Chapter 2
DION
It would be me to kill her. The Pools of Prophecy glowed their ephemeral blues, lasting no longer than mere seconds as the water pulsed with energy.
It was a beating heart of the earth out here in the Warlands.
No one knew how they glowed, or what it was in the water that was alive, only that whatever was in there avoided people.
Unless you held prophecy.
The lighter colors washed up against me and then away. It was cool. It soothed my muscles. It made me feel alive. My wolf howled.
But it did nothing for my prophecy.
“Good. So the waters haven’t rejected you.” I turned to my father, his face set and arms folded. He was six foot six of pure werewolf. Built hard like the cliffs that the pools were carved into. I met him eye to eye when I was out. “But time does not wait,” he finished.
I nodded again. I nodded a lot with my father.
“Time is not part of the prophecy, Marcus,” Roman said. “Unity is.” My uncle stood with folded arms, leaning against the wall. The two of them would’ve been identical had they been dressed the same. Their faces were sharp, jaws square, and their muscles were the first thing you noticed about them.
But other than that, Roman looked the poor guide that we had the world believe we were, and my father looked like the powerful Alpha that he was.
“And yet unity hasn’t come.” He was angry again. The meetings were becoming more like this.
“I’m trying my hardest,” I said. “We’re traveling non-stop, never staying more than one night in any town, and I talk to every person I can. The Warlands is a big place.”
“And you must rise to it,” my father answered.
“The boy tries.” Roman shifted his shoulders and then let his arms fall, taking the trekking pole he used. Half a weapon, half a walking aid.
“Maybe that is the problem. The boy tries,” my father said, he turned away.
“Marcus…” Roman began.
I waved him to quiet. “Say what’s on your mind, Father. Stop sulking.”
“Excuse me?” My father turned, eyes ablaze. His muscles spasmed and I sensed the want to shift in him.
“These visits are descending into you doing nothing but complain. You spend the time belittling me and noting my lack of progress, but there’s only so much I can do as a guide. No one knows who I am. No one will back a poor–”
“Because if they did know the truth you’d be dead!
” my father growled. He stepped forward and the wolf inside bared fangs.
“You complain that your life is hard but you never have to face down the other packs or Alphas. If you came out of hiding, you’d be just like your mother then… and what good would that be?”
I didn’t say anything, but I didn’t break his gaze. I’d only ever known compassion from Roman, Marcus was harsher.
“Prophecy still stands, and you are still to unite the people and kill her,” he said. “Avenge your mother’s death and–”
“Marcus,” Roman began.
“Don’t Marcus me, Roman. I gave you Dion to raise a warrior, not a politician.” My father picked up a flat rock and crushed it in his hands.
Gave…the word cut me.
“Is it not the same?” Roman asked.
I looked up at the ceiling, awash in the blue lights and withheld my sigh. This had been happening more and more lately too. My father and uncle descending into argument.
We knew there was unrest in the Warlands.
People doubting Marcus and the Whiteclaw pack.
Some were defecting our allegiance and joining Locke of Firepaw.
A lot. Roman and I weren’t blind as we crossed the great desert and its many villages.
The wolves’ banishment from Lassig at the hands of Lady Skol had only meant to be temporary, and yet years had passed.
Generations of wolves living in the desert, cut off from the access to the greener lands that Lassig barred us from.
People were becoming desperate.
“What is that?” my father said suddenly.
We all tensed, heightening our hearing and nose. I piqued something towards the secret tunnel Roman and I had entered through. My father nodded and we all fell into line, as I was the closest, I lead.
The tunnel was in a hidden crevice on the other side of the pools. It was only visible if you knew of it. We entered and I smelled the scent stronger. My father touched my shoulder, I turned and he tapped his ear. He could hear something.
I tuned in. I couldn’t hear anything. After a beat, we moved on.
We came down to the entrance that lead off into the long sands of the Warlands. The large crack out here was on the other side of the village. None knew of it because of the hawks that defended the wall. They didn’t attack Alphas however…
We came to a stop and Roman pushed past us.
“What are you doing?” hissed my father.
“The woman with the scarred heart comes soon,” Roman said. He was looking to the sky. “It is her we heard and smelled.”
“She’s here?” I asked, squinting in the harsh sun.
Roman shook his head.
“How do you know?” my father said.
Roman came back into the cover of the shade. He looked at me, smiling. “She will be here tomorrow. I scent it.”
“The foresight…” my father murmured. “You sound like Myra.” He turned away.
“It was Myra who gave the prophecy,” Roman replied.
My father sighed. He looked into the desert and then back up the trail. “I’ve been here long enough,” he said. “I must get back to the pack and make arrangements. Locke and many other leaders are here. I have to save some reserves for those wishing to maul my throat.”
He gripped me by the shoulder, his hand was strong but not harmful. He nodded and left without saying goodbye. The echo of his steps climbed up and away back into the cave.
Before leaving the entrance I sniffed the air once, listened to the winds. No one was waiting for us, no one was here.
Yet I could smell something.
“Yes,” Roman said, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “It finally comes. The prophecy truly begins.” We walked into the sands and skirted the wall. “Let’s head into the village and get ourselves a good meal. Might as well stay at an inn if we’ve got the chance.”
The Pools of Prophecy drifted away from us as we rounded the edge of the Whiteclaw village of Moondaj.
The pools were inside a large rising pillar of stone, the cliffs sheer and earth hard.
A pillared entrance had been built on the inside of the walls.
Just off the square where the water came from the well.
It was rumored that the waters of Whiteclaw came from the pools themselves too.
Roman and I entered through the gates as the evening descended upon the desert.
The shadows were long and the mud brick houses turned from dull oranges to deep browns.
The market stalls were still selling food and a number of homes were abuzz with families all sharing meals.
The smell of meat filled the air, hot barbeques, and searing sizzles as we made our way further into the village.
The thought I’d had in the pools returned, it would be me to kill her.
We entered the inn of our father’s friend, Nicholas. He’d been a Captain for my father before losing his arm in a battle against Lady Skol’s guards. The injury had also taken the ability to shift from him. He was the only other person that knew of my existence.
“The Sharp Fang’s busy isn’t it?” Roman said, shouldering his way through the front room. “Hopefully no trouble for your father.”
“Knowing Locke and his wolves, I’m sure they’ll be fighting,” I replied.
Roman snorted and nodded, we pushed through to a table and waited for the serving girl to come. Nicholas was behind the bar and nodded at us, held up two fingers. The girl seeing this left to get our drinks immediately.
“Your father’s more worried than I’ve known him,” Roman said, watching the people around us. A drunk man was making a fool of himself.
“He’s angry and tripping himself up,” I replied. I watched the men too. They were boulders of muscle and mass. Locke had brought an army. “He’s getting impatient.”
“No, not impatient.” He was shaking his head. “Twenty years is a long time.”
“I know that, I’ve been told it my whole life.” I sighed. There was so much pressure burning in me. I had many things to do and no ways to do them. I’d been wandering with Roman my whole life, and for what? Some scent on the wind? If anyone was getting impatient, it was me.
“The girl is coming though,” Roman said.
“But how do you know? Really?” I said, the desperation in my voice.
Roman was quiet for a pause. “Do you remember when you first began shifting, and you could smell the winds and hear the whispers in the stones?”
I nodded as the serving girl returned with our drinks. I took a sip from the mug she placed on the table. The ale was bitter and sweet. Much tastier than the drinks we were offered further out in the Warlands by some of the nomadic wolves. The wild packs.
“Well, my senses are nowhere near as strong as yours,” Roman began.
“We’re a strong bloodline, but you and your father are alphas for a reason.
Locke and his men don’t even know what your father is.
And you’re even stronger than that. Point is, you hear the winds that I can’t hear, sense things I can’t sense. But I always trust you.”
“Because I’ve helped us to avoid some tricky situations.” I grinned and Roman took a drink from his mug too, nodding along.
There was a yell in the throng of people further along by the stage, glass shattered and then there were the sounds of a fight starting. The flute player faltered. Two men emerged in the space and were swinging fists. One was a Whiteclaw and the other was a Firepaw.
Two men on the other side of us rose, readying themselves to join the fight.
They were Firepaws too and already cracking their knuckles with glee.
Roman fumbled his mug from his hand, clattering his hiking stick as he tried to save it.
As he reached for the stick and swung the thing back up, he knocked one of the men under the chin.
He dropped unconscious.
Then he turned to catch the man, he stood, rising and caught the second man with his shoulder under the chin.
He dropped unconscious too.
Realizing that his two cronies weren’t joining him, and that he was now outnumbered in his fight, the Firepaw looked around in dismay. He waved his hands and dropped the fight. Laughter followed him.
I couldn’t stop myself laughing too as Roman tried helping the men up.
“Sorry boys. Clumsy hands and your slow feet, eh?” He offered a hand to the dazed men. They looked about, trying to figure out how they were on the ground. They rose warily.
“Well, might as well return to your drinks,” Roman said. Except now he stood facing them eye to eye and suddenly looking nothing like a poor guide.
The men frowned and sat back at their bench. After a few minutes, their friend that started the fight joined them. After a few more, they all left.
“I may not have your strength and size,” Roman said, grinning as he sat, “but I have brains. More importantly, a foresight that neither of you have. It’s old magic in us, not just the Lycan blood. But we’ll need all of it by the end.”
“What makes you say that?” I asked, but Roman’s face had gone slack. He was staring off into a horizon I couldn’t see.
“The girl with the scarred heart comes, as the lady with the dark soul follows. Be wary of the ruins.”
I let him sit in silence, until he shook his head and looked about. The foresight. If I asked him what it meant and what he saw, he wouldn’t remember. He never did.
“Come on lad,” he said. “Let’s sleep, eh?”