Chapter 5
Rites And Sidekicks
The next morning was in the Guildmaster’s office. There had been precious little new information since the meeting with the heads of the Guild, but it looked like the Guildmaster had waited in his office for all of the precious nuggets. When I walked in, the Guildmaster was reading the current situation report that the Red Knights had sent out to all of the involved parties.
“Well, the Knights have confirmed that our assassin fled the county after murdering Vollen,” the Guildmaster said. He sounded tired, but not dulled, “The bastard dog jumped the fucking interstate, then the Veterans, and we have him on the Suncoast. Got off in New Port Richey, and that’s where the trail goes cold. None of the lycanthropes in Pasco saw him. James is sending Little William up to the Pasco chapter to do some poking around.” Little William, whose packname was Shadow, was a lone wolf with a good reputation. He was very skilled at subtle intelligence gathering as well as close-quarters assassinations.
“Is Pasco involved?” I asked, somewhat incredulous. While we didn’t have the same close-knit relationship with Pasco County that we did with Pinellas, there had been no rivalry between our two counties. At least none that I was aware of. Sometimes the aristocracy played their political games without letting anyone else know what was going on.
“Not really,” the Guildmaster answered, “That said, I am not willing to allow any possibility slip through. If the assassin is in Pasco, Little William will be able to pick up the assassin’s trail again. Ancestors willing, he will.”
“And the Knights?” I asked, referring back to the public investigation that the hit packs were assisting. “Are they aware of where we found the assassin?”
“They know that we are investigating a lead in the assassin’s location. According to Sneller, the Knights are now investigating the leeches’ known finances. They are looking for evidence that the TCV paid or authorized the assassination. Since you didn’t hand over the names as soon as you walked in, am I to assume that Bradon wanted time to speak with his council allies?”
“How do you know he didn’t just flat out refuse me?” I asked, a half-hearted protest in my voice. I was still unhappy about the Guildmaster violating the confidentiality of my contact. I was unhappy with a lot of things recently, but the Guildmaster was already aware of that.
“Because I know Bradon,” the Guildmaster answered, “That leech is pragmatic and ruthless. Two qualities that make him dangerous, but also slightly predictable. Removing two enemies and keeping the Peace are two goals he cannot ignore.”
“Okay, fine,” I agreed, still a little sulky. It was juvenile of me, and I knew it at the time. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. The Guildmaster needed me undistracted with petty sullenness. “He told me he would get back to me as soon as possible. I don’t think I can rush him.”
“Agreed,” the Guildmaster assented. He appeared to return to his paperwork. He hadn’t dismissed me, so I assumed he had something else for me. As I waited for the Guildmaster to get around to whatever task he had in mind for me, I pulled out my phone and checked my email. There were no messages from Bradon or his ghouls. Nick had sent me a message to see if I had any free time. Deadeye had Nick looking into the origin of the Silver Shok rounds, but Nick had hit some sort of obstacle. He was asking for my assistance, although I had no idea what I could do for him. Sometimes though, just having someone with a fresh perspective was enough to come up with a solution.
“What did you think of Samuel?” the Guildmaster asked without looking up from his paperwork.
“Who?” I asked. I didn’t know all of the hunters’ true names, mostly because I didn’t work with that many of them. I did know all of their pack names, but that was due to the fact that most of them had names that reflected their specialty or personality. It made it easier to remember them.
“Hangman,” the Guildmaster answered. By tradition, the Guildmaster only referred to the hunters by their pack names only when necessary. For the most part, the Guildmaster referred to his hunters by their proper name. I didn’t know the reasoning behind that tradition, but it dated back to nearly the founding of the Hunters Guild.
“Bright pup,” I answered,”He reacts well and seems to know when to ask questions and when to just shut up and follow. It actually doesn’t surprise me that he was leading that group the night that Vollen was killed.”
“It seemed like a good time to let him learn,” the Guildmaster replied, “The reason I asked was because I would like for you to take the pup under your wing. Kurt taught him a great deal about team tactics, but I need him to learn about lone wolf operations.”
“So why not ask Deadeye?” I asked. Most of the jobs that I had done for the Guildmaster were strictly solo operations, so I wasn’t sure if the Guildmaster was trying to punish me or he had something else in mind.
“James is a good leader and an excellent instructor, but you have that nasty tendency to think differently than even the lone wolves and take action that few others would. I need the pup to learn that kind of thinking and action.” I looked at the Guildmaster questioningly for a moment. There was something in his voice. The Guildmaster was leaving something out.
“What’s up boss?” I asked, “Is there something you’re not telling me about the pup?”
“Yes, but it’s a little too early to tell anyone else. Will you do it, or do I have to find someone else?”
“Who else are you going to get to teach the pup the down and dirty side of hunting?” I asked rhetorically.
“Well then, I suggest you get started.”
I found Hangman at Poppa Gus’s. Since joining the Hillsborough County chapter, Hangman had been used by Sneller as free-floater to complement a hit pack who was a member shy. Kind of like I had been doing the night the vampires attacked the pups in tysach. Sneller apparently was aware that the Guuldmaster had plans for the brans-new hunter, because Sneller had used him to replace a hunter whose wife was expecting and would be back in a few days. It was a learning slot, so Hangman could see how hit packs operated in the real world. Under ideal circumstances, each member of a hit pack should have strengths that compensate for another’s weakness, so the hit pack as a whole was strong. Each member should be able to trust and depend on the others. The hit pack should be a close-knit group that complemented and supported each other. In the real world, such ideal placements were just not possible. What made Sneller a damned good leader for the hit packs was that he focused on creating hit packs that had good chemistry between the members. His predecessor had focused on trying to build well-balanced hit packs, but that was quickly thrown out when Sneller was chosen to lead the hit packs. If the packmembers worked well together, than the strength-weakness angle would be handled by intense training. As a result of this far more pragmatic approach, the hit packs had shown a marked increase in effectiveness. The hit packs were now almost small families within the Guild, and they worked hard to overcome any weaknesses that their pack possessed.
“May I join you?” I asked, walking up to Hangman’s table. He was sitting alone, probing the ropas viejo Mama Sanchez had served him. He looked at me in surprise.
“Sure,” he slightly stammered out, “What are you doing, here?”
“Most hunters come here to eat,” I said, with a slight sarcasm. The words came out a little harsher than I expected, and it showed on Hangman’s face. I decided a more tactful approach. “The truth is I came here looking for you.”
“Me? Why?” he asked, regaining some of his composure.
“How have you been doing with Tank’s crew?” I asked.
“Okay, I guess,” he answered, slightly crestfallen, “It’s been difficult in a way. Tank and them have been nice, but it’s pretty obvious that I’m not a part of the group.”
“The question is how much have you learned?” I asked, stealing a bite of his food.
“About what?” he asked in reply, “I’m still too new a hunter to say what exactly I’ve learned and how much I still have to learn.”
“Well that’s a start,” I said, somewhat pleasantly surprised. Most rookie hunters, myself included, are so full of piss and vinegar once they graduate the camp that they don’t see that they have a ton more to learn. Hangman seemed to be fully aware that he a lot to learn, even if he was unsure as to what exactly he needed to learn. “How was Tank’s group different from how you were taught about hit packs?”
“There wasn’t any of that strength-weakness complement bullshit that we were taught,” Hangman said, catching me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting him to pick up on that so quickly. He saw that he had surprised me, and gave me a quick grin. “My uncle was Backstabber. I spent a lot of time with him learning about hunting. I also learned a lot about what had been going on before the Guildmaster had taken over.”
Backstabber was a hunter who had been Matric’s predecessor. Unlike Matric, who spent most of his time at the Manor, Backstabber spent most of his time at the Guild. The first Lord Vollen was playing Guildmaster, and the Guildmaster at the time didn’t have the backbone to stand up to him. This left the Guild internally divided between those who were trying to actually do our jobs, and those that were busy trying to play the patronage game with the lord and the Guildmaster. Backstabber did his best to shield hunters like me who were a little too vocal about the condition of the Guild. He had been a good friend to me while I was still a rookie, and he was one of those who just didn’t care that I was a Badmoon. When the old Guildmaster left, Backstabber was the new Guildmaster’s personal hitter and helped in the reorganization. I could never prove it, but I believed that it was Backstabber that had suggested me to the Guildmaster for his personal hitter when Backstabber decided to “semi-retire.” He had been killed during a raid on a group of independent vampires that had set up shop in Apollo Beach barely a week after the Guildmaster offered me the position. Now I understood why the Guildmaster wanted me to take Hangman under my wing. It would satisfy the personal and professional debt the two of us owed a damned fine hunter.
“Well then you’ve learned what the Guildmaster wanted you to learn,” I replied, “Now he wants you to learn some new stuff.”
“You’re going to be my teacher?” Hangman asked, an incredulous tone in his voice.
“More like mentoring you,” I answered, “There’s the down and dirty side of hunting. Something the boss considers me somewhat decent at. He wants me to show you some tricks of the trade.”
“Like how to set a bonfire in front of the TCV Hall?” Hangman asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“Yeah, something like that,” I answered, my tone neutral, “Is there a problem I should know about?”
“It justs seems that the Guildmaster is shuffling me about a lot,” Hangman answered petulantly, “I don’t know what he wants me to do, or what my job is going to be.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I reassured him, “Sometimes it takes a while for a hunter to settle down into a role. Take the Bowmasters. It took quite a while before the Guildmaster found the proper niche for them. During that whole time, the twins weren’t very effective hunters, and I’m sure it had a bad effect on their personal pride. The best thing you can do is learn everything you can, and find out what you do well and what you don’t do well.” The pup looked down at his food, trying to hide hus frustration by not looking at me. I had been fortunate. I had been put into the lone wolves when had first joined the Hillsborough chapter. I had been mentored by a hunter who pushed and pushed me to be the best. His name was Backstabber.
“Maybe,” Hangman said, sounding unconvinced, “So what exactly are you going to teach me?”
“For the moment, you’re going to stay with Tank’s crew,” I told him, “Jawbreaker won’t be back until the Rite of the Dead. Depending on what’s going on then, we’ll figure out what to do.”
The sky over the cravex was strangely appropriate for the occasion; the night sky hidden by ominous clouds. A dark, cold wind whipped through the grassy flatland. The human weathermen must have been going insane trying to figure out what was happening. The lycanthropes knew. The Order of Spirits was convening the Rite of the Dead.
The cravex was filled with lycanthropes in true form. Every pack was in its entre. Even those lycanthropes who had long ago refuted the ways of the Ancestors were here, kneeling in the tall grass to the center of the holy place. In the center was a circle of shamans. All wore the black robes that signified death, the hoods hiding the white “skull” paint on their faces They were chanting a death hymn in the ancient tongue of the lycanthrope. Behind the ring of shamans was the maksen, which roughly translated into “altar,” but with more reverence in it. The old tongue lost a lot of its nuance in translation to modern English. Nicknamed the “monolith,” it was a cube of pure obsidian, about eight feet on the sides, shaped and placed into the cravex by the first Spiritmaster of the county. Silver runes lined the sides of the monolith, denoting the important events in the history of the lycanthropes. It was always odd to me that the one substance known to be able to cause harm to our kind often decorated our sacred objects.
The Guildmaster led the members of the Hunters Guild into its entre. All of the hunters were in attendance, as there was no need for perimeter guards here. The TCV wasn’t suicidal enough to send its members into the middle of the entire Hillsborough County Lordship. Humans stayed away due to a mystical protection ward that the first Spiritmaster of Hillsborough had cast on the entire cravex at the same time he had placed the maksen. The Guildmaster and the top level of the Guild wore the traditional mourning robes. They were similar to the ones worn by the shamans, but were of a lesser quality. The rest of us were a mix of formal suits, robes, and jumpsuits. The Guild’s mood however was uniform. We were all frustrated and angry.
To our right was the Lord’s entre, staked out by four, twelve-foot high, four-inch thick, pine poles, covered in similar ancient runes to those that lined the monolith. Two Red Knights stood by each of the poles. They still blamed the Guild for failing to stop the assassin, and it showed every time they looked at us. I think they were also starting to catch on that we were not giving them all of the information we possessed. We, of course, returned the sentiment. We were doing our damndest to find the party responsible. Besides, it would be the Guild, not the Knights, that were called upon to sanction the assassin and whoever sent him to murder our lord. Several of the Guild members murmured a desire to remove the Knights’ various internal organs. Looks from Sneller and Deadeye quickly quelled those notions.
To our front, on the other side of the maksen were the other packs’ entri. As I looked over the growing crowd of lycanthropes, I began to feel very uncomfortable. The Guild’s position in lycanthrope society was always difficult. We were respected because we protected the packs from the vampire, but we were also feared, but not because of our unique training, but because we killed other lycanthropes. Death was something we accepted as part of life. Because of the brutal nature of the life we were born into, we often saw death more than humans. Even with that intimate relationship with Death, the murder of a lycanthrope by another was abhorrent to us. It was this abhorrence that made the murder of Lord Vollen so shocking to the lycanthrope community. We were used to the packs looking at us with a wary respect. As I looked out amongst the pack warriors, the respect had been replaced by rage.
I continued to ponder what that meant for the hunters when I was blinded by a blue-white bolt of lightning. The bolt struck the maksen with a spectacular flash of light and a thundering crash. The black obsidian absorbed the light and energy. As the thunder boomed through the cravex, the runes on the maksen glowed with an eerie red tone. The top of the obsidian monolith suddenly turned bright white, like someone had turned on a spotlight. The light beam arched into the night sky.
I looked to the south as the first glimpse of the torches of the marchers came out of the tree line toward the cravex. The torches threw shadows across the first rank of lycanthropes in the March of the Dead, making it hard to make them out. As the Guild members turned to face the marchers, the first rank came into the torchlight of the outer perimeter. Their black robes were similar to the shamans around the maksen. Held parallel to their ramrod- straight bodies were long polearms that were as traditional to the lycanthropes as katana swords were to Japanese samurai. Deskunas, or death poles, were eight foot long poles, topped with a silver double-headed war axe. On the other end was a six-inch silver spike. Its real utility, however, laid in its ability to separate at the middle, forming an easily wielded battle axe and a short spear. Although in modern times it was a ceremonial weapon only, it had proven itself effective on the battlefields of the fatherland during much of the Middle Ages and Renaissance, actually being surpassed by firearms only during the mid-nineteenth century. For the Rite, in the middle of the two axe heads sat a burning torch. Behind the first rank of four lycanthropes, a mix of shaman and notable warriors, were two more rows of four lycanthropes each.
Behind the honor guard, were two high-ranking shaman. Black robes draped over them with only ancient symbols in silver providing any relief. In their hands, as if in offering, were thick, oversized books of the Rites. Turned to the pages of the Rite of the Dead, the two were chanting the ancient hymns for the dead. Their low voices rumbled through the cravex like thunder. As they raised their heads from their tomes, their pale white skull face paints gleamed in the torchlight.
Directly behind the shaman came the body of Lord Vollen. The body lay on the traditional carrying cot, made of leather and wooden poles. Blue-white light glared out from underneath the cot, a visible signal of the magick holding the cot aloft. The Rite declared that none may touch the deceased or anything that the deceased is touching from the time that the guide cloth – a black cloth with silver runes- is placed on the deceased’s forehead until his spirit is ready to join the Ancestors. It was said that the touch could ground the soul in this plane and make it unable to join the Ancestors. Lord Vollen’s body was in true form, as all supernatural creatures are when they die, and bore no clothing save the guide cloth. Flanking the body on either side were the six eldest Red Knights. Their traditional red robes were adorned with long vertical stripes of black along the sleeves. The stripes were not for morning, but as a measure of rank. Only the most veteran Red Knights were allowed to wear the black stripe, and hunters always respected those that did. Wicked- looking silver daggers were hung in well-worn leather sheaths from their belts. They did not touch the cot, but guarded it, as the Rite demanded of the Lord’s personal bodyguards.
Following the procession of the body was the family of the deceased lord. The four members walked in two rows. Vollen’s wife had died several years ago during an assassination attempt by a crazed independent lycanthrope, so his eldest daughter, Elizabeth, took her mother’s place at the front left side. I looked at her with a slight surprise, as I had forgotten how beautiful she was. Even with her face strained by sorrow, she was easily one of the most beautiful lycanthropes in the county. The front right side was occupied by the Lord-Apparent. The hood of his robe hid his face from the packs. Behind the two of them were their younger brother and sister, who were reluctantly following their elder siblings. Neither had reached the age of Discovery, so they were often sheltered from the dealings of lycanthrope society. I had only seen them a handful of times before and didn’t even know their names. All of the family members were dressed in similar red robes as the Red Knights, but with a more regal cut to them. Behind them, signaling the end of the procession was the Spiritmaster. In robes similar to the shaman in front of the cot, but more ornate, he used his power to hold the cot aloft.
As the precession made its way to the maksen, the honor guard divided and encircled the maksen. The shaman in front of the cot placed themselves on either corner of the southern side of the maksen. The cot, balanced on its mystical support, lifted up about five feet, sailed silently through the middle of the two shaman, and laid itself gently down on the maksen. The black obsidian gleamed with a blinding blue-white light. More than a few heads turned away. The family and the Spiritmaster walked on the inside the honor guard’s circle to their rightful place at the north end of the maksen. The Lord-Apparent looked over at the Guildmaster, but I could not see what the look conveyed. It didn’t matter. The Rite of the Dead began.
The Spiritmaster stood at the head of the maksen and raised his arms toward the dark sky. “Lycanthropes, your lord has been slain. Grandfather Death has visited us once again. He takes a warrior’s body from the land of the living. Do not fear His coming. Our lord was a valiant leader, and the Ancestors give much respect to the valiant. Bring forth the Keeper. Declare our lord’s acts.” I wasn’t surprised at the solemn tone of the Spiritmaster’s voice, but I was surprised at the reaction of the entire crowd, including the members of the Guild. I could see the emotions rising in them. Some of the coolest individuals in the Guild were all the sudden showing great amounts of passion. Vollen was a great leader, but I did not believe he was great enough to invoke this kind of response to his death. Even the lord’s political enemies seemed to be swayed by the Spiritmaster’s tone.
The Keeper emerged from the crowd. His true form sagged with age, his once-powerful form hunched over from many years on the earth. His black fur showed more than a few puffs of gray. The honor guard parted respectfully for the elder lycanthrope. The Keeper was officially the historian of the packs in Hillsborough, but he was also much more than that. The Keeper acted as the counsel of the lord in the matters of pack law and our heritage. It would be the Keeper who told of the one’s accomplishments at the Rite of the Dead. The Keeper swept the packs with his eyes before beginning his part of the ceremony. I thought his eyes locked onto my eyes for a moment. It went by so fast, however, I wasn’t sure. The Keeper always made me uneasy. He often looked at me as if I was some sort of unusual relic. It was this feeling that made me stay away from him as much as possible. After he had swept the cravex with his eyes, he moved to the south end of the maksen. As he was raising his head to the sky, the clouds that covered the cravex cleared and the Bone Moon shone clearly through.
“Oh great Ancestors of the lycanthropes. Hear my declaration. Judge the deceased. Take his soul if the judgment is fair,” the Keeper asked of the stars and moon. At first, it sounded like a series of low growls. Then it rose in tempo, pitch, and volume. I couldn’t understand the words, as they were in the old tongue. Most of the modern lycanthropes in the Kingdom of the United States only spoke the English language. Very few of us could speak the old tongue – kind of like humans and Latin. The harmonic vibrations of the Song of Declaration were unmistakably powerful. I could actually feel the song telling me Vollen’s life. Pictures of various events resolved in my mind. It was a lot like the wolf tongue. As the song continued for the next half-hour, I saw all of the events that shaped and focused Stephen Vollen into the lycanthrope that he had been. I saw him as he confronted his father and made the elder Vollen relinquish the lordship. I saw his happiness as he married his wife, and as his children were born. I saw his triumphs as he forged the county into what he wanted. The song ended on the same series of low growls that it began with. It was sort of an ashes to ashes, dust to dust type of thing. The Keeper, his task finished, melted silently back into the packs. The Spiritmaster began his next part of the Rite of the Dead. “Great Ancestors, you have heard in your tongue the life of our lord. We beg of you to accept his soul. Take the valiant lord to the final resting place.”
There was a deafening silence for a moment. Then the maksen exploded in brilliant blue-white light. When the light had dimmed, a pale blue mass of swirling energy floated over the body. I stood in awe. Although I had attended other Rites for friends and associates in the Guild, I had never seen this happen. From the astonished gasps that came from the packs, none of them had witnessed anything like it either. The Spiritmaster, however, maintained his calm and dignified posture. “Lycanthropes of Hillsborough, do not fear the specter in front of you. Our lord’s soul is being judged by the Ancestors. It is his powerful abilities that allow his soul to be seen.”
“FATHER!” screamed the youngest daughter. Her brother and sister held her from running to the maksen, as the Lord-Apparent just stared at the apparition. His face was impassive, almost indifferent. I wondered if the Spiritmaster had warned him that this might happen during judgment. If so, why didn’t the Spiritmaster warn the other children? Before I could answer my own question, the final phase of the Rite began. The Bone Moon’s light intensified. It was like having a giant spotlight shine down on the cravex. The light slowly dissolved the specter, and the dimmed as quickly as it had brightened.
“It is done. Our lord has been taken by the Ancestors. The new lord will be coronated on the next Bone Moon.” With that, the honor guard lowered the deskunas until the torches met the lord’s body. At the mere touch of the fire, the body ignited in flames, like it had been doused in lighter fluid. Truth to be told, once the soul is out of a lycanthrope, the body becomes as flammable as a vampire. As the flames consumed, the body, the packs left the cravex. Only a few shaman were to remain. They would gather whatever ashes were left over to place in the Manor.
The Rite of the Dead was a private affair for the lycanthropes of the county, only. The kanthsle held after the Rite was the time for the other lords, or their proxies, to express their sympathies with the Lord-Apparent, his family, and the pack leaders. The Guildmaster offered to let me go with him, but we both knew that it probably wasn’t the best idea. It would already be a tense enough affair to throw me into the mix. Besides, I had other plans.
I had gathered a small group of hunters, namely myself, Skiff, Hangman, and Nicky. We went back to the warehouse where Vollen had been murdered. A pair of lycanthrope warriors still guarded it on orders from the Red Knights, but they left when I dismissed them. The four of us walked into the foyer and turned on the electricity. As the lights warmed up, I walked over to the door I had torn apart.
“What are we doing here, Ranger?” asked Nicky. Of the other three, Nick had been the most hesitant to attend my little gathering. Nick felt guilty about not being at the warehouse when Vollen was killed. I saw it clearly on his face and in his actions. He intellectually understood that it wasn’t his fault and that he couldn’t have done anything, but the emotional response was hitting hard. I didn’t know why, and Nick hadn’t volunteered. I wasn’t willing to jeopardize our friendship by pushing it any further, especially since it hadn’t affected his work. Still, I wanted him for this.
“We’re going to go over everything we have gotten on this,” I answered, climbing the ladder to the catwalks. I didn’t have to say what “this” was. The others followed reluctantly. The darkness enveloped us as we gathered on the catwalks. Slowly, as I led them over to the place where the assassin had fired from, the lights brightened the area.
“Why are we doing that? I mean, it isn’t as if half the Guild hasn’t done it themselves. Even the Guildmaster went over it with the top hunters,” Hangman commented. Yellow tape sealed off the area, but came down with claws. The Knights tried to be so much like their human counterparts in the Secret Service. Any other time and place, it was actually funny.
“Yeah, I know Hangman. I was in on that meeting. The problem is, no one is looking at this clearly. Not the Knights, and certainly not the Guild. Hell, the shaman aren’t even looking at all. For instance, the Knights are sure that it was the leeches. The Guild knows differently, but they haven’t been sharing any real information, so the Knights aren’t even looking in the right places.”
“And the Guild is so busy trying to hide the fact that it wasn’t the leeches from the Knights and the Order that options we would normally explore are no longer available to us. They would tip our hand, so to speak.” Nicky always picked this stuff up fast. It was why I had pressed hard for him to be at this little session. Of the three, Nick thought the most like I did, and had a lot more patience in explaining it.
“So what are we going to do up here?” asked Hangman, “We could’ve done this at one of the meeting rooms.” Hangman did have potential, and I wanted his younger prospective, plus I had told the Guildmaster I would mentor the pup. What we were doing definitely fell into the dirty side of hunting. Hangman was clearly uncomfortable with Nicky and I even daring to criticize the Guild and its handling of the assassination. I needed to knock that naivety out of his head as fast as I could. I walked over to where the assassin had crouched while taking aim at Vollen.
“Because, it’s easier to visualize the facts when we have the scene before us.” I rapped my claws on the metal railing that had deflected my first shot at the assassin. “For example, how many of us in this Guild chapter could have pulled off this shot?”
“Like, half the lone wolves, dude,” answered Skiff, “Snipering from a concealed position? Dude, the range is less than a hundred meters.” I winced slightly at his dialect, but it was how he normally talked. I wasn’t even sure if he could rid himself of that Valley accent if he tried. I had invited Skiff because he was one of the few “normal” hunters that were actually comfortable around me. Most were professional, but it showed that they were still leery of working with a Badmoon. Old stigmas die hard, but to give my fellow hunters credit, they did try. Most of them, anyway. Nicky shook his head, staring at the catwalk.
“I don’t think so. Our shooter not only had the accuracy to hit a target in varying light and sound, but also managed to keep his head in a position that made a kill shot impossible. The kill shot we were all taught at the camp to use under these unique circumstances. Remember, he kept his head in front of the railing. Now Deadeye could have done it, without a doubt. Ranger, you could, but I very much doubt you would have had the foresight to use the railing. There may be a one or two more in this chapter that could, but I truly doubt it.” Nicky walked around the spotlight, looking like he was deep in thought. “This hunter is one of the best snipers I’ve ever seen. Not just for his shooting skills, but how he positioned himself in his environment. He had this planned out and had taken into account the most likely contingencies.”
“Alright, so we know that the dog is good. Now where does that lead us?” asked Hangman. I smiled at that remark. The pup’s aggressive instincts were showing. Those were the instincts I wanted to foster.
“What we’re talking about is not some hunter-trained lycanthrope, but a camp-graduated hunter. A damned good one. A hunter that proficient isn’t a rogue,” I laid out, “No chapter would let one of their own with that level of proficiency go rogue. They would put him down. Moreover, a hunter that had gone rogue wouldn’t have access to the Silver Shoks, at least not in .308 Winchester. The heavier rifle caliber bullets have just begun to come off the production line. Moreover, he had specific information. How to get up on the catwalks, where Vollen was, etc. That kind of data is not readily available to our own packs. Only the Knights and the Guild really know their way around this building. The assassin had some pretty significant intelligence.” The others all agreed with this. Then Skiff asked the most obvious question.
“Does that mean, like, a traitor in our midst?”
“No, all the hunters in our chapter were accounted for that night. Another lord sent the assassin for Vollen,” I answered, “That’s the focus of the Guildmaster’s independent investigation. I hate to say it aloud, but I have to agree with his conclusion.” Hangman and Skiff shifted uncomfortably with that. Political squabbles were common amongst the lords of Florida, but the idea one would have another assassinated was beyond reprehensible. It was comparable to fratricide.
“Who then?” asked Hangman. I was about to voice my ideas when Nicky interrupted me.
“Perhaps the reason behind the assassination will lead us to the conspirator. We can guess the lord all we want, but unless there is a solid motive, all our suspicions are for naught.” We agreed with him. I went through the possibilities in my head.
“The reason could be rather simple,” I began, waking the others from their similar thoughts, “To put an untried and unknown lycanthrope on the throne of the county. The political possibilities are endless.” I was about to continue when my phone rang. I rolled my eyes and fished the hand-held device out of my pocket.
“Ranger,” I spoke into the phone. Only a few people had this number. All were lycanthropes, and all belonged to the Guild.
“Marcus, this is the Guildmaster,” came the gruff voice of my boss, “Dennis just gave me sealed documents from the Lord-Apparent. Kurt and James will be meeting me at my office to go over the notice that was attached to them.” He sounded strange. A tone I hadn’t heard before from the Guildmaster. It was almost like fear.
“Why call me?” I asked. The others looked at me intently. Then all of their phones began ringing with the arrival of text messages. Nick held his up to me so that I could see the immediate recall notice.
“A general recall notice for all warriors, hunters, and shamans has been issued over the net. I want you at home in case I need you to do something. Where are you anyway?” he asked. I hit the “END” key on the phone, terminating the conversation. It was better if he didn’t know what I was up to. Besides, that way, he could deny everything later. I would just have to deal with him getting pissed off at me hanging up on him. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Care to tell us why we got the recall?” asked Nicky.
“Something from the Lord-Apparent was given to our boss,” I answered, trying to be flippant. Truthfully, I was slightly worried. Sealed orders from the Lord-Apparent were not unusual. They were a way to make sure any plans that the Lord-Apparent had would be set into motion shortly after his coronation. Shortly, as in seconds after he assumed his position. However, what worried me was that the Guildmaster was taking this specific packet so seriously. It was almost as if he knew what was in it, and was afraid of it.
“So, what does that have to do with us?” asked Hangman.
“I don’t know, but there was a general lycanthrope recall on the net. Whoever is manning the board at the Guild must have hit the button when he saw that.” The others looked at me solemnly. I could tell that they saw through the carefree façade I was putting up. So much for image.
“Okay, get back to your homes. Don’t speak of our meeting here to anyone. Not to the Guildmaster, Deadeye, Sneller, anyone. Got it?” I asked. Nicky and Skiff nodded. Hangman hesitated for a moment, but nodded also. I was going to have to work overtime on him to break all those “proper” habits that they had drummed into him at the training ground. We climbed down from the catwalks and rapidly made our way to our vehicles. Outside, Nick stopped me as the other two drove off.
“Do you know what is going on Ranger?” he asked. He must have known that I had held something back. I looked him straight in the eye before answering.
“Whatever the Lord-Apparent sent the Guildmaster, it has him spooked. Need I say more?” I asked. Nick shook his head before donning his helmet. He flipped down the tinted visor and kicked his motorcycle to life. I watched for a moment as he roared away. It became apparent to me, after a moment of self-reflection, that I was scared. Not the normal anxiety that I felt before a job went down, but a heart-wrenching fear of the future. I wasn’t sure what it held for me or my kind, but I was sure that it wasn’t good. I hadn’t even finished the first puzzle and a new one seemed to loom on the horizon.
The next few days passed without incident, so I felt safe enough to take Hangman to the armory. The pup was still using the Beretta that had been given to him at the training camp. Now, I like the Beretta, and I know a few hunters who still use it as their primary sidearm. That said, there is something special in finding that one pistol that you feel most comfortable with. For me, the first time I picked up HK’s USP, knew I had found my weapon of choice. Hangman had been playing with several before he settled down on Colt’s old warhorse, the M1911A1. The model he had purchased was actually one of Kimber’s super-tuned pistols. Not my preference, but Hangman’s face lit up as he picked up the weapon. It wasn’t hard to recognize that look.
I heard someone walking up behind me. I whirled on him, knowing that it was somewhat friendly, otherwise the kin in the store would have already tripped the alarm. I found a very surprised Chris Ringston in front of me. The pack leader was still a little shaken between his brother’s recent demise and the killing of Vollen, but was trying to keep it from his face. He was doing his best, but I could see that he was getting a bit ragged around the edges.
“Hello Ranger,” he said, surprised at my rapid turn. “I’d almost expect to find a gun pointed at me with a turn like that.” He smiled, but it was a tired grin. He was looking for anything to find humor in.
“Afternoon sir,” I said calmly, “What can I do for you?”
“Actually, it is what you can do for a young pup in our custody.” He was referring to the pup that Nick and I had rescued earlier. I nodded for him to continue. “As I’m sure you’re aware of, it is required by custom and tradition to have the lycanthropes that found you stand with you during the Rite of Discovery. I’ve come to formally invite you to the Rite and ask that you fulfil your duties as one of the Discoverers. I know what has happened and that hunters aren’t popular right now with the packs, but I can assure you that the solemnness of the Rite will be observed.”
“What about Nick?” I asked, “He did more for her during that little fight than I did.”
“I’ve already asked him. He said that he would attend if you did. I asked the Guildmaster where you were, and he told me you were here with one of the younger hunters.” He nodded over to Hangman, who was watching the exchange with some interest.
“My new protégée,” I said nonchalantly, “He did well during the assassination and I have hopes for the pup. As to your invitation, I humbly accept your invitation and thank you for your brave commitment to upholding the sanctity of the Rite during these tense times. May the Ancestors have mercy on your line.” It was a formal acceptance that the Guildmaster had drummed into me a few years back. What a surprise, I had actually found a use for it.
Ringston nodded his head in acceptance and left the armory in a flourish. I watched him walk out of the store into a better than average sedan and drive off. Hangman joined me at the counter. “What was that about?” he asked.
“A formal invitation,” I answered, “Now, get your new toy and let’s get over to the Guild. I need to get a hold of Nick and find out what he is doing about something.” I walked out of the store with Hangman trailing behind me.
“I don’t understand,” he said, catching up to me. His car was parked next to my motorcycle, so he threw the box and case into the back of the car as I straddled the big machine. He already had the pistol in a concealed holster on his hip. He was good with his weapon there, but I still preferred mine in the small of the back.
“You’re not supposed to understand Hangman,” I told him, “That is a private matter. If it was relevant to our relationship, I would have told you about it in the shop. Go home and get your gear in order. I’ve got a nasty feeling about what’s going on. If you see Nick, tell him that I’m looking for him.” I started the motorcycle, letting the multi-function displays kick in and light up. Hangman nodded as I put up the kick stand revved the throttle. A quick throw of the gear and I roared out of the parking lot.
Nick wasn’t at the Guild when I got there, and no one knew where he was. I decided to go back to my place and get my gear in order. I was cleaning my weapons when the phone rang. “Smith,” I answered into the receiver.
“What did you want?” asked Nick. He sounded like he had just finished up a workout. Either that, or the Guildmaster had him running an errand.
“Did you want to meet before the Rite and go in together?” I asked into the phone, “Or did you want to just come when you’re ready?” I was a little concerned about the packs at the moment. I trusted Ringston, but I didn’t trust the pack warriors, most of whom were even more suspicious of the hunters than normal. Nick didn’t say anything for a moment as he thought on that.
“Meet you at the armory, say about ten o’clock.” I agreed and hung up the phone. The Rite would be performed that night at midnight. The Rite of Discovery was normally done on the Bone Moon, but with the Rite of the Dead, the ritual was pushed back the required three days. Because we were part of the lycanthropes that found Jennifer Denton, Nick and I would stand up for her at the Rite. It was an unusual part of the lycanthrope beliefs. When a lycanthrope is found, most of what they remember is the dream that is implanted into them by the team and a sudden overpowering urge to go to the cravex upon the Bone Moon. When the pups get there, they are brought into the rite and forced to shed their human form for that of the true lycanthrope. For some of the pups, this is the first time that they do it. For others, like me, it was to affirm that I was a lycanthrope to the packs.
The reason that the lycanthropes who found you are asked to stand up for you, is that they are asked to take responsibility for you while you begin learning the ways of the lycanthropes in tysach. It is a belief that passes on the pack’s sense of unity from one generation to another. To not have anyone stand up for you at Discovery is a great dishonor. I would know, after all. When the pack leader found out that I had no lycanthrope roots, that none of my family was lycanthropes, he took that as a bad omen. I never understood why, but he ordered that none of the pack would stand up for me, not even those who had found me. It was a fact that several of the other pups threw in my face as I went through tysach. Most of them didn’t do it very long, however, after I had taken them to task over it. The shaman who was teaching my group would just sit there and laugh as I tore through the clique of pups that thought they were superior because of their lineage. Because of my own experiences, I knew it would be better for Jennifer if even “disreputable” lycanthropes – like Nick and me – stood up for her rather than just watched.
At about eight o’clock, I replaced the USP in its holster and the magazines in their holders. I took a brief shower and changed into a black jumpsuit. There was no point in getting out one of my suits, since I would be changing into my formal robes when I got to the cravex. Those, my black robes, I neatly packed into a saddle bag that I had for my motorcycle. One of my silver daggers went into a thigh sheath, concealed by a flap of material on the jumpsuit. I placed my pistol in its accustomed small of the back and drove out to meet Nick. I wanted to make sure that we went in together. Any other time, I would fully expect the sanctity of the cravex to be respected, but these were unusual times. Lord Vollen’s assassination was still a fresh pain for the lycanthropes of Hillsborough County, and the lycanthropes of the packs had decided that the Hunters Guild were the ones that failed to protect the lord. Some of that was justified, and it drove the Guild mercilessly in our investigations. I knew the Guildmaster had spent precious time and energy fighting some of the more vocal pack leaders who wanted my hide. He had some help from pack leaders I had worked with, but the old respectful unease that existed between the packs and the Hunters Guild had turned into a grumbling anger with few exceptions.
Nick was waiting for me at the armory when I roared into the parking lot at a quarter of ten. The armory was only a few miles from the land that held the cravex, which was why we chose that spot rather than the Guild itself. Nick was similarly attired in a black jumpsuit, but I could see the grip of his monster revolver on his thigh. The Bowmasters were also outside. Gunny was involved in a conversation with Nick while Boomer was polishing a small folding knife that gleamed with the particular hue of true silver.
“What have you got there?” I asked Boomer as I walked up. His eyes gleamed like a child with a new toy. With another flick of his wrist, the blade unfolded out of the handle and snapped into place.
“It’s a folding knife I’ve been working on,” Boomer explained with untold amounts of enthusiasm in his voice. “I’ve based the folding mechanism and the shape of the blade on Emerson’s CQC-7 model. The grip, however, is a bit stronger, since I reinforced it with titanium and the blade has a bit different bite to it.” He handed over the knife for my inspection. The blade was a tad over four inches long, with a tanto point to the blade. A raised set of ridges towards the folding joint gave it a stronger grip for fighting, and I could feel the improvement on the handle. I checked the locking system. Boomer had kept the original linear lock, but had done away with the ridged locking lever in favor of a smooth one. It seemed to be a nice piece of work, and I liked the idea of a silver blade I could carry in my pocket without a sheath.
“When will you have more of these?” I asked, weighing the balance of the knife in my hand. Boomer did good work, no doubt about it.
“Not sure,” Boomer answered as I handed the folder back to him, “It was just an idea that I had and began fooling with. Gunny’s still a little on edge about the idea. Mostly because Gunny’s a traditionalist when it comes to knife-fighting.”
“Damn right,” Gunny retorted. He and Nick had joined us as Boomer was talking. “A folder like that will close on you at the wrong fucking moment. Hunters should use a fucking straight blade, like the one Ranger’s wearing. There’s nothing wrong with using techniques and tools that are proven.” It was a running argument between the two of them. Boomer was usually on the cutting edge of technology, while Gunny preferred using proven equipment. It really erupted between them when the Glock started being used by the hunters. Some of the older hunters thought that Gunny was going to go into cardiac arrest when Boomer brought the first set into the armory. It really didn’t end until Springfield’s XD finally started filtering into the hunting community. Still, the brothers listened to each other’s arguments and often ended up blending their two styles in the custom jobs that they built for hunters. It sounded odd and arduous, but it worked.
“Ranger,” Gunny said as Boomer put away his folder, “Do you know what is going on with the Guildmaster?”
“Why?” I asked, not really sure what Gunny meant.
“All of us got a recall message, and some of the hunters have been stocking up on their ammunition. In addition to that, Boomer and I’ve been getting a slew of customizing orders. Everyone is getting tense, like they can smell a fight coming.”
“I don’t know Gunny,” I told him, “The Guildmaster hasn’t spoken to me since the night of Vollen’s Rite. Although, I understand what’s happening. I’ve gone through all my stuff, cleaned it, and began looking to see if I need to upgrade any of it.”
“Well, you’ve always been good at keeping your equipment current and in shape. The problem is some of the boys have been pondering a switch in their normal load-outs, and this business is causing a lot of them to ask for the new stuff. Most of which, I don’t have in sellable inventory. What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about trading in my Commando for one of the newer M4’s that Colt has been putting out. Mine is pretty good, but with everything, I was just thinking about upgrading.” Gunny thought about it for a moment.
“No,” he answered, “I don’t think you should need to get a new carbine. Didn’t you just put a new barrel on that Commando?”
“Yeah, just after that little fight in the swamp. And a new bolt assembly also.”
“Then that Commando should be good for a while. Plus, since most of the jobs you do are in urban situations, you need to save those extra four inches of barrel. Nicholas here was thinking about switching from his Smith .44 to a Desert Eagle, but I still think that the revolver’s reliability is worth the loss of a round capacity. Those Smiths are also a lot more rugged than the Eagles.” Nick nodded at that comment. His face showed that he had come to Gunny’s conclusion.
“Is that why you bullied Hangman into getting the Kimber?” I prodded in jest.
“Hell,” Gunny said, drawing himself into his veteran gunslinger caricature, “You young pups keep wanting to make a gun out of plastic. It’s about damned time one of y’all figured out that a gun’s got to be made with metal.” The three of us grinned as Gunny went into a tirade over the lack of respect we had for the venerable Colt 1911A1 and its myriad of successors. It was funny watching him carry on like that, especially considering he was only a few years older than Nick and myself, and the fact that Nick and I could shoot the 1911 better than Gunny. I just never liked the feel of the pistol. It was just a personal thing on my part. When Gunny finished his act, Nick and I bade our farewells and walked back to our waiting motorcycles.
“I thought you didn’t like the Desert Eagle Nick,” I commented to him. Nick wasn’t as much of a traditionalist as Gunny, but he did tend to stay with the proven rather work with newer techniques and equipment.
“The name is Nicholas, Ranger,” Nick replied with his normal amused annoyance at my refusal to use his proper pack name, “I don’t actually dislike the gun, it’s just that I hadn’t really been all that interested in it. My Smith is too reliable, and everything I hear about the Eagle is that it’s too damn finicky. With everything happening so fast, I was wondering if I should switch to an automatic. Faster rate of fire and an extra round of capacity is a lot to consider if combat is imminent. From what I gathered from Gunny, a lot of the hunters are doing the same.”
“‘When the battle nears, a warrior flashes his claws, a mystic proclaims the Ancestors’ will, and the hunter goes out to find the enemy,’” I quoted from one of the sayings of the Guild. Originally, it meant that the lycanthropes were never caught unguarded. Nowadays, however, it meant that while the rest of the lycanthropes beat their chests when a fight seemed imminent, the hunters made sure that they were ready. It originated during the Discovery War that occurred after the Blood Moon following the Great Rite at St. Petersburg.
“Probably,” he remarked, a faint smile on his lips, “What about you?”
“Same way,” I answered, “I helped Hangman get his new sidearm. He was still using the Beretta. It seemed like a good idea to find him a pistol he was really comfortable. If we had time, I would have seen about getting him a carbine, but anything he’ll need in the near future will probably be issued to him by the Bowmasters.”
“Yeah, I saw him before I called you this afternoon,” Nick said. He paused for a moment, “What do you think about him?”
“Young, but definitely a lot of potential,” I answered, “He’s Backstabber’s nephew. I think the Guildmaster thinks Hangman has the potential to be as good as his uncle.” Nick nodded at that remark. I briefly related the conversation between the Guildmaster and myself about Hangman. “What I am afraid of is that Hangman is going to get a trial by fire. I don’t think that we have a lot of time before something bad happens.”
“Your instincts?” Nick asked. I nodded in answer. “Your instincts are probably some of the sharpest that I have ever seen. In fact, I don’t think there has been a hunter with your level of instinctual awareness that hadn’t pretty much surrendered his true nature for that of the wolf.” I thought about what Nick said for a moment. Lycanthropes, as a rule, do not question their existence between the two forms that we can assume. We are neither human, nor are we wolves, but the predator of predators using these forms as camouflage to hunt our prey. However, there are some of the lycanthropes that will take the form of either the human or the wolf and reject their heritage. I personally find this revolting, mostly because it means giving up the completeness of the world that a lycanthrope feels and perceives when in true form. However, when lycanthropes do reject who they are, they gain a better understanding of their chosen form and many of the natural instincts and abilities that we, as lycanthropes, do not have in those forms. Since I began living in the lycanthrope society, I began understanding human society less and less. I could still walk within it without suspicion, but some of the social fascinations completely escaped me.
“I personally think it’s because of what I am,” I told Nick, “I think I’m a Badmoon because I’m not that far removed from whatever created us. I don’t care what the fucking shaman say, I don’t think that the First Ancestor created us. It had to be something else.” Nick gave me a bored look.
“Religion and philosophy were never my forté. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Nick looked up at the stars. “I think it’s time that we got ourselves to the cravex. I don’t know about you, but I would rather be there early enough to get into the Guild’s entre without too much trouble.” I smiled and kicked the Harley to life. Nick did the same for his motorcycle, and the two of us raced out of the lot.
Most of the packs already had some of the members at the cravex by the time Nick and I arrived. Each of the entri had several lycanthropes and usually more than one pup. I could see Ringston and his pack talking together. Jennifer was crouched down with another pup, the two of them chatting away with happy and animated tones. She saw Nick and I park our cycles in the recently added parking lot and got up from her friend to walk over to us. She was wearing formal black robes similar to the ones that Nick and I were putting on over our jumpsuits. The hood of the robes was down and we could see the ponytail of blonde hair bounce as she half-ran to where the two of us were. Nick smiled warmly at her, and I managed a grin also. I didn’t actually have a whole lot of experience dealing with pups since I’d joined the ranks of the hunters, but I knew that she would be looking for familiar faces. Ancestors knew that I had been before my Rite of Discovery.
“How are you doing?” asked Nick, as he climbed off his bike.
“Pretty good,” she answered, with a note of sorrow in her voice. I could tell by her eyes that she was still grieving for her parents, but that would go away soon into tysach. The demands on her time wouldn’t give her enough time to grieve. If it sounded brutal, it was. Our world is brutal, and we have to make sure that our pups can survive the world they will enter. Hopefully the shaman teaching Jennifer will have time to help her if her pain became too much. I saw it during my own tysach. Not my own of course, but Jennifer wasn’t a Badmoon. I stopped my own sulkiness before it could reach my face. I wasn’t here for myself. I was here for the pup.
“Are you two here to stand for me?” she asked. There was a disturbing sentiment behind her words. Nick shot me a quick look out of the corner of his eye before answering.
“Yes,” Nick answered warmly, “It is important for you that we do so.” Nick was much better at keeping his own emotions under control and showing the face that someone needed to see. It made him scary when he was doing close-quarters assassinations. Nick could pretend to be your best friend before putting the silver into you, be it blade or bullets. With the pup, it was more of calming the pup on what is normally a very nervous occasion.
“Oh good,” Jennifer sighed, “Some of the other kids said that hunters couldn’t do what they were supposed to. Mr. Ringston said that you would come, but with everything that was said, I wasn’t sure. The other kids were saying all sorts of things about hunters.” She ran back to where Ringston and his pack were waiting. I looked at Nick with a knowing glance. What was being said was less about us showing the proper respect to the Rites, and more that we had failed in our duty. It was an ominous warning.
We walked over to the Guild’s entre. The Spiritmaster was standing in the Order’s entre with a few shaman. They openly sneered at Nick and me as we stood at our entre. Nick laid a restraining hand on my chest when I started to turn towards them. I wouldn’t have started a fight, but Nick knew how even a verbal confrontation would look to the packs. Jennifer looked confused, but Ringston bent down and whispered something into her ear. Her confusion seemed to melt as Ringston explained why we were not standing with her just yet. I could see several packs being represented. Most of the members were still in human form, but several were in wolf form. None were in true form yet, as the Rite of Discovery dictated. All but the wolves were dressed in the black robes that lycanthropes had worn at formal Rites for centuries.
The maksen looked much brighter than it had at Vollen’s Rite. A line in the dirt circled the maksen, about two yards in radius. The line was sprinkled with wolfsbane and other herbs and incense. This was where the pups would stand during part of the ceremony. The rest of the lycanthropes, except for the shaman, could not enter the circle for any reason. I wasn’t actually sure about the reasons for this, especially when one considered the fact that the last Rite of Discovery I attended was my own. I could have asked Nick, but he was busy watching the various pack leaders mingle and talk. Nick had a streak of political animal in him that I didn’t understand. My idea of politics was usually doing what the Guildmaster told me and beating the crap out of anyone he told me to. What did surprise me is the fact that the aristocracy’s entre remained unoccupied.
Two minutes before the closing of the cravex, or about twelve minutes to midnight, the Lord-Apparent’s eldest sister, Elizabeth Vollen, came into the cravex. She was followed by two grim-faced Red Knights. I didn’t know either of them, but they flashed Nick and me dangerous looks. I almost laughed at their attempt at intimidation, but Nick silenced me with a gesture. He really knew me far too well. Then my mind went into a blank as I focused on Elizabeth Vollen. I didn’t understand it, but it always took me a moment too long to take my eyes away from her every damn time I saw her. I heard Nick quietly snicker and it brought me out of my momentary mental paralysis. Elizabeth Vollen also wore the black robes, but they had a more regal cut to them. They also had an unnatural tendency to show off her extremely feminine figure. Her hood was down, allowing her auburn hair to flow down her back. Her green eyes flashed over Nick and I, alone in the Guild’s entre. We both knew why the rest of the Guild was not there. However, I felt a slight disappointment from her about the absence. As Elizabeth Vollen took her place, the rest of the packs quieted down. It was deathly silent by the time that the Spiritmaster began the Rite.
The Spiritmaster raised his arms above his head. As he did, a bluish-white aura surrounded him. As the aura grew, a strong wind ripped across the cravex. As it came across, I could see the tension and harsh emotion be stripped from the other lycanthropes. I had seen this in action before. The shaman called it the “Calming Wind.” As a serenity passed over all of us, the Spiritmaster stepped forward into the circle around the maksen. When he had positioned himself at the head of the maksen, he began to look at each of the entri. His dark eyes stared into each of the pack leaders’ eyes and he seemed to be weighing each of them with a cold, judging stare. However, that coldness lasted only until he reached the Guild’s entre. As the Spiritmaster looked at Nick and I, the coldness in his eyes went into a white-hot anger. However, it only stayed in the eyes, and an insincere smile graced the old lycanthrope’s lips. He bowed as he turned to face Vollen and her guards.
With a flourish, he turned back to the maksen. As he did, the other
shaman began taking their places on the circle, one in front of each of the packs that had pups for the ceremony. The shaman on the line bowed their heads and the maksen began to glow in the same bluish-white nimbus that had surrounded the Spiritmaster earlier. At first the nimbus was a dim light, but it steadily grew brighter until it lit up the entire cravex. Suddenly, the nimbus vanished as a beam of pure white light shot from the top of the maksen, piercing the dark night sky. It almost seemed there was some form of vortex in the night where the light touched it. As the beam subsided, the Spiritmaster began addressing the cravex in his normal booming voice.
“The Ancestors are now aware that we bring forth the next generation to the Great Pack of the lycanthropes. They will observe the Rite and will show their acceptance of the pups. May the first pack come forth.” Who was selected as first pack was supposed to be the pack with the most senior pack leader. However, the honor was often used as a barter for favors or as a gift. The first pack this time was my former pack before I became a hunter. Michael Twisted Knife still led the pack, but he was much older than I remembered him. His human form still had the average build and height, but his face was lined heavily, and there was more gray than black in his hair. He had avoided looking at me since Nick and I had arrived at the cravex, but now that was impossible. Although the Rite did not demand it, tradition required every pack leader must look each of his fellow pack leaders, including the Guildmaster and the Spiritmaster, in the eyes before he could claim his pups. The aristocracy was never looked in the eye, but the head was bowed to whoever was representing the lord. I’ve never been certain where or why the tradition arose, but it was fun to watch sometimes. This time was different. Twisted Knife looked at each of the pack leaders with his normal friendly look, but that vanished as his eyes fell on me. I was standing in the Guildmaster’s spot in the entre, so he had to look at me. There was no friendliness, only contempt and a slight fear from my presence. I kept a level stare at him until he bowed his head to Elizabeth Vollen.
“I bring before the Ancestors two pups. Both have shed their shells for the true form.” This was another concept of the lycanthrope beliefs. Up until a lycanthrope sheds his form for the first time, he or she is living in a shell. Once you have shed the shell, or had your first change, you are considered a lycanthrope, but not part of the packs. “They are willing to shed in the Ancestors’ light, so that they will show their true nature to the rest of the Great Pack.” The Great Pack was the term that lycanthropes used for all the lycanthropes that were under the rule of the Emperor. It was used in similar fashion as a human speaking in terms of all humanity. As Twisted Knife finished speaking, two young pups came forward into the circle. As they entered the circle, the pack shed their forms for that of the true. The two pups looked slightly unsure of themselves, but they both shed their human forms for that of the true form. The circle and the maksen glowed with the bluish-white light, and Twisted Knife grinned widely.
“The Ancestors have accepted these pups. Who stands for these pups, and asks for their acceptance into the Great Pack?” As the Spiritmaster finished the question, several of the other pack members stood behind the shaman that stood in front of the pack’s entre. The Spiritmaster looked at each of the pack members with a level look, almost as if seeing if each one was worthy to stand for the pups. “I declare that these two pups are worthy for tysach. Only then, may these pups join the Great Pack, and receive their true names. Stand with the Order, pups, for they are the ones that will teach you that which will enable you to truly become one of the Great Pack.” The two pups left the circle and stood in the Order’s entre.
The other packs continued through the same process. Most had two or four pups, some had five, some only one. Pups were becoming scarcer in these times. The high mortality rate in tysach didn’t help the situation – we always lost at least two pups during tysach. There was no other way to integrate these pups in the Great Pack. There were some that argued to lighten the regimen of tysach, but I was firmly against the very notion. To relent would put more pups into the packs, but the survivability of the pups would be far less. Today, even the lycanthropes that have denied their heritage and gone into either the human or wolf worlds, can at the very least, defend themselves against say a vampire or Turaki “peacekeeper” long enough to get help from another lycanthrope. Lessening of the tysach would mean that capability would disappear, and in the long run, cost us more of our race.
Finally, Ringston answered the Spiritmaster. “I bring forth a single pup. She has not shed her shell yet, preferring to let the Ancestors behold it as she does, for the first time.” She wasn’t the first who hadn’t shed their shell before the Rite, but she was the one important to Nick and me. With a slight tap, Ringston moved Jennifer into the circle. She stepped into the circle and looked nervously at Nick and me. Nick nodded reassuringly, much to the Spiritmaster’s disappointment. As she prepared, Nick, me, and Ringston’s pack shed our human forms for that of true. She did as Ringston had taught her. Her body relaxed, and her breathing slowed down noticeably. With a howl that pierced the night, Jennifer shed her human form for that of her true form. She stood much taller, almost seven feet tall, which would increase even more as she matured. The blond hair was gone, replaced by a thick coat of tan fur. I could still see her blue eyes, but they had a different look in them. I recognized it from experience. She had quickly gone past her initial fright of her true form and was now looking at her body in amazement. Quickly, she remembered where she was, and looked back up at the Spiritmaster. He smiled gently at her, reassuring her that she had actually done it. The maksen and the circle beamed the light.
“The Ancestors have accepted the pup. Who stands for this pup, and asks for her acceptance into the Great Pack?” asked the Spiritmaster, in the same voice he had for the other packs. However, everyone could feel the tension level rise. The other lycanthropes, for the most part, knew that Nick and I would be standing for Jennifer. As the other pack members that had been with us when we found Jennifer stood behind the shaman in front of Ringston’s entre, Nick and I moved from the Guild’s entre to join them. The shaman had a look on his face that could have only been called contempt as he watched Nick and I join the others. We took our places silently, keeping our faces neutral to avoid any problems with the Order. I may not have cared a fucking whit about the Order or their feelings about me, but I wanted to avoid any of that falling onto Jennifer as she entered tysach.
The Spiritmaster gave all of us that same level look that he had given all of the other lycanthropes that had stood for the pups. To his credit, he showed none of the contempt that he had shown Nick and me earlier. When he was done studying us, the Spiritmaster said, “I declare this pup is worthy for tysach. Only then may this pup receive her true name and join the Great Pack. Stand with the Order pup, for it is they who will guide you and teach you.” Jennifer looked at the Spiritmaster and walked to the Order’s entre. When she had joined the other pups, Nick and I returned to the Guild’s entre. We stood there in true form as the last two packs presented their pups and had their acceptance into tysach. When the final pup had joined the rest of the pups, the Spiritmaster began to speak to the packs again.
“The pups have proven that they are lycanthropes. However, they do not yet belong to the Great Pack. As such, I command that none may speak of the pups. These pups will learn in tysach, and until their return and Initiation, they will have no identity within this realm.” By this, he meant the county. “Go forth into the night, and know that the next generation has been accepted. Pray to the Ancestors that they will all join us at the Rite of Initiation.” With that, the Spiritmaster motioned for his shamans to usher the pups to the waiting vehicles that would take them to the first of many training places. Most looked confused and afraid, but that was to be expected. However, none of them spoke. That part of the tradition had been drilled into them, much as it had for every generation previously.
None of the lycanthropes in the cravex looked at the pups as they departed. Until the time that the pups would “graduate” from tysach at the Rite of Initiation, the packs would not acknowledge the existence of the pups. The Guild would, but only because it was our operatives that would be enlisted to guard the pups when it seemed necessary. I waited in the entre as the packs dispersed and left the cravex. Ringston invited Nick and me to some sort of reception at his home, but we both declined politely. Truthfully, I did want to attend, as it seemed that Chris was not just inviting us because of protocol. However, Nick and I knew better than to jeopardize the position of a friendly pack leader. He appeared to understand, although he didn’t seem any happier about it than I was, and also left. One of the last to leave was Elizabeth Vollen. She left the aristocracy’s entre and walked over to where Nick and I were standing. My instincts began to roar, but it was not the usual warnings of danger.
“Please convey to Erik that I am most displeased that he did not attend tonight,” she told the two of us, her almond-shaped green eyes flashing, “Although the two of you are a welcome surprise, I had expected at the very least one of his deputies.”
“If you want to get technical, milady, I am one of his deputies,” I replied. Sometimes my mouth shot itself off before I could catch up with it. Particularly if I thought someone was impinging upon the Guild’s honor.
“I know.” With that, she turned sharply and left at a stately pace. The mind paralysis returned in full force and all I could do was watch her as she left until Nick slapped me across the back of the head.
“Careful what you wish for Ranger,” he said in a warning tone. I was about to ask him what he meant by that, but he just began to walk to the motorcycles. Rather than continue the discussion, I followed him and the two of us left the cravex.