Wolf Omega: Lykanos Chronicles 2

I spent the following morning with Sempronio, mostly in his office, discussing all I’d learned in greater detail.

His study was a suite of tall rooms, filled with seemingly endless bound leather volumes and scrolls. There seemed too many to study in a regular lifetime. On tables and shelves sat random objects that begged to be examined. However, Sempronio’s conversation never touched upon anything but his ideas and observations, leaving me to steal hungry looks at those treasures when his eyes were preoccupied.

“Do you know how wolves function as a family in the wild?” he asked. “They join into packs. Each member of the pack has a station—a role to play both at home and in the forest when facing their prey. Be it a pack the size of an army, or a group of merely six, it functions in the same way. It is a simple order that ensures the pack’s survival, even if most members fall in battle. My house is ordered thus to ensure its survival.”

I admitted that I knew nothing of wolves and asked that he explain.

“In the first role is the leader, the alpha, whose purpose is to choose the course of every direction the pack takes as a group. Among wolves, a male and a female inhabit the role to command the other wolves of their sex. Among lycan, the role is held by only one. Any member may be the alpha, and the position is never empty. If the alpha falls, they are replaced at once, informally, by another member. The decision of who replaces the fallen alpha is decided far before a battle by the very structure of the pack.

“The second role is that of beta, lieutenant commander to the alpha. The beta is the alpha’s second pair of hands, if you will. Should the alpha fall, the beta assumes the position unless tactical planning says otherwise. Similarly, the beta holds authority when the alpha is away from his territory.

“The other roles are gamma and delta; the third and fourth in command. Beneath them are warriors, hunters, and healers. While lycan packs have only a single alpha, beta, gamma, or delta, there may be legions of others who follow them. Within those legions, there may be sub-structures of leadership.

“Beneath all of these are the omegas—those who rear the alpha’s offspring. They nurture the future of the pack upon the alpha’s direction. Among wolves, they are last. They dine after the others. They are the first to starve during hard seasons, feeding the alpha’s young even before themselves. Though they place last in the social structure, theirs is a crucial role, would you not agree?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “What is the pack without its future?”

Sempronio smiled lovingly as if I had understood his point.

“And you are the alpha,” I said. It was not a question, but he answered as if it were one.

“This is my house and my pack. But Duccio is my beta in title only. His true role here is that of alpha. He governs this house by my design—the design of my forefathers—but I give him full impunity.”

“To teach him how to become you one day?” I asked.

Again he smiled at me.

“Have you ever grown tired of a chore,” he asked, “something important and worthwhile? Perhaps it was an important duty, but you eventually grew disinterested in it, regardless?”

I looked away to think of an answer, determined not to disappoint him.

“Laundry,” I said. “Cleaning my family’s clothes each week.”

“That’s perfect,” his eyes lit up. “Why did you tire of that? Is it difficult to do? Unimportant, perhaps?”

“There’s nothing to it,” I answered. “It’s important to wash them, to have clean linens to keep them from becoming infested, to ensure we do not grow ill. And I enjoyed it when I first learned how to do it. I felt like a big girl when I could help my mother, especially after letting me do it on my own. But it’s always the same. Nothing is exciting about it. I’m grateful when it’s done, bored while I’m doing it, and avoid it until it’s necessary.”

“Being a leader can often be exciting,” Sempronio said. “The role is filled with unique opportunities and challenges. Indeed, Duccio revels in the role. Little else offers him the same sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. But that is how he feels today.

“You see, the world changes very little, and over interminable stretches of time, those challenges that might once have invigorated him will become routine. If enough time passes, they will become like laundry.”

I thought about what he said and tried to see the parallels he attempted to draw.

“That is the trick of time: to not allow duties to become chores; to not let laundry become the source of emotional depression, if you will. So, I have pursued other interests for lengthy periods and let my children manage this enterprise for me. I allow them to be master, to eat of those fruits that are new and captivating to them, to learn those skills and flourish while I focus on other matters that can still invigorate my mind.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Anything new!” Sempronio laughed. “Anything that’s unlike what I already know. Understand, I have seen everything a hundred times before. Can you imagine how that affects my passion for life? What is new for most is long since old to my eyes. I have traveled the world, learned every language spoken in this age, and partaken in every available delight or challenge. All of them have become...”

“Laundry?” I asked.

“Precisely. So I rely upon my mind to create new things. I gather the wisdom of others and add them to my own. I make it breathe in my mind, then take the next step, if I can, to create something new—something perfectly unique.”

“I believe I understand,” I said.

“I promise that you don’t,” he replied calmly. “To understand a concept is not to know what it tastes like when you are starving—when your very survival depends upon it. But one day, I believe you will understand.”

His words didn’t carry a sentiment of judgment or dismissal, but a promise—an assurance of his confidence.

“Then you will make me one of you?” I asked. “I wish to follow in your path, to set my wolf free, as Duccio described it, and take my place within this pack.”

Sempronio didn’t answer but only stared at me somberly. Was he reading my thoughts? Should I speak to him telepathically? Would it help him to be sure of my intent?

“Did Dionisio’s story mean so little to you?” he asked calmly.

“Of course not,” I defended myself. “His story helped me understand why I must try.”

Again, Sempronio went silent, studying me with his eyes. I didn’t know what he thought of me, what he could see.

“Explain,” he pressed.

“The evils he endured broke Dionisio,” I began. “All that happened to him, what those men did to violate him with their unspeakable desires, their cruelties—it destroyed him. And when he tried to seek justice, to punish those evildoers and rid the world of their crimes, as Duccio promised the night he became Dionisio’s vanquisher—the boy could not do it. He couldn’t witness that justice, much less lend his hand to it. Even now, as a man, he cannot do it. The very idea of it razes him to the ground. He is destroyed, and no amount of time has changed that.”

Sempronio remained silent as if scrutinizing every word, studying my face to understand me. I felt confident he was not invading my thoughts, that I would know if he were. Besides, he’d already taken all of me he wanted, had he not? What else was there to learn that he couldn’t see now with his eyes?

“Are you not destroyed, as well?” Sempronio whispered when I least expected.

Tears formed behind my eyes as I attempted to answer him, and my protest died in my throat. He knew that I was, that part of me had died when those men had violated me.

He sighed when nothing more came from my voice. “Then how can you ask it of me?”

“Because enough of me is still alive,” I insisted, “enough to keep me standing. I don’t know how it’s true, but it’s true regardless. And if I must continue to stand, I would have it be tall. And if I can stop them from doing it to another woman, then I must, whatever the cost.”

I fell back into my chair as the truth flooded through me; I gripped the arms to hold myself.

The old man’s face was sharply pained as he watched me suffer to answer him.

“Because I refuse to be destroyed,” I said at last.

Sempronio blinked, and his expression of pain soon lightened. He sighed as if with great relief, and it drew a simple smile to his lips.

“Very well,” he nodded.