Dark Wolves

by J A Deriu

Regina walked over to the fire, warmed her hands, and kept her back to the debating. Anton got involved in the discussions. Dragan acted as though he were holding a rifle to show the Mongol something. The Mongol keenly watched and gestured intricately. A Cossack left the room and came back with a long rifle. It was handed to Dragan. He pointed to sections of the very long rifle, which had a much longer barrel from the rifles Nico could remember holding and shooting in the Qing. The Mongol held out his hands to take the gun. He studied it carefully and handed it back the nearest Cossack. He picked up his mug and held it out to be filled. There were grunts of agreement. The Mongol leaned across to Nico. “They are warriors,” he said and pointed his eyes at Dragan and the Cossacks. “I would like to fight with them.”

  Nico shrugged and turned to Anton. “Tell them that I like Dragan’s plan.”

  “Prince, you would have to tell them that yourself.”

  Nico was puzzled for a moment. He drank a log gulp from his mug. He stood and held out his hands. “Yes, yes,” he said loudly, pointing at the Cossacks and then making his hands into fists and shaking then toward the ceiling. There were cheers and victorious shouts from the Cossacks. All who were left in the room were talking at once, including the khan, who joined the hollering.

  Nico continued to shake his fists. He was sure that this was the way home. To fight the battle and get it over with. There would be no need for him once this was finished. He smiled, happy with his thinking. Regina rushed across the room. She took an aggressive stance in front of him. “Are you mad?”

  Nico sat down and drank more from his mug.

  “You understand that they intend to have you in the middle of the battle?”

  “No, no, I am not a soldier.”

  “Exactly. That is why I am not supporting this. You are not ready. You won’t last a minute in a fight.”

  “What about the Qing battle?” Anton quietly asked.

  She looked at the count with scorn. “He said he did nothing. I believe him.”

  Nico thought it would be better to take back what he had done. He looked at the Cossacks. They were wearing grim smiles and conferring with the others.

  The Mongol was listening to their conversation. “It is done. There will be a fight.” He picked up a jug and filled Nico’s mug. “Time for more drink.”

  Regina shook her head and went to talk to the others. The Mongol laughed and lifted his glass. Anton looked confused and worn out.

  The doors to the room opened, and one of the monks came in. He looked around the room, saw Anton, and hurried toward him. They gently conferred. Anton looked over to Nico. “There is a man that has arrived. He says that he knows you.”

  “I don’t know anyone from this land.”

  “He says he is from New Europa.”

  Nico frowned.

  “I suppose there is no risk in seeing who he is,” Anton said. “He has been checked for weapons. There are many of us in the room. He is an old man and says that he is a monk.”

  The door opened. Nico’s tired eyes widened as he focused.

  The man was much bigger than the two monks that stood on either side of him. He moved with a slight hunch. A gray beard fell across his middle. He wore a tattered monk’s habit. The cowl was pulled low to cover most of his face. He stopped and lifted his head. His face was battered and dirty, but Nico recognized the monk Grigory.

  His first reaction was to laugh. “Ha! What are you doing here?” The smell of the monk wafted to him.

  “You are safe. I found you. It was not easy. I truly thank the saints.”

  “You came after me?”

  “It was not right. You were taken by this man.” He pointed to the khan. “It has not been safe, but I have found you, by the grace of the Lord in heaven.”

  “You do know this man?” Anton questioned.

  Nico laughed heartily. “I certainly do. What a fool.” He looked at the monk. “I am happy to see you, though.”

  A new day had arrived. Nico was drained. He listened to the monk say his prayers of thanks and bless all who were in the room. He asked him about Babyman and the others. He learned that they had not returned home. They had left with a group to join the Templars who were going to fight in Africa. Babyman was to be a soldier. He thought perhaps that they would meet again, but the monk told him that where he was going was a world away and a different empire and conflict.

  Nico told Anton that he needed to sleep or he would fall over. He waved a hand of farewell to those who were still in the room. The monk gripped Nico’s hands tightly with a strength that was strange for an old man.

  He fell asleep directly, only to wake suddenly after what felt like barely a short time. He had unexpected feelings. He had woken to the realization, for no reason that he could identify, that he did not fear death, and he feared being hurt less.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The elevator moved like no other that she knew. There was no sound. No moan of a wire cable and no clank of machinery. It worked as if by magic. There were no buttons. No stops. It took her directly to the place known as Paradise. She looked through the glass casing and watched the great Metropolis reduce as she rose.

  Her chance to change her course had passed. The gold doors opened, and ahead of her the black marble floors stretched out. She stepped out of the elevator. The sound of her shoes echoed across the room. It was dark except for one of the walls where the bar was located. Flickering lamps reflected on the mirror-backed, glass liquor shelves. The noise of laughter came to her from deep inside. She went farther in without seeing anyone and sat in the corner where she always sat. It was gloomily lit by moonlight coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She stood and looked over the Metropolis.

  A field of skyscrapers sprawled in front of her, sending a growling glow high toward the night sky. An airship tethered to one of the towers prepared for its midnight run. There was movement in the corner of her vision, and she spun her head. A light had flared on a balcony. It was a firepit, and the light was a flame. She moved to get a better view. The balcony was attached to the adjoining room. There were chairs around the firepit, and on one of them a man sat. It was him. He was leaning back and away from the fire, but his angular silhouette was a familiar cut. He waved for her to join him.

  “It is a lovely night, is it not?” he said. “You would not guess that we are near winter. The sky is clear.” He leaned forward so that his face was lit by the flames. She stepped fully onto the balcony. “I am glad you have come. We are overdue. You are never alone. The policies and orders with your name are stalled by a lack of action. It seems something is amiss.” He held up his hand over the fire to indicate the seat across from him.

  She sat and rallied in her mind. He would talk first. That is how these meetings went. She would let him talk for as long as was needed. She looked at a low table nearby for liquor or tobacco. He followed her eyes.

  “I am patient, yet there is a timeline. Your uncertainty comes from a lack of understanding and perhaps misinformation from Bertram.” His black eyes watched her reaction. “You are right to have an inquiring mind. I will not fault this. While I have been waiting, I refreshed in my mind what we have discussed. Learning is in stages.” A young, sleek-looking man appeared out of the darkness and placed a stout bottle of liquor, short glasses, and a small wooden box on the table. He was gone in an instant. “As I was saying, learning is in stages, and this can be difficult for the pupil because the end is unseen.” He reached for the wooden box and flipped the lid open to reveal dragon sticks. “Ah, splendid.” He lifted out two of them, put them to his mouth, and leaned forward to catch a flame. He separated one of them and stretched his arm toward Ida.

  She took it without hesitation and greedily bit and sucked on it between her clamped teeth.

  He leaned back, savored his dragon stick, and settled his arms on the armrests. “We have covered much terr
itory in our late-night meetings. How long has it been? A half-dozen years since we started the tutoring. And look what has happened to you in this time. When we first met, you were afraid of everything. Now look at you. You have made a dizzying rise to the top of the most powerful corporation. Your entry into politics has been stellar, topped by an awe-inspiring maiden speech. Greater than any of the Montagues. The Trio beckons you. The pinnacle of power in this great city is yours to be taken.”

  She filled the two glasses from the bottle, rushed one of the glasses to her lips, and swallowed the drink in one gulp. She refilled and drank in more ordered gulps. Other than the drinking, she kept her mouth closed. This is the way their meetings had always been. He talked. She listened.

  He watched her for a moment, casually lifted his glass, and sipped, before alternating with the dragon stick. “We have explored history. There is meaning in this knowledge. As there is in science. There has been purpose in all of the lessons. This is to eke out the true meaning and explain our world, which cannot be explained. What have we learned? The world is ruled by hidden redeemers. Their task is to get us to an ideal state. You can call it an … epoch for humanity. There is a path. But it can only be implemented by concealment and with the aid of powerful, remorseless leaders. There is only one of him active – the redeemer. This is why I exist. It is a great burden and also a privilege. There is a designated successor … I feel that you are not listening. Your attention is elsewhere. I am mapping out what we have understood. It has never been said this plainly.” He paused and glared at her. His skin was dusky in the firelight. “Your lack of engagement is because of your husband, I know. You feel that when we meet, it is a channel to solve all problems. Thus, why is Pierre not in your bed tonight? Yet you can speak like a Cicero. Your political opponents bow in front of you or die.” He took a long draw on the dragon stick and stood up.

  He walked across to the balcony and leaned on the thick-stoned railing. It was at the height of his chest, and he rested his elbows on it to look across the city. He sighed with a flicker of emotion like she had not heard him do before. “There is an explanation for this too. We have talked of this. These conversations have come late – after much consumption, when the mind is at ease.” He sighed again, this time longer. His voice was louder. “Everything in this world is only temporary – it is not supposed to be perfect. You are not being challenged. You are being loved.”

  She angled her head to look at him. “What is the point of this power if it useless for your own good?”

  He moved his head for a fleeting moment as if he had lost control of it. “The loss will make you stronger. There is no such thing as your own good. The cause of any perceived worry is the shifts of history, the new epoch. This is where we are now. There are great changes afoot. There is much turmoil to come. There will be millions of lovers lost. Progress will appear to be shattered. There will be those that believe the end is here. They will form armies that will fight and win as if the devil is their captain and hell is their reward. You can see that this is no time for pettiness.” He continued to face the vast city as though he were speaking to it.

  “You have taught me. I am grateful,” she said, her voice dim. “Yet I am unable to extract myself from petty relationships. I crave them. Perhaps I am not the right person. I am, like my father, anchored to another world. Your predecessor failed with him.”

  “It was not a predecessor with your father – it was me,” he said bluntly and balled his fists on the railing. She glared at him in a startled fashion. Her mouth opened. His voice was coldly determined. “Do not let your thinking be clouded when it is a time to be at the forefront. You will see. There are great things happening. Events are being written like a drunken author. Now is the time to be bold and dismiss fears as childish.” He steadied himself and turned his head. “Do you know what is happening in the world beyond the borders of your heated affairs? There is war. The Templars have risen from the heart of this city and are striking across the seas where they please. They have two victories. This is dangerous. The Templars cannot be allowed power. They are backward. The enemies of progress.”

  “It was you? How?”

  “I am older than I look.”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t believe that. Bertram warned that it is part of the charade. To appear as a superman.”

  “Be quiet. You have lost your focus in a terrible way.” He turned around and, in one movement, lifted himself so that he was sitting on the railing staring at her with the Metropolis as a backdrop. “You cannot spoil what I have done by being full of fear.” She looked at him and saw him as she had not before. He did look much older. His face was contorted, and his hair blew at strange angles. He looked precarious. It was a wuthering night. “I know of your dalliance with Carsten Cheval. This is poison. He will lead you to the Templars, and I have told you of them. Yes, yes, I know.” He jolted his hands. The red light of the dragon stick made a pattern like a dancing ember. “I have spoken much about them and not always as ferocious as this. The Templars. There are times for tolerance of them, and there are times to fight. This is a time to fight. They threaten the order we seek. They are primitive blackguards that no longer belong in this time. A ferocious battle is coming, and you must lead the forces of enlightenment and progress. This is not negotiable. Your distractions must be banished. Your fears cured for good. And not with the aid of this.” He held out the dragon stick. “You have the capacity to do wondrous things with what you have inside. This is why I came to you. This is your destiny – not mine.” He sprang like an acrobat so that he stood on the railing. He was straight without a falter in his movement. He took a long puff of the stick until the light reached his fingers and then dropped the butt over the side.

  Ida had moved to the front of her seat. Her breathing was strained. She should not have come. She had known that he would not release her. She dropped her half-finished dragon stick into the fire and looked up at his moonlit outline.

  He slowly raised his arms until his hands were extended at his sides. “Live with fear, or live without it. We must have no concept of it whatsoever. Look, let me show you.” He lifted his arms so that his hands were above his head and clicked his fingers. He moved his body, bobbing up and down, and lifting his feet to jig. His face showed her a dark smile, and she looked up at him like a daughter. He jumped with both feet in the air and landed with poised balance.

  His movements were controlled but wild, a dance that had been learned from an olden culture. The fire stirred in front of her. A bead of sweat was on her cheek. She bit her lip. “Join me.” He held out his arms. She backed away. He jumped and spun, landed with a devilish smile, and lifted his hands triumphantly. He spun again and became a blur. He stopped for a moment to face her with his hands out and beckoned her. She edged away. He threw his body into an elaborate twirl. He was high into the air, spinning more than she could take in. He landed. One foot was on the edge. A blink of doubt was on his face. His body was crooked. His hands reached. And he was gone.

  She was still for a moment and waited for the trick. She moved to the railing and looked over. There was nothing but blackness. She could not see the ground. The stark and soundless air of the Metropolis hit her. She stepped back and clasped her hands to her face.

  She moved back slowly and kept her eyes on the ledge. She was motionless for moments, expecting something to happen. Eventually, she turned for the doorway. Her movement seized. Standing on the other side of the glass was the waiter. There were others who looked exactly like him at his sides. She collapsed onto one of the seats.

  The waiter came onto the balcony. His face was empty. He looked at the ledge and then at her.

  “You saw what happened,” she said.

  “I did. We have sent men down for the body.”

  There was still liquor in one of the glasses. She picked it up and forced it down her throat. The waiter said nothing more and stood like a
puppet that had its strings cut.

  “He has a successor?” she asked the waiter. “Is he here?”

  The waiter’s face showed involuntary confusion. “It is you, madam. He said that is it you.”

  There were many others behind the glass. All of them standing erect. Their hands clasped behind their backs and showing passive faces, as if waiting for a command.

  “What was his name?” she asked the waiter. “All this, and he never told me his true name.”

  “The Old Man of the Mountain was called Hassan. What name will you choose, madam?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The rain was lashing against the paved street. From her shelter she tightened her eyes to see through the sheets of water. The final man was hurrying into the building. His robe changed shape with the moaning wind that chased him. He moved with the stealth of someone of the profession. A streak of angry yellow light could be seen before the door closed. She snapped her body into action, easily transforming it from its hours of stillness.

  She took long strides and was across the roof in a few steps. Without stopping she leaped onto the roof of the adjoining building, landed on the flat service, and swung herself down to be hidden in a window covering. She sensed that it was quiet on the other side and pulled a thin knife from her belt. In a moment she had the window open and was inside, silent, and bent down. She dried herself and then listened. She could hear them talking. There were four of them. One familiar voice and the others not. There was no place for more stealth. They were on the other side of the door. If she stepped out, she would be in the light and seen. She lowered herself to be closer to the narrow line of yellow light at the bottom of the door.

  The voices were animated. She decided to listen. She put her ear close to the gap and blocked out the sounds of the rain. They were speaking in Turkish. She would wait for their energy to lessen. Two would need to be finished in the same act as opening the door, one more in the next movement before he had any time, and the fourth was no threat and needed to be left alive.