard werewolf astronaut. But I didn't do the same, Dad. I didn't always believe in you.”

  “That's hardly your fault, son,” my father answered me. Without judging. Like he always did. Even when he was angry, or disappointed in something I did. “You've had an unfair hand these past two years.”

  “But still,” I insisted. “I should have believed in you. I should have stood up on the cafeteria table and shouted to those assholes that John Malcolm was not the kind of man who would go around touching little girls. And I should have gone after them. They were about to become my sisters. They already were my sisters! You told me that! You told me we could call them that! That it was my job to help you keep them safe! My job to help them get through school, and believe in themselves, and chase their dreams and only go out with boys that treated them right, and only when they were ready. But I didn't do any of that, Dad! I never checked on them, never talked to them, never even looked them in the eye to tell them I was sorry! They were getting hurt all this time, and I just sat there, feeling sorry for myself!”

  “I know,” my father answered quietly. “And it's not your fault.”

  “How?” I almost screamed. Even now, it was hard to scream at my dad, so I just made some sort of pitiful half-wail. “How was it not my fault? Just because some idiots in a courtroom told me I was ordered to leave them alone? Because they weren't legally my sisters yet, so I wasn't allowed to care about them. You told me to never listen to idiots, and that's exactly what I did!”

  “Son,” my father said firmly, but kindly. “Listen. Listen to me.”

  He cut through, somehow. He always did.

  “Just because you suffer from something,” my father said forcefully. “Does not make it your fault.”

  “I wasn't the one suffering,” I sobbed. “They were!”

  “Your body language disagrees with you,” he replied without blinking. “And if they were suffering from something, it wasn't their fault either. Could they have controlled what happened?”

  “No,” I sniffed, upset that I was crying in front of my dad, even though I knew he encouraged me to do it when I needed to.

  It was a back and forth thing with us. I kept trying to be strong and tough in front of him and he kept trying to convince me that it didn't matter.

  “Did you even know it was happening?” my dad persisted.

  “No,” I mumbled. “But I was...”

  “Not in charge,” Dad interrupted. “And not in a position to take charge. Not then,” Dad added sadly.

  “You told me I'd be a king,” I complained. “As long as I served, and helped, and protected, I'd be a king. And I tried to do that. But as soon as you died, everything went to pieces and I couldn't put it back together. I couldn't be a king anymore. I couldn't figure out how.”

  Dad sighed.

  “That's on me, son,” my father confessed. “I messed up in the first place. And I oversimplified what it meant to be a king. You did everything you were supposed to.”

  “No,” I swallowed. “Dad...” I swallowed again.

  This was hard.

  “I broke in the end,” I finally confessed. “I... I let something out. Something got out of me. Something that wasn't good.”

  “I saw that, son,” my father said quietly. “That was another thing I should have warned you about, but Aegrim has his own magic, and it's hard to pass down knowledge of him outside these dreams. There's wasn't an easy way to warn you about eating living flesh. But it's going to be okay.”

  “How?” I asked. “And what is he? Chris said he's the reason you died, and that they're after me.”

  “It's more complicated than that,” my father answered. “Just know that they're wrong about you. Your bloodline is not something evil. Your bloodline is a history. Of generation after generation that denied the will of Hell and all tyranny.”

  “I didn't,” I retorted bitterly. “I let him out.”

  “Not yet you haven't,” Dad replied. “That's just another part of you. One that you'll have to gain dominance over, and then make peace with. But Aegrim himself hasn't gone anywhere.”

  “Is that his real name?” I asked. “Is that who I call Pain?”

  “The Dragon of Affliction,” John Malcolm answered with a nod. “He cursed entire worlds. He brought forth all sorts of diseases and horrors. Then he was overcome, and bound to Earth.”

  “We got stuck with him?” I asked. “That doesn't sound fair.”

  “It's not,” my father agreed. “We weren’t supposed to wind up keeping him. That was a double-cross I never got all of the details on. It happened long before our time. But he's here anyway. And a trace of him got added to our line somehow. But we've denied him ever since.”

  “How?” I asked. “And how do I do the same?”

  “Your blood is not your only inheritance,” my father replied. “Neither is the curse that comes with it.”

  My father looked out to the darkness surrounding the campfire. “I wish I had more time to teach you. And I wish I had more time to be with you, son. But right now, I have to protect you. The way I should have done years ago.”

  Dad got up from the tree stump he was sitting on, still looking at the blackness at the edge of our fire.

  “He's suffered,” Dad said, to no one I could see. “More than I had ever feared he would. I am angry, my allegiance to you notwithstanding.”

  “You are right to be,” a small, quiet voice said back, one I recognized. “I did not want him to suffer either. Nor did I want you to die. I rage.”

  My father sighed.

  “I've trusted you for longer than he has been alive. But I still hate the way you do things sometimes.”

  “So do I,” the quiet voice answered.

  “Dad?” I asked. “You're talking to him? You hear him too?”

  Stupid question. By now even I was able to recognize I was dreaming.

  “Yes, son,” my father answered me. “I hear him. He chases after people like us the most.”

  “What do you mean, 'people like us'?” I demanded.

  “The lost. The orphaned. The wronged. The doomed. And the damned. Those who are a waste of time to try and save,” my father continued, “those he pursues the most. He's a mad god.”

  “Wait, what?” I asked. “Hold on. I thought we were Christians.”

  My father shrugged.

  “Maybe. Hard to say. You've talked to him. You know he doesn't explain himself.”

  “Yeah, but I haven't been calling him a god either,” I said angrily. “And anyone who's let even half of the things these past two years happen to m
e isn't worthy of the name. Not in any religion.”

  “More,” the small voice whispered.

  “You will be far more than your harm.”

  “You will take care of him?” my father asked, his eyes still on the shadows around us. “Keep him safe?”

  “No,” the quiet answered. “But he will outgain his loss a hundred times over. I promise. And you will see him again. If all goes well.”

  “I'll have to take that as well,” my dad grimly. “I love you, son. But I'm going to have to leave you with Invictus. I know it doesn't feel like it, but he'll take care of you. He took care of me.”

  “Dad...” I started to ask. “Do I have to leave you right now?”

  I should have been grateful. I got to see my father a second time after his death.

  The voices from beyond answered my question.

  “Traitor-prince, traitor-prince...”

  Something in the shadows shifted, like the flapping of a piece of cloth.

  “Traitor-prince, traitor-prince, catch and kill the traitor-prince...”

  This again.

  “Sorry son,” my father replied. “If I had known they would be this persistent...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Follow where he leads you. And listen closely when he speaks. He speaks quietly because the Expanse shakes when he is not careful. To be near us he has to wrap himself in weakness or we'll all break. So pay attention when he does anything. You'll be frustrated to no end most of the time, but in the end you won't regret it. But you have to go now.” He reached for the massive two-handed sword, a zweihander, that I hadn't noticed resting against his seat. He lifted the long blade in one hand, then he flicked it through those strange whirling strikes he had taught me earlier. The weapon caught fire, and I saw current run up and down it.

  “I love you, son. And I always will.”

  The darkness retreated from John Malcolm, but in the distance I could hear it chant again.

  “Come,” the small quiet voice told me. “We go to battle Aegrim.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, for what felt like the hundredth time in the dream.

  “Open your eyes.”

  I blinked.

  And Avalon's night sky greeted my eyes.

  I blinked again and looked around. We were in a clearing.

  Sort of.

  There was still grass under my feet and stars over my head. But there was a low stone wall surrounding us. As if there was a large building forming around us that hadn't been finished yet. Though I was pretty sure the foundation was supposed to go before the walls.

  Us, I realized. The stone walls were surrounding us. I wasn't alone. Breena and Guineve were lying a few feet near me, wrapped up in all manner of blankets. I realized that I was wrapped up in blankets, too. Someone had replaced my clothing with a loose linen shirt and soft pants.

  I tried to rise, but my muscles quivered painfully, and I fell back down. It felt like I had just tried to run an Ironman triathlon back when I was at my healthiest. Or, it felt like I had just tried to walk two steps back when I was severely disabled.

  I took a couple more moments to rest and breathe, lying on my back. Then, wincing in pain, I managed to prop myself up to my shoulders.

  “Di-rec-tive!” a bubbly voice said near me. “Rest! Care!”

  I looked down and saw our new little bubble-blob hop over to me. When it was a few inches away it stopped and started wiggling in place. Avalon's ever-present mist suddenly thickened in density, swelling over the ground without (thankfully) making it more damp. When it passed through the little blue ball, however, it changed color, gaining a faint blue tint as it rolled out the other side of the little jelly. The blue mist floated in trails toward Breena, Guineve and me, and I gave a startled yelp of alarm.

  “Rest!” the little bubble insisted. “Heal! Care!”

  “Organism's abilities have been examined,” Avalon intoned all around me, keeping its voice low. “Confirming that efforts are beneficial in nature and pose no threat. Recommend contact with the altered mist.”

  “You're sure?” I asked. “Because you remember where we found this thing right?”

  “Avalon confirms previous assessment, as well as the fact that said organism was discovered on Avalon itself.”

  That sounded suspiciously like giving me lip, but I supposed I had asked for it.

  Besides, it wasn't like I could put up much of a fight right now anyway.

  The little bubble kept quivering, and more blue mists kept circulating throughout the enclosed meadow. It curled directly into my muscles, and I felt all of my aches and pains start to diminish. Actually, it felt really awesome. It beat any vapor or ointment treatment we had back home. It felt like someone had turned aloe vera into a superfood, that my skin and muscles could eat.

  A beep on my mind-screen told me that the magic bubble's strange mist was restoring my vital, mana and stamina pools. But when I tried to access further information, I received the same error messages I had gotten right after I broke out of prison. That was frustrating, but I decided to give the magic program just a little more time before I threw a temper tantrum over it. Or I'd have Breena look at it when she got better. After how crazy yesterday—at least I hope it was yesterday, I had no idea how long I had slept.

  That reminded me...

  “Avalon,” I asked out loud. “Where are we? I don't remember seeing any ruins like this.”

  “The Challenger as well as the Starsown's local Satellites are currently located inside a temporarily constructed recovery area, created by activating the rituals for protocol In Case Of Trouble. Examination confirms that the newly discovered organism provides a beneficial effect for recovery and therefore has been included in current room schematic.”

  “Di-rec-tive!” the little ball bounced enthusiastically. “Care! Heal!”

  “Great,” I said tiredly. “Have we learned anything else about it, yet?”

  And as much as I trusted the planetary supercomputer, I was a little bothered by the fact that it had decided to trust our newest addition as an emergency hospital assistant practically on a whim.

  Then again, I was not in an authoritative position to question anyone else's snap decisions right now.

  Speaking of which...

  Avalon cut off my next thought by answering my last one.

  “Negative. Can only confirm that the organism has similarities to the Ideals of Water, Wood, and Blood, as well as other restorative domains. The organism's internal composition appears to be primarily magical in nature but has trace elements of water and other liquids. Limited intelligence and capacity for speech detected.”

  “Care! Heal!” the little bubble piped enthusiastically.

  “That's great,” I decided. “Did everyone make it back okay?” I asked, finally finishing my latest thought.

  “Affirmative. The Challenger and the Starsown's Satellites were in the greatest need of repair but all members of the latest mission are alive and in recovery. The post-mortem member designated Virtus is completely functional and is currently receiving a miniscule amount of the planet's mana to ensure continued operation.”