Wolf Magic Page 5

  The wolves nodded approvingly at the plan.

  “Not all in one group,” I said warningly, “we don’t want to give away our plan. Let’s divide into groups of ten – each one can take a different path to one of the secret exits.”

  Gideon stepped forth. “I know one hidden exit,” he said. “I can take you there.” I saw him shoot a look over at Josephine, hoping she would say something to admire his bravery, but she seemed not to notice that he was there.

  “This had better work,” said Josephine, taking my hand and shaking it.

  I felt the weight of the Wolfstone in my pocket and mentally prayed that it would give me strength.

  “It will,” I said, pressing her hand. Gideon shot me an aggrieved look, but I did my best to ignore it.

  “Leave some old pelts in the front room,” said Josephine. “Fool them into tracking the scent – let them think we’re still here.”

  I shuddered. Hoarding the pelts of slain enemies was an old Wolfish custom, but not one I’d ever been able to stomach. Still, a group of five young Wolves headed towards the Great Hall, where the pelts were on display along with other trophies.

  “Let’s go,” said Gideon, taking my hand and leading us down through a secret tunnel that wound beneath the earth before snaking upwards into a forest glen observed by trees. He put a finger to his lips as we all hid behind one of the massive trunks, peering through the leaves.

  We saw the backs of the Minotaurs, heading towards the main entrance of Josephine’s lair. There must have been at least one hundred of them, if not two. Yes, Josephine was right – they were definitely prepared for battle. Armor, swords, the works. But why? And how? Nobody knew about my Wolfstone – I’d made sure of that. How did they know we had it?

  I couldn’t think about that now. I had to focus on the fight. My heart was pounding so loud that I felt sure that the Minotaurs would hear it and seize us. But they headed like a single hulking creature towards the lair.

  Their leader entered.

  His cry of rage split open the night, as he returned from the entry hall, the wolf pelt in his hands.

  “Now!” My voice was not my own. It seemed to come from some part of me I did not know and could not understand – a force beyond my conscious mind.

  Then blood was everywhere. My blood and theirs. We ripped our teeth into their flesh; we tore their throats from their bodies with our bare hands. We gave ourselves over to these paroxysms of violence, allowing bloodlust and anger to carry us away.

  The Minotaurs were stronger than we were; there was no doubt about that. I saw ten Wolves fall in as many seconds – wolves I recognized, wolves I knew. I saw Cat tossed back against a tree branch and crumple; I opened my mouth to call out her name but could only muster a howl.

  But the element of surprise had given us time. A few seconds – just enough time for us to kill ten or twenty of theirs. But it was enough – enough to balance things out.

  We had to keep fighting now. We had to keep it up. We couldn’t give up – not now, not yet. Through the haze of blood I saw one wolf begin to run – the first retreat.

  Instantly I was chasing after him, forgetting the Minotaurs, transforming into a human just long enough to pick him up by the nape of his neck.

  “You fight this battle,” I roared, rage taking over. “Or you die trying…”

  “It’s hopeless…” The Wolf morphed into a human in my hand, shivering with fear. “They’ll kill us all. They’re so much bigger than us.”

  It was harder to look into his human eyes than it was to see him as a Wolf. For a moment, I thought about wavering, about letting him go, rush into the night and his uncertain safety. But I found that I could not bring myself to do it. I had to keep us all together – I knew that as soon as one Wolf deserted, the rest of them would soon follow – a rush of defeat that would make the sacrifices of the dead a vain folly.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “We have our skills – we have our strength. No Wolf wants to die a coward. If you run, I’ll get you before the Minotaurs do, I can promise you that.”

  The look in his eyes haunted me as he morphed back into a wolf, shaking as he ran back into the battlefield

  A howl echoed across the plain, and I turned to see another Wolf pack – one I recognized as affiliated via treaty with Josephine, appearing before me. And then I heard them.

  Horses.

  The galloping that meant the fairies had arrived.

  My heart leapt.

  We were saved.

  Chapter 8

  They were terribly, painfully beautiful. Despite my jealousy of Kian, despite my natural suspicion of the Fey as a people, I couldn’t deny that fairies were among the most beautiful creatures on earth. Similar in size and shape to humans, the Fey nevertheless had something utterly otherworldly about them, something that made them so obviously distinct from their mortal counterparts. A slight difference in the way they moved – in the way they sat so proudly astride their horses. I felt an involuntary twinge of envy as I stared into their bright, gold-flecked eyes. I couldn’t help thinking of Kian, although as far as I could tell the Winter Prince was not among the numbers of those I saw riding towards us. These were the fairies whose beauty had attracted Breena to their world – the people who for centuries had been our overlords, our leaders. We Wolves felt keenly without our blood the shame of the absence of our magic, and seeing the fairies riding in to save us was bittersweet. At once, it was a promise of hope and a bitter reminder that we could not fight this fight alone. I grimaced as I looked up at the fairy knights, trying to swallow down my bitterness. Would there ever be a time when the beauty of the Fey did not remind me of Breena’s swan-like neck, of her bright and soulful eyes, of the piercing gaze of Kian who had taken her from me?

  But I couldn’t think about that right now. I had to forget – forget the pain that welled up like tears in my heart. I could spy Alistair on the horizon, his long golden-red hair glistening in the moonlight, his men at his back. I remembered Alistair as an innocent and naïve young boy, but the youth who approached me now was self-assured; he was confident. He was very much a man of action.

  Immediately the battle exploded into a chaos of bloodlust. The fairies swooped down in graceful, measured gestures, their swords glinting beneath the light of the stars as they made their way into the throats and hearts of the Minotaurs. We had outnumbered them now, that much was certain, and the Fairies were evidently far stronger than they were – far stronger, too, than we were. Golden flashes of light sparked in the distance – the bright light of magic that illuminated the sky and turned it a pale robin’s egg blue, if only for an instant.

  Yes, I thought – magic. That which the Fey possessed – and which we lacked. That thing which set us apart from the Fey who were by our birthright our brothers – that which meant that I would never be good enough for Breena. That we, as Wolves, would never be good enough to dwell in the Fey cities of Summer and Winter, no matter what Breena said. I swallowed hard as I watched the silver and golden bursts of light explode, one after another, as the fairies sent fireball after fireball hurtling into the path of the Minotaurs.

  The Minotaurs were howling, screaming, their bodies broken by the power of Fey magic. Fifty Fey knights were more than a match for the hundred-odd Minotaurs, especially with two hundred Wolves fighting alongside them.

  I scanned the crowd for the sight of her – for my love, for my Breena. My heart leaped as I caught sight of one dark-eyed brunette, her face temporarily obscured from my gaze by her broad sword, raised above her head, but as she turned I saw with a pang that it was not my Breena. I looked around wildly, my whole body aching for her, my mind little more than a blur of hazy images. But she was not there. The hole in my heart – the hole that had been growing ever since the spell broke and she left me all alone – seemed to grow a little wider, and I knew then that I’d rather have a Minotaur’s horn goring straight through my heart than spend another moment in this agony. But I had a job to
do; I had a mission. The Wolves relied on me to lead them – the mysterious man named Connell, who had given me the Wolfstone relied on me, too, to stay strong as their leader. And so I’d have to bear the pain of my loss as bravely as the Wolfish soldiers bore the wounds of their wars.

  At last, as dawn first began to crackle on the horizon, I caught sight of the Minotaur King, marked by the double gold crown he wore set upon his horns, making his way towards us, dropping to his knees and bowing deeply so that his horns touch the ground.

  “Enough!” he bellowed, his ox-like voice echoing across the sky. “We surrender. I do not wish to look upon the deaths of any more of my men.”

  His words surprised me. Something about hearing human sounds coming from the bullish mouth of these creatures felt strange to me – even as I knew we Wolves had the same skill. I wasn’t used to thinking of the Minotaurs as, if not human, then at least people. For a moment I almost felt sorry for the Minotaur King, thinking of the bulls he had lost today. But then I caught sight of our own Wolf corpses, scattered across the battlefield, bleeding into the earth with the red blood that set us apart from our Fairy brethren, and I knew that my sympathies weren’t exactly well-placed.

  Everything had gone still; everyone was looking over at me. It took me a second to figure out why. And then it hit me. I was the leader. It was my job to respond – to decide what to do. Whether I would kill the Minotaur King or show mercy and let him live. Whether I would spare those who surrendered or consign them to the slaughter. Both were valid options, in the cruel world of battle; nobody – least of all Josephine – would object to me slaughtering the lot of them, vengeance for the cubs we had lost. But something soft – almost noble – in the Minotaur’s eyes caused me to hold back. Even the thought of poor Cat, lost to us forever beneath the shadow of that forest pine, though it roused me to terrible anger, could not force me to slaughter this beast who knelt down at my feet, so vulnerable in his fear, his pain.

  He had suffered loss, too. I could not condemn him. I could not kill him. I kept my voice as steady as I could as I strode up to him and looked down at him. “Why are you here?”

  “For my people,” he said, without looking up.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I know what you’re planning.” His voice was calm and he kept staring straight at the ground. “I know what you intend to do with us.”

  “What are you talking about?” I intended no such thing. “We have no designs against the Minotaurs. I have held to my treaty – the Wolves all have kept their word. We are honorable creatures and want only peace with the Minotaur.”

  “Lies!” cried the Minotaur King, his voice beginning to shake with emotion. “I know the truth. My seers had visions – they saw what was to come. What would happen when the magic of the Wolf King was restored? Our territory decimated. Our armies destroyed. Our rivers red with blood. Our horns torn forcibly from our heads. I know that the Wolf Fey will regain their magic – and I, too, know what will happen when they do. I know what powers you hold here.”

  “Powers?” My jaw dropped. Did he mean the Wolfstone? I had spent so long focused on the dangers to the Wolves – on the power that we might regain if only we could fend off invaders – which I hadn’t even stopped to think about what we would do if we got our powers back. Would we turn as cold and proud and warlike as the Fey, whose battles had destroyed so many? Would we give into the worst of our human qualities – becoming willing to destroy for a slice of land, kill for a few acres of new territory? I looked over at Josephine, at her harsh, placid face, and I wondered what magic would do for her. Would it make her stronger – or simply enhance her ruthlessness further?

  It hit me all at once. I had to get out. I had to escape. I had to run. My heart began to pound furiously; my whole body ached with the pain in my heart. My breath grew short; I tasted metal on my tongue. “Go,” I said, my voice hollow. “Take the rest of your men and go home. Do not bother us again or the war will be worse, next time. Do not defy me – get out of here!”

  I saw Josephine looking up at me with surprise. Evidently she had not expected me to show mercy. But there was no taking it back now – what was done was done. I had spared the Minotaur.

  And then I was running – running through the trees, feeling the branches against my skin, desperate to get away, to take the Wolfstone away – away from Josephine’s clan, from the battles, from the war, from the danger I had brought upon the Wolves, this plague I had accidentally brought to their doorstep. I had to run. Whether Josephine got hold of the stone or the Minotaurs or Giants did, the outcome could be only one thing: catastrophe.

  I couldn’t take Josephine with me; I couldn’t trust any of the other Wolves. I had to do this one on my own.

  “Wait!” I heard a voice calling out after me – Josephine’s. “Wait – Logan – where are you going?”

  I ran faster, but I was no match for her speed and agility. Soon Josephine had caught up with me, and was looking at me angrily, standing in human form with her hands on her hips.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” She looked at me with rage on her face. “Just leaving us here?”

  “I know it’s hard to understand,” I said, fumbling for the words. “But it’s complicated. There’s…something I have to do.”

  “Like what?” Josephine didn’t look convinced. “What could be so important that you leave behind your clan once again? Breena?”

  Her name cut like a diamond into my heart. “No,” I said, looking down. “Not Breena. It isn’t that.”

  “What then?”

  “It’s…to do with the magic of the Wolves,” I said, looking down. “I can’t explain – I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. But I think I’m supposed to do something. Something that’s part of my destiny. And I can’t do it here, with you, with the other wolves. It’s something I need to figure out by myself.”

  “The Wolf Magic?” Josephine looked confused. “That old fairy tale?”

  “Trust me, Josephine,” I said. “I’d tell you if I could.”

  After a painfully long pause, she relented, nodding slowly. “You are the Wolf Prince,” she said, her voice wavering. ‘And when your father steps down – as no doubt he will do soon – you will be King. It will be a different world you inherit than your Father. For him, it was easy to cross between the Mortal and Immortal Worlds, to swim across the Crystal River. But it will not be so for us. It is getting harder and harder to cross – this I know. You will be forced to decide which land is your domain. And I…” her voice cracked. “I’ll just have to trust you, I suppose.”

  “You can trust me, Josephine,” I said, taking her hand.

  “Are your loyalties with us, Logan?”

  “You know they are.”

  “Your grandfather was like you,” she said. “Enamored of the Fey. Believing that we could go back to being Fey too, one day. Perhaps he was a wise man. Or perhaps he was a fool, I don’t know. But I do know that I could always trust him. So I’ll have to extend you that same faith. I will take care of your lair while you are gone.” She nodded. “I’m sure you’ve seen how your wolves and mine get along so well.”

  I blushed as I recalled the half-naked men and women cavorting in Josephine’s Great Hall.

  “Yeah, seems like it,” I said.

  “Whatever you’re doing, Logan,” said Josephine. “I sure hope it’s worth it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, avoiding her gaze. “I hope so too.”

  And with that we shook hands and I left her, bounding once more into the night.

  Chapter 9

  I ran for what seemed like days – my body aching with the effort. Sweat stained my fur; I panted, my wolfish tongue lolling out of my muzzle, trying to will away my exhaustion. But at last, as the afternoon sky painted the hills of autumn gold and red, a veil of astonishing beauty that took what little breath remained in my lungs away as awe overtook me. Not even my fear, not even my melancholy, could blind me to the beauty of Feyland. The g
rass and flowers shimmered like gemstones before me; the sky was the crisp, cool blue that not even the deepest ocean can rival for richness.

  As I stopped to take in my surroundings, I noticed that I was parched. I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since the banquet in Josephine’s Great Hall, and now my whole body craved water. My tongue was dry; my mouth was like sandpaper. I scanned the horizon for a river or a stream; in the distance, my eye caught the crystal glint of what looked like a mirror, laid like glass into a nearby hill. I made my way towards it, salivating at the thought of the cold, clear water of Feyland – sweeter than any juice in the mortal world – entering past my lips.

  When I saw the pool of water I all but jumped in headlong, dunking my head underwater, soaking my fur as I drank down refreshing gulps of the delicious nectar, feeling life and energy return to my limbs at last. I howled with joy as I rolled about in the meadow, giving into my wolfish instinct to play and frolic for a few minutes as the water restored my strength and revived my vigor. I rolled over the grass, drying my fur against the sun-warmed patches of the field, and then jumped to my feet, ready to return to my journey thus invigorated.

  And that’s when I saw her. The beautiful image – slightly translucent and yet hauntingly gorgeous – of Breena, reflected in the pool.

  I whirled around, my heart galloping, but to my shock there was nobody there.

  “Breena?” I called softly, and the wind carried my voice into silence. But I heard no answer. “Breena?” I called again, louder this time. Only silence greeted me.

  I turned back to the pool, and my mouth fell open. Breena’s image was still there, reflected as clearly in the waters as if she were standing right next to me. Her loveliness shocked me, even know. A more cynical lover might have thought that after all this time by her side, I’d grow used to her beauty, to the tresses of chestnut hair that fell down her back, to those glorious eyes – whose color seemed to change with the seasons – to that delicate nose and that strong jaw that suggested defiance, power, the bearing of a Queen. But every time I saw her it hit me as if I was seeing her for the first time. Every time I saw her I gave myself over to that love.