Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Aster
The tower is exactly what it sounds like: a big old phallic structure built of weathered stone.
One of Oma’s ancestors had it built, claiming they saw it in a vision.
Maybe the same sort of vision that led Carl Jung to create Bollingen Tower although ours predates Jung’s alchemical oasis by decades.
Unlike Jung’s tower, this one is sweaty in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. There’s no fire. No furniture. No creature comforts. Nothing that would distract me from my visions.
Six days ago, the Warden locked me in here with a bowl of water and no food, instructing me to cleanse my flesh. The water is replenished once a day. I use the medieval garderobe for a toilet. There’s a guard at the door–I’m not allowed to leave at all.
The idea is to starve the flesh, so I retreat into my inner world. What my jailers don’t know is that I have no problem seeing visions. I’m veilwalking constantly, and sapping my strength only means that it’s harder for me to control them.
The visions wrack my body, leaving me sick and exhausted on the stone floor. They’re growing stronger. I see visions of war, of Aiden becoming even more powerful as he brutalizes wolves and humans alike. I see sharp teeth and blood red eyes, a city on fire.
Most of all, I see the man I believe was the same one in the elevator, over and over again. I see his face and feel his presence, like a warm blanket wrapped around my freezing body. It’s tempting to fall into him.
I feel like it’s a test. I shouldn’t want to be with the enemy. But I’m all alone, with day bleeding into night and no escape from the prison of my own mind, and his presence is a solace.
When someone knocks on the door, it takes me a long time to realize it’s happening in real time.
The mists of my mind clear, and I open my mouth to croak, “Come in.”
“Seeress.” Liora’s warm voice is a balm.
I close my eyes, fighting back tears. Of all the wolves who helped raise me during my time in Moonhollow, Liora was the kindest. She’s also a true believer, embracing the harsh rituals of the Moonborn.
She once told me living simply makes her wolf happy.
She revels in how connected she feels to nature, to the woods, to the earth.
She kneels beside me, offering me a steaming pot of liquid.
My wolf leaps up, smelling the rich ambrosia of cooked meat.
It’s broth. The first thing I’ve been allowed to eat in almost a week.
I cover Liora’s hands with my own, and she helps me lift the stoneware to my lips.
I’m grateful for the help because my hands are shaky.
After days of visions, coming back to the real world is hard.
The smooth surface of the clay pot feels too rough, too heavy.
The guard outside the door clears his throat, and I shudder, my ears sensitive to the sound.
Liora seems to understand. Under my freezing fingers, her hands are warm and strong. She holds the pot for as long as I need, letting me drink the broth slowly. The taste is rich and meaty, almost overpowering. There’s a tang of herbs, thyme and wild onion. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.
“Thank you.” My voice sounds a bit less raspy. I’m still hungry and definitely dehydrated. Fasting is fine, as long as you’re normally well-fed.
There are some bits of meat and bone at the bottom of the pot, and I want to devour them, but I hold off. I need to pace myself and be gentle with my stomach.
“Of course.” She waits until I lean back and take a deep breath, then sets the pot in my lap. I rest my hands on either side of it, letting the warmth seep in.
Liora folds her hands in her lap. She’s a beautiful woman with long sandy-blonde hair hanging past her waist. She’s wearing a thick knitted sweater over a simple woolen dress.
The Moonborn are forbidden to wear anything but natural, undyed fabrics.
During the hot days of summer, many go without clothes entirely, embracing their “natural state” as a way of staying in touch with their wild side.
Right now, she looks so warm in her wool garments and fur-lined boots.
I try not to shiver in response. I’m only wearing a thin white shift.
I know she would’ve brought me a blanket or something extra to wear, but the Warden has forbidden it.
Even if she dared defy him, I wouldn’t accept anything that might get her in trouble. “I come seeking wisdom.”
I straighten my spine. Of all the wolves in the Moonborn and pack, Liora is the only one I would freely give my visions to. Her gentle respect makes me feel like my gift is really a gift.
“Ask.”
“During the next Blood Moon, the Warden intends to lead us in the Alpha Rites.”
I nod. I’m keenly aware of the doomsday clock ticking down.
“He’s chosen the females who are to be blessed and consecrated on the altar.”
Blessed and consecrated. What a way to say “tied up with vines and gang-banged.” Some of the girls will be willing, but they’ll all be virgins, and the ritual doesn’t leave much room for kindness or gentleness.
In fact, it seems designed to make their first sexual experience as intense and traumatic as possible.
It’s the Seeress’ job to oversee the rites. According to Oma, that means I need to use my herbal tinctures to drug them. “It’s a kindness,” she would say. The herbs will help the females relax. It will also make them more obedient.
I think it’s horrific. I don’t want to drug a bunch of young females, so they’ll submit to this atrocity. But if I don’t, and the females rebel, they’ll be punished and still raped. Not honored. Possibly killed.
If I had my way, I’d stop the ritual. But I have no idea how.
Liora hesitates, licking her lips as if she’s deciding how she wants to phrase her request, as if she’s reluctant to voice her true feelings.
She’s an obedient wolf, whether because she’s a true believer or so beaten down she can’t remember how to dissent.
The irony is her gentleness makes me see how horrible the Moonborn’s treatment of its acolytes really is.
What sort of religion tortures its most faithful followers? A shitty one.
“Oriana is among the chosen.”
Oh, no. Gooseflesh rises on my skin. Oriana is Liora’s daughter. She’s only sixteen.
I remember with a flash of intuition that Liora had been one of the chosen.
She was young, too, probably the same age as Oriana now.
During the lunar eclipse, she would’ve drunk the ritual wine and fallen into a drugged trance that made her pliant enough to be bound to the sacrificial table, but still aware of what was happening.
She submitted then, but she wants to save her daughter now.
Maybe she’s not fully broken.
“I asked the Warden if it would be better if she were fully grown. He says the decision is made. He doesn’t want to take the chance that she’ll become unclean.”
Unclean. As if a mature female who’s explored a little more of her sexuality and is more confident in making choices for herself is “unclean.” The Warden doesn’t want to wait for these young females to be old enough to know better, to fight back. My insides burn with rage.
Oma would say something about sacrificing for the good of the pack, but I won’t spit that bullshit to my friend. I will not allow another generation to be victimized like this. I might not have much power, but what I have, I will use for good.
I take a chance and speak in a murmur, “Keep your head down. Don’t speak of this again. As far as anyone’s concerned, you are looking forward to the ritual.”
Liora blinks her dark blue eyes. I’m asking her to practice deceit. It’s not really in her nature. But she nods.
I inhale her scent–wintergreen mint and wild herbs with a touch of pine. Something about it is familiar.
I reach for Liora’s hand. Mine is cold and bony, but she grips it like a lifeline.
“I’m going to find a way for Oriana to be free of the ritual.
” For all of us to be free. I have no idea how I’m going to do that, but I feel the certainty in my chest as I make the promise.
I can almost feel the approval the Grandmothers–but I shut that out as best I can because I don’t want another vision to come on right now.
“Thank you, Seeress,” Liora whispers. I squeeze her hand before I let her free. We sit in silence a moment before we become aware of the guard pacing outside the door. “I should go.”
“Be blessed,” I say, and, on impulse, I reach out and rest my hand on her forehead. A true blessing. Connection.
She closes her eyes and receives it before rising and making her silent way out the door.
Once again, I’m alone. I’m still weak–but she left the rest of the broth. I’ll drink it and savor the scraps of meat, then call my wolf to chew the bones.
It’s not much, but it will give me a bit more strength that I can use to figure out how to get us out of this mess.
Noah
I sit in my rental car, hidden on the side of the highway, behind a copse of trees.
Twenty feet from where I parked marks the boundary line of the Adalwulf Pack land and Blackthroat property.
When Madi was Brick’s assistant, she helped him procure this land for the Blackthroats, swiping the sale out from under Aiden’s feet.
If a member of either pack caught me here now, it could start another outright war. Or end my life. But that’s the risk I have to take.
I maneuver the controls on one of the drones I bought to survey the Adalwulf compound, homing in on a stone tower where the bug I placed on Aster has remained for the past week.
The bug is in her handbag, and she hasn’t left the compound since she returned, so it makes sense the bag wouldn’t move.
But based on the conversation I recorded between Aster and Aiden, I suspect she’s locked in that tower. The same one from my dreams.
It always looked like some kind of prison to me.