Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft

Since Moire’s death and during the dark months that followed, Comhnyall had tracked and killed all the surviving wolves who had been at New Wemyss the night it had fallen, save one. At 15 years old, his life had forever changed; at 16, he had been chosen by the Moon; at 17, he had buried his mate and pup; and now at 18, he was the most wanted and feared rogue on the coast and into the heartland of the continent. The Servants of the Moon had brought him home, and the Delphi’s protector had informed him that the Moon Herself had ordered the last of the murderers of all he loved to be spared. So he had taken out his wrath on the rogues that tried to claim New Wemyss lands for themselves.

No wolves had dared come to the peninsula in the last four months. He had gone from blessed child of prophesy to having nothing in less than three years, but still the Moon would not release him from his promise to serve Her, or from this life and the emptiness of his mate-lost soul. He hated Her and her oracle and the season of protection for Ainsley and Mamo was at an end.

Twelve hours earlier, a sleeping Shamus had seen Rowena in a dream, and Comhnyall had heard the soft voice of his ghost as he kept watch. The brown-fur hunters were coming for the last of the New Wemyss wolves. The Captain had turned the Seawolf and raced north for the continent-side port, leaving the crab pots on the bottom of the north Atlantic. Comhnyall had always darkened his hair and grown out his scruffy beard so no one would know the young wolf who worked the old seadog’s deck was the same golden warform that avenged the New Wemyss pack the last winter and protected the peninsula through the spring, summer, and fall.

He had spent all his time over the last three seasons grieving as he worked the deck of the Seawolf. Shamus had helped him learn how to deal with the constant pain of his mate-loss and the pull toward her every time the moon rose. He wanted nothing more than to be with Moire again. The one time he thought he would die, someone had saved him. The soft voice that spoken to him before, had begged his wolf to live and his wolf had listened even when his skin didn’t want to. He had vowed that when he found the person to whom the soft voice belonged either in this world or the next, he was going to kill her. Comhnyall clutched his hand reflexively and his captain glanced at him.

Shamus, not understanding his action, tried to reassure him, “Easy, laddie. I’ll get tha car an’ pick ‘em up at tha house while ye keep tha dogs busy. Then we’ll pick ye up at a port an’ leave straight away. Et will dangerous at this time o’ year, but tha Seawolf will nah fail us. We’ll get ta tha old isle in time fur ye birthin’ day,” Shamus promised. He looked Comhnyall over and scowled. “GO, shave yur scruff an’ rinse yur hair tint out. Tha bottle ta clean et es still under tha lavatory sink. They be looking for a fair lad, not a dark one.”

Comhnyall nodded and did as he was told. Moire had hated the color Mamó‘s paste turned his natural light golden blonde locks but he felt it suited him more now that she was gone. He wrinkled his nose at the smell as he shaved off his beard, a different face looked back at him, still young but grieved. Not all of the deep coffee-color came out, leaving his hair a faded dark blonde, but it was enough. His hope was if he ran into their enemies and was killed, his appearance would not track back to Shamus and the Seawolf. If he died, it would become Shamus’ duty to get Mamó and Ainsley to safety, either to the oracles or back to the old land Wemyss pack. If he died...

There was more that a chance he would unless the Moon saved him again and he hoped She wouldn’t.

When he came back to the wheelhouse, his hair was lighter and his beard replaced by baby smooth skin. Shamus grinned at him, “Aye, now ye look like a laddie barely of age to swab meh deck. Aire ye rested enough, Nyall?”

Comhnyall growled, “I ne’er rest an’ ye know why, Shamus, so why do ye always ask?”

“I ask because I care, Nyall, a tired wolf makes mistakes. An’ I know ye want nothing more than to join yur mate, but until tha Moon calls ye, ye don’t need to be hurt an’ suffer more than ye aire.” Shamus’ voice had a softer, fatherly tone.

“Sorry, Captain,” Comhnyall bowed his head, he felt bad for snapping because he knew Shamus cared about him. He just hated being told he had to be without Moire.

Comhnyall leaped from the boat and pulled the docking lines. He hopped back aboard, stripped, shifted, and ran off into the foggy pre-dawn. He could smell that snow was coming, and he had to get northeast to the ruins of New Wemyss before it started. His wolf reached for Ainsley’s wolf as he ran.

‘Comhnyall, ye be back!’ She sounded so happy.

He was happy that her wolf allowed them to speak this way even if she never uttered a sound. She was almost too far away to hear but she was an oracle and could hear further than other wolves.

‘Ainsley listen, they’re coming fur us. Take Mamó an’ go with Shamus. He is driving up from Chester ta get ye. Tell him, if I do nah meet ye at tha port, he is ta leave without meh.'

‘Nay, I’ll nah leave ye, Comhnyall!’ Ainsley cried out. She was barely 9, and was terrified of losing anyone else. She had lost everyone she had loved on the night their pack fell, except he, Mamó, and Moire, who had died last winter.

’Ainsley! Think about Mamó. Ye ’ave ta get ’er ta Ole Wemyss or ta tha Oracles at tha temples. Shamus will sail ye. I promise, I’ll find ye. But right now, I have ta lead ‘em away. I love ye both.’ He cut his link to her as he focuses on the land around him. He was glad his father’s alpha blood gave him the ability to link other wolves together as a pack.

By the time the icy fog was clearing, he was to the ruins of the home where he had spent his happy childhood. The hoar frost was covering everything in long feather crystals, turning the world ghostly and without clear edges. It clung to everything around the shores of the Black Lake. He ached because Moire had loved mornings like this.

He knew wolves were gathering around him in the gray and gold of the icy morning. Near the burned-out pack house, he smelled their scents. Wolves had been here after the leaves had fallen, the early frost made the smells sharper. He sniffed around before he laid down on the spot where the pack’s ashes were buried and waited. He did not have to wait long.

“So you’re the little dog that has been hunting my wolves. Shift now or you can die in your fur,” the tall one demanded.

Comhnyall almost smirked. Comhnyall knew who this wolf was. The Beta had been here almost two years earlier, and Comhnyall had seen him on Des Rues lands, watched him train his pathetic excuse for warriors. He shifted slowly so they wouldn’t know how skilled he was.

“Beta Lucius, we ‘ave only killed those who killed our family an’ our pack, we ’ave no fight weth ye. Ye were not here that night,” Comhnyall declared stubbornly. “Ye need to go hume ta ye family.”

Lucius stared at him, wondering how one so young could know so much, he was sure there had to be more of them. There was no way this juvenile wolf could have caused so much death, he wasn’t old enough. But he was the same color as the warform who had hunted the borders of Des Rues and killed more than a dozen warriors. Something else was going on here, the old Beta was sure of it. Lucius sized up the young wolf who stood before him, he was larger than most of his men, obviously of Alpha blood or very strong Beta. Lucius also wondered how the youth knew his name.

The others seemed just as surprised, and moved around him nervously, one blurted out, “He’s just a welp and a rogue, no one would care if we killed him, Beta Lucius.”

“No, he isn’t just a rogue. He is the son of one of the best warrior packs to have ever fought,” Lucius declared. “He has value.”

Lucius appraised him carefully, noting his tattoos and appearance in every detail. As his wolf slunk around in the back of his mind, Lucius realized he had seen this boy’s sire. The youth also already wore the tattoos of a warrior, and the marks of one who served the Moon. It made him curious if the young warrior could be turned into an asset. Even a child warrior of the Wemyss Warrior Wolves, could improve the Warrior Corps of the Des Rues.

“You have colored your hair darker, but your wolf and your features can’t hide that you are one of the sons of Master-at-Arms Lyallfr Gealimir of the Wemyss Warrior Wolves. A pack that was rumored destroyed, where are the rest of them?”

“Aye, tis true. We were betrayed, an’ even our pups were murdered. I am tha only one left in our territory,” Comhnyall lied. He had practiced saying it so many times, it fell from his lips as easily as a breath.

“How old are you, juvenile?”

“16” he lied. Hoping his smooth face made him look as young as Shamus claimed.

“How did you survive that night?” Lucius demanded patiently.

Comhnyall decided to tell the truth, most of it. “We were sent to guard tha oracle. She lived at the Hellsgate illit(watershed). We felt tha Alpha dying, his last thought was tha order ta stay an’ protect tha máthair chríonna (wise old grandmother) an’ ta avenge our pack. When we could reach none tha next day, or through tha week, we came an’ found what was left. Our father, our family, an’ our pack, burned en one barn an’ tha rogues thay had killed burned en tha other. We scented every bit of blood that was not of our pack, or of tha slain.”

“Then what did you do?” Lucius asked, nodding. Patiently waiting for the youth to try to mislead them, but so far he sensed only truth in the young wolf’s words.

“We buried the ashes of our dead then hauled tha ashes of tha rogues ta tha sea an’ dumped ‘em so their kith an’ kin would nah find them and thay souls would nah rest,” Comhnyall shrugged as if dispersing the ashes were inconsequential.

The younger Beta snarled angrily, but Lucius looked thoughtful, as if he was considering his next question.

“Do you know who has been killing wolves on the mainland? Or who attacked wolves who came to the peninsula?” Lucius asked, carefully eyeing Comhnyall’s tattoos.

“Aye, meh brother is hunting those that our father and brothers did not kill, while I keep tha rogues from our land,” Comhnyall lied carefully, deliberately thinking of his wolf as his brother, because it really was his wolf who did the hunting. He hoped the Beta believed him. Snow had begun to fall and Comhnyall knew the wind would not be far behind.

“Technically you and your brother are the rogues, not them,” snarled the younger Beta.

“Beta Damien, if ye defend tha murders of shewolves, tha elderly, and pups in tha dead of a winter storm, then ye aire no better than those dogs an’ ye deserve ta die without honor as they did,” Comhnyall snarled.

Damien looked shocked to be addressed by his name, but then he became furious. Some of the ashes Comhnyall had dumped in the sea had belonged to his kin, as were some who had met the Moon through his fangs and claws and Comhnyall knew it.

“I’ll show you honor, mongrel....” Damien shouted, skin rippled as fur wanted to replace it.

“Enough, Damien.” Lucius never raised his voice, but his dominance was clear. He may be titled a Beta, but he was of Alpha blood. Comhnyall knew it, just like his father was higher than Beta Caully because he was of Alpha blood. “Son of Lyallfr, you’re young, obviously trained to be a skilled fighter, and without a pack now. Would you and your brother like to come with us? Our pack can always use good warriors.” Lucius offered, but Comhnyall shook his head negatively, he felt the deceit in Lucius’ words.

“I’ll nah leave this land,” Comhnyall said stubbornly, folding his arms over his chest. "It was given ta tha Wemyss wolves four hundred years ago by tha king fur all time."

“I see. So, where is this Oracle you were to protect? She can come with us,” Lucius was being far too generous with him, another trick, so Comhnyall chose to lie in return.

“The máthair chríonna was very old, she’s gone to the Moon.” Comhnyall said a little too quickly.

“You’re lying now, young wolf. Again, where is the oracle and where is your brother?” Lucius demanded in a colder tone.

Comhnyall bared his teeth, “I’ll nah tell ye anything, brown-fur.”

Lucius just smirked. “I would expect nothing less from a son of Wemyss. You four, kill him. The rest of you, look for the oracle, the old witch has to be close,” Lucius ordered and turned to walk away from Comhnyall.

Comhnyall shifted as he leapt forward, burying his warform’s saber-like claws into Beta Lucius and ripping one of his arms off as he severed his spine. Comhnyall was on Beta Damien and a third warrior before the Beta Lucius’s heart stopped beating, neither of those wolves had time to shift before they died. Comhnyall dropped from his warform to his wolf and howled a warcry in the blowing snow challenging the shouts of Beta Lucius’ wolves. He turned and fled away from them, leading them southeast toward the lakelands and wilderness area between them and the coastal port cities. A trail he had run many times when he worked at the ports.

Now, he ran at full speed, luring those sent to finish what was started years earlier, away from his loved ones. He slowed down and marked his trail, listening for his pursuers. One was close, Comhnyall realized if he was careful he could pick them off one by one. There was a good spot to ambush his enemy ahead so he trotted through the snow.

‘Ainsley, can ye hear me?’ Comhnyall reached as far as he could.

‘Aye, Comhnyall, Shamus is driving us to tha boat. ’ She sounded so far away, they must be headed south toward the Seawolf’s slip at Chester Port.

‘I am leading them away.’ He told her.

‘Shamus wants ta know where are ye be leadin’ ‘em,’ Mamó interrupted. Comhnyall cursed the fact that he could not link the old captain over the distance.

‘Northeast toward tha big port, I still have a stash of clothes, money, and scent masking tincture there,’ he responded leaping over logs and the partially frozen streams of the frithe (marshland).

She was quiet for a moment, he could feel the link stretching thin.

‘Help is comin’ ta ye. A dark brown shewolf, tha color of coffee. Trust ’er. Go with ‘er. Please be careful, mo gharmac(my dear grandson).’ Mamó encouraged.

Before he could respond two wolves jumped him, they were not with the wolves who had surrounded him at the ruins of the old pack compound. He fought them with vicious elegance, they were almost too easy to kill as the one chasing him caught up and met the Moon through Comhnyall’s fangs. These wolves were chasing him like prey, but they didn’t realize that this was his land and they were the prey being lured to their deaths.

“Comhnyall, stop!” It was the soft voice of his ghost shouting at him.

He skidded to a stop and crouched behind a tree. There was fighting ahead of him on the trail, and the sounds of running wolves coming towards him. A dark brown female wolf bounded out of the trees with two wolves on her trail. On her right shoulder glowed the same symbol Comhnyall now had on his shoulder, she was marked by the Moon. Before he could aid her, she stopped and let the bigger one run past her, slashing his hind legs and slicing the tendons. The smaller one charged, she jumped over but her teeth caught his scruff at the last second, her weight plus momentum allowed for her to flip the wolf and slam him into the ground with the audible crack of ribs. Her claws had his throat torn out before he could draw a single painful breath.

Comhnyall almost sneezed at the smell of moonlight and snow as she finished the first one. She slashed his throat out viciously and it looked like she sneered as he died. She turned and kicked dirt on the dying wolf with her backlegs disrespectfully. She sneezed part of the snow off her nose and tipped her head toward him.

Comhnyall stared as a glowing wolf made of moonlight appeared beside the she-wolf. They looked at each other for a moment as if conversing, then they turned as one, looking straight at Comhnyall. The brown whined slightly at the moon wolf, who bowed her head to him. Surprisingly, the she-wolf dropped onto her belly and crawled toward him, still whining. The moon wolf just stood like a ghost in the swirling snow. He approached the she-wolf stiff legged, prepared to fight, but she dropped her head too. The moon wolf walked through the she-wolf’s body and up to him, she turned in a circle showing the Moon’s marks in ethereal light on her shoulder and swirling down her side. He stared at it in disbelief. She inclined her head toward the brown she-wolf who ran in a tangent to the direction he was going. The brown she-wolf stopped and looked back at him as if to say, ‘Come on, Comhnyall.’

The glowing wolf’s voice whispered, “Follow her.”

Then it vanished, he shuddered. The voice he had heard before, the voice that had whispered in his dreams, and kept him company the day he stalked the Des Rues Betas, the voice that begged him to live when the lobster trawl had dragged him into the depths was the voice of a ghost. He had always suspected as much but terrified to have it confirmed. He did as it commanded. He ran after the brown she-wolf, hoping it would not be a fool’s folly.