Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft

Esther and Delilah stood, holding each other, as the flames consumed Murine’s body. The old she-wolf had finally gone to the Moon after a century of service to the Goddess. Esther stood calmly, with her head back and eyes shining, while Delilah wept, bead bowed and shoulders hunched. Around them, the wolves of the Servants of the Moon howled the song of one gone to the Fields.

Essie felt Del move to shift and she followed. Together their wolves sang for the old she-wolf who had been like a grandmother to them. The clouds flew across the sky in silvery streaks as a halo glowed around the gibbous orb. The circle of life completed by one oracle and honored by the Goddess herself. Delilah curled in on herself, falling on her side, whimpering as the flames faded to coals. The wind carrying the glowing embers out from the cliff and over the waters. Only her eyes glowed of moonlight as did the Moon’s marks on her flesh. Her legs twitched and moved.

The packmembers and Servants of the Moon’s Gate, watched reverently as the youngest Delphi in a millennium was called by their Goddess. Esther sat proud and alert next to her sister’s wolf and waited. She could faintly see in her sister’s mind, the ghostly images of Del’s wolf chasing after another. A wolf her sister had twice gone through the Tides to aid. A wolf that was struggling with the madness of grief and mate-loss, like Del once was.

Delilah had been watching the embers of Murine’s burial pyre dance across the waters of the lake one moment and falling into the Tides the next. Shakily, she looked around. She was in a forest.

Across from her lay a dirty, almost deranged wolf, a wolf living the life of a rogue. She could feel his mind chanting the name of his lost mate over and over again, like hers had done after Luca’s death. Whining, she inched closer to his sleeping twitching form. His soul was broken. Her tidal wolf licked his fur with her ghost tongue, soothing his spirit at he dreamed of all those he had killed and the two he was still chasing.

She was horrified at the level of violence with which he had separated those who had attacked his pack from this world. With all but one, she saw the Moon’s hounds waiting for those he killed. That wolf had confessed his sins against the Moon’s teachings and expressed true regret, accepting his death with nobility. She almost rose and left the golden wolf to his madness until she saw the human face of the wolf he was currently chasing. It was the same face she had glanced in Luca’s mind before he died. The wolf that had shot Luca as he had fled with her in his arms in the hour before his death.

Suddenly, a wave from the Tides washed over her tidal wolf and she was watching the golden wolf being lured into a trap by the one he was chasing. She howled at him to be careful, and watched horrified as he was slain and torn to pieces by a dozen brown-furs. In the background, a wolf that glowed like fire paced. It smiled smugly and her blood ran cold as she looked at it.

The smell of the Tides surrounded her and the sun tracked backwards across the sky three times. Delilah saw the wolf who killed Luca, walking into a rundown bar in a slum of a human neighborhood. Her wolf peaked through the dirty, barred window at him as he ordered drink after drink until the bar closed. The wolf staggered out into the dirty snow and dim streetlights. She followed him first to a liquor store and then back to a rundown motor lodge and watched him enter a room on the first floor. He drank the three bottles he had bought and passed out on the threadbare coverlet. Her tidalform wolf stood over him and snarled while he moaned as though he were having a nightmare.

Outside Delilah looked around carefully, learning everything she could about this place. She looked up at the waning moon sinking toward the horizon beyond the tenements and bodegas, only half its face was showing. She only had three days before the golden wolf would be here and three more days before he was lured and killed as the Moon closed Her Eye. In six days, all hope would be lost, if she did not save him.

A shaggy, dirty wolf stared into the windows of a tavern. Mud and dried blood has stained his once golden fur to reflect the decay of his soul. Four months had passed since Moire had left Comhnyall on that sapphire dawn, but it felt like only days or perhaps it was forever. A she-wolf with fake blonde hair and too tight clothes staggered out into the snowy night with his prey. She startled and giggled, complaining about the snow getting into her exposed cleavage.

Comhnyall’s wolf was confused, the female’s appearance and behavior did not match her true smell. She smelled of cheap human booze and cigarettes, but also of autumn’s first frost and moonlight. She smelled like an oracle, like Ainsley and Mamo, and he could see strange glowing marks swirling on her exposed arms. He shook his head, it didn’t matter. If she came between him and his prey, he would kill her too.

The pair staggered through the falling snow to a seedy hotel. She laughed at his prey when the drunken male wolf couldn’t get the key in the door. She dropped her bag and turned her back to him, bending at the waist to pick it up. The wolf leered at her long legs, and in the shadows, only Comhnyall saw the silver blade she lifted from the bag as she turned back. When the wolf turned back to the door, she rammed the poison blade between his ribs and into his heart. He fell forward into the room. Even in the darkness, Comhnyall could see the smirk on her heavily painted face.

A large wolf, another tall but leaner wolf, and a second hooded female came out of the darkness. They murmured among themselves. Comhnyall wanted to rage, his prey had died too quickly, too easily. He wanted to roll in his blood and hear the music of his screams as his warform tore him into pieces, like his wolf had with all but one of the others. His prey had been elusive and Comhnyall had chased him for over a month. The last one there that night that was hidden from him or already dead. Someone else had been hunting the murders of the New Wemyss wolves and now Comhnyall knew who.

His wolf growled, these four had taken what was his. Suddenly, the hooded woman turned and looked at his shadowed hiding place; her glowing white eyes captured him. Her voice sounded familiar, like he had heard it before, like the Moon’s.

“Sleep, servant, it is time to go home.”

Blackness claimed him as he was surrounded by the smell of incense and fresh snow.

Lothaire snarled as he looked around the filthy motel room. Beta Lucius stood quietly behind him with Helios. The room had not been cleaned by the human innkeeper today and the smell of dirty wolf and cheap human alcohol would have hid the smell of blood and moonlight from a less sensitive nose. At least one Servant of the Moon had been in this room last night when this wolf was killed.

“And you are sure he was here, Lucius?” Lothaire growled, even though he knew the answer.

“Yes, Beta Lothaire. He called me to say he thought someone was hunting him. He barely managed to escape a large dirty tan warform. I told him to hide in the closest human city and call me. He did and I informed you. We came straight here. I do not know where he went or would have gone from here. He hasn’t called again,” Lucius explained.

Helios laughed, “He hasn’t called Beta Lucius because he is dead. Can’t you smell the sweet scent of death?” Then he walked back toward the large SUV with tinted windows they had pulled up in.

Humans were starting to mill around, looking at the strange sight. Lothaire spotted a wolf in the crowd and walked up to her. The old shewolf obviously had lived here a long time, younger wolves that belonged to one of the criminal packs that dwelt in the large cities stood respectfully behind her.

The shewolf smiled in a grandmotherly way, her voice was ancient, “You won’t find that wolf, the Moon’s Servants and Her hounds came for him last night.”

“Where did they take him, old one?” his tone had the younger wolves, growling. He looked down on them. “Do you know who I am?”

The old one laughed and patted his arm, “Oh, I knows who you are, Alpha Lothaire Des Rues of the brown-furs, but do you knows who you are?” He stared at her shocked that she would call him Alpha; she cackled a laugh before continuing. “You need to stop doing your brother’s sinful work. Let him put his own soul at risk. The Moon will redeem you for Her own. When the time comes, you need to walk away from that deceivin’ family of yours and do Her will, or you will burn with them before Her hounds come for you. Devon, give the Alpha the one he seeks.”

She turned and one of the young wolves held out his arm to help her. Another held out a jar of gray ash. They melted into the milling crowd. Lothaire turned and stomped back to the SUV and ordered the driver to take them back to Des Rues. For the next four hours, the old she-wolfs words repeated in his mind and he wondered what she meant by the Moon would redeem him. He knew all the things he had done, he was beyond redemption and the Moon’s hounds would come to drag him off to the Abyss of Punishment. Unless?... Lothaire gave himself a mental shake. He did not know what the old one meant, but he was beyond redemption by any Goddess, or God for that matter. He was destined for hell and to hell he would go.

Comhnyall woke up in his skin for the first time in months; he was lying in his bed, the one he had shared with Moire. Something warm was against his shoulder. Ainsley was sitting next to him, leaning on the headboard, drawing in one of the books he had given her for her birthday.

‘I’m glad ye aire hume,’ her wolf whispered to his.

“How did I get here?” he croaked, his voice felt raw, unused, and his head pounded in an unfamiliar way. He felt like his soul had been ripped out of his body, torn to pieces, and only part of it stuffed back in. His mouth tasted strange and he wondered what concoction Mamo had poured down his throat. Vaguely, he remembered four wolves taking his prey. “Who were they?”

Ainsley flipped through her book to a picture of twin wolves sitting under the Moon with a larger wolf standing watch to the side and a fourth howling at the Moon. All had the Moon’s mark on their sides.

“Why? Why did thay bring meh hume?” He asked.

‘She said it was time,’ her wolf whispered. He knew who She was. The Moon had sent Her servants to bring him home.

Ainsley picked up a different book and flipped to the last page, he could smell that Moire had touched this book and his heart faltered. The last image was Moire holding a strange half-leaf colored silver; she was standing with the Moon Goddess. It startled him. The next page she showed him shook him to the core of his broken soul. The image was the barest crescent of the light under a dark circle of a shadowed moon; it appeared to be a closed eye with silvery tears dripping into the sea just before dawn. Moire had run her fingers over this drawing, leaving an echo of her scent.

Comhnyall choked on a sob, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, as his grief drowned him. Ainsley had drawn that morning and shown it to Moire before her death. She held a last drawing in his face, his teary eyes saw a large golden wolf with a golden pup.

"What does et mean, Ainsley? My son died with mo ceile."

Her wolf spoke softly. 'The Moon will give you a boon.'

Ainsley closed the book with a thwap and gave him a stern look far beyond her years. He curled onto his side, his head on Ainsley’s lap, one arm across her legs and the other around her back.

"I don' wan' a boon, I want mo ceile." He wept for the first time since Moire had gone to that shadowed moon. His little fox-wolf ran her fingers through his hair silently until he had cried himself to sleep.

Comhnyall woke up to a male wolf sitting in a chair looking through one of Ainsley’s sketchbooks. The dark-haired, dark-eyes wolf was as large as his father. He had seen this wolf at the Temple of the Moon's Gate. They studied each other for a moment, and Comhnyall wondered if he were here to punish him for the blood he had shed in the last few months. The wolf said nothing but rose and walked out of the room without making a sound. Moments later, a wolf he knew was at the door.

“Welcome back Nyall,” Leon said sadly. “I got your letter to Luca a week too late. I’m sorry.”

Tears burned in Comhnyall’s eyes but they didn’t fall, thinking of nothing else to say, he asked, “How is Luca?”

“He was killed protecting la Delphi from the same wolves who murdered your pack,” Leon growled as he leaned against the wall.

Comhnyall sat on the edge of the bed, “You’re tha one who’s been killin’ tha others? Tha ones mo wolf could nah find?”

Leon nodded, “Oui, I have avenged moi brother. Merci, for all you have found and killed.”

Comhnyall took a deep breath, “Not all, mo friend. Tha Beta who led tha attack still lives an’ mo wolf wants ta stain his teeth weth his blood.”

“I’m sorry, mon ami. La Oracle says he is to live, the Moon Herself has declared et.” Leon scowled as he said it, like the words tasted unpleasant.

Comhnyall’s rage exploded and he stormed downstairs in a rush, shouting,“Where es she?”

Mamo gave him a cross look, scolding,“Tha Delphi has gone ta tha Temple after draggin’ ye hume. Ye be lucky she did nah have ye caged fur takin’ the Moon’s justice enta yur own hands.”

Comhnyall’s hands started to form into claws as his wolf took over, but suddenly he was tossed out into the yard. The large dark wolf stood between him and the porch.

“If you wish a fight, young wolf, I will fight you. I am the Delphi’s Protector. My name is Kaiyou Tsunekura, I am a Shogunate wolf and it is my honor to face you as I once faced your father to earn my position.”

Comhnyall barely heard his words over the howl of his wolf at being denied the last of those who had killed their pack. His warform launched himself at the warrior wolf, who easily evaded his attacks. Hours later, Comhnyall was exhausted, both physically and mentally. He had not fought a wolf who was his equal since his father and brothers had been killed and shifting forms mattered little fighting one as skilled as the large dark wolf. He dropped his guard momentarily and it was the only opening the Shogunate needed to slam him into the ground and pin him.

Mamó approached him with a sad expression, “Enough, m’ogha (grandson). Tha Goddess has said ye aire ta stop. Et es Her will an’ we must obey.”

Then Mamó grabbed his jaw painfully and poured more of the foul tasting liquid down his mouth as he tried the thrash. It bubbled in his throat as he growled and he gagged before swallowing. In moments, he felt himself shifting to his skin and losing consciousness.

Morning came and Comhnyall woke in his and Moire’s bed. He could still smell the scent of her and their son. He crawled off the bed onto the floor, whimpering. For days or perhaps months, he lay there staring blankly out the window, or at the mural Ainsley had made of the walls, trying to breathe without choking, and only eating when Ainsley put food in his mouth.

One day, Shamus showed up and dragged him out of the bedroom and back to the deck of the Seawolf. He worked Comhnyall day and night, and he talked. The old wolf talked of every moment he had with his Rowena and how he dealt with it since her death. He taught Comhnyall how to breathe deeply and that air will fill his emptiness, if only for a moment. Comhnyall realized the deep breathing was what he had watched his father do for so many years, on so many winter nights when they could smell his mother. His father’s fate was now his. To wait until the Goddess called him home to be with the one he loved and lost. He had heard of the human hell and he believed that this was what it was like to live there.