5
On the day of the next full moon, Terry fit the last rock into his new stone fireplace and moved back into his house. The blustery wind held a promise of snow and he was glad to finally be out of the drafty barn. Clyde had been spending more and more time back at the store, afraid that Debbie’s crankiness would drive his customers away if he didn’t return to the business. They’d enjoyed what Clyde jokingly referred to as a romantic “no-moon”, but life was slowly returning to normal. Terry had never been happier.
They hadn’t spoken again of Terry’s suggestion that he be introduced to the pack, but Terry knew it had been on his lover’s mind. In the tender moments that followed their lovemaking, he would catch Clyde struggling with thoughts that he knew better than to question. The werewolf would come to a decision in his own time, and Terry had waited.
The days were growing shorter and Terry had almost given up on the whole idea when Clyde appeared at the door looking drawn and anxious.
“You should come,” he said shortly. “My pack is my life, and if you want to be a part of it, then you need to meet my brothers.”
Terry didn’t hesitate. He laced his boots, grabbed a jacket, and followed Clyde to the edge of the forest.
“Do you want me to wait here?” he asked tentatively.
“Yes, I think that’d probably be best.”
As Terry waited for the final rays of the sun to disappear, he thought about what he wanted to say to the pack. He hoped that they would listen, and understand how senseless it was to maintain the old enmities. A new generation had come to manhood since the years of the war, and they deserved a chance to make their own way in the world. He was lost in thought when a gray phantom emerged from the woods.
It was the same wolf Terry had seen on the night of the fire. He stood squarely on four paws, staring intently at the warlock. Terry knew it was Clyde, but could still feel a shiver of fear run down his back. Suddenly, the werewolf bounded in the air, landing on a single paw and spinning absurdly before falling gracelessly on his chin.
Terry burst out laughing as his fear dissolved. “Clyde the break-dancing werewolf. You’re going to need to work on those moves buddy,” he said, walking towards the wolf and reaching out a hand to stroke his silky back.
Clyde emitted a low growl and licked the back of Terry’s hand. Together, they moved deeper into the awakening forest.
The pack had gathered at the edge of a stream, far beyond the prying eyes of the human world. A dozen or more timber wolves lay on their bellies at the edge of a loose ring of werewolves, smaller and somehow more vulnerable than their otherworldly companions. In the center of the circle, a massively built werewolf was holding court, emitting a series of low grunts that meant nothing to Terry but was captivating to his pack.
Even from a distance, Terry could see the hair on the Alpha male’s back bristle as he and Clyde approached and without warning, the wolves were suddenly in motion. They surrounded the warlock and crouched on coiled haunches, ready to spring at the first sign of danger.
Clyde emitted a moaning sound, deep within his throat, and there was complete silence in the pack. He followed with a series of rapid clicks and grunts, motioning to Terry, shaking his head and shifting his weight back and forth between his front and hind legs. Terry struggled to conjure an eloquence spell, and slowly Clyde’s arbitrary grunting acquired meaning.
“…he is not what he appears. He is my friend, and a friend to our people. He can forge an alliance with the clans of magic, a bridge to strengthen the peace.”
“You should not have brought him here. This is not a place for men, and a man cannot help us with the troubles of the unseen world.” The Alpha snorted angrily, and the wolves crept a little closer to where Terry stood transfixed.
“You don’t understand,” growled Clyde. “This is not a mere man. He’s a warlock…”
At the sound of the hated word, any hold Clyde had exerted over his brothers was shattered. The Alpha threw back his head and emitted a piercing howl as the wolves leapt towards the warlock.
“Stop,” cried Clyde, placing himself in front of Terry’s helpless body as the first wolf lunged for his underbelly. “He comes in peace. You have to listen.”
But there was to be no more talking as the wolves moved in for the kill. Clyde’s uncle closed his jaws around the back of his nephew’s neck and tossed him roughly to the side. Claws raked the length of Terry’s thigh and he could feel the warm rush of blood as he struggled to stay upright. A second blow opened a gaping wound across his back, and his knees buckled to the ground. Burying his head beneath his arms, he did what he had hoped would not be necessary and cast the limbonic spell upon the wolves who now surrounded him.
Warlocks are born into the ancient arts. Their training teaches them not how to summon their innate powers, but how to control them. The Code restricted the use of certain spells, and limited the ways in which they could be cast. The limbonic spell could only be summoned if there was a risk of imminent death, and to call upon it was to put all within its reach in mortal danger.
The wolves froze, suspended in the shard of time between life and death, where either could claim their immortal souls. Terry knew he didn’t have much time and struggled to get back on his feet.
“I came in peace,” he began “but you have greeted me with violence. This is why our people can never be free of the old ways and long-forgotten feuds. The hatred that ruled our elders is not our own. It is time for change. A change that will only come if our hearts are open and our minds clear of the poison that eats away at out trust.”
Terry looked to where Clyde lay, eyes turned towards his lover in helpless apology and defeat.
“I also came in love,” continued the warlock. “Love for one of your own, a werewolf who saved my life and has brought me to a place filled with hope and promise. I took away his curse, and have been rewarded by his pure and open heart. I honor his bravery, I respect his sacrifice, and I am awed by the fierce and abiding loyalty he holds for you who are his brothers. We ask for acceptance. We have only the promise of a better world to offer in return.”
Clyde’s ears began to twitch and Terry could feel the spell intensifying. Translucent fingers grasped at the fur of the wolf nearest his feet, pulling him towards the underworld. He would have to release the spell or watch as it chose between the living and the dead.
“I will release you now,” he said with conviction, “but you must decide between the blood-soaked legacy of our fathers and a future we can only embrace together.”
The wolves began to move again, disorientated and confused by their surroundings. The ghostly hands disappeared and an eerie calm settled over the clearing.
“Luke,” cried one of the werewolves, “what should we do?”
The Alpha slowly shook his head and stretched to his full height. “We will hold a council, and then we shall decide.”
They talked for so long that Terry feared the coming of morning would halt the council before they could reach a decision on his fate. At first, it appeared that the majority wanted to rip Terry apart, refusing to believe that a warlock could bring anything but destruction to the pack. As the night wore on, however, more thoughtful voices prevailed and Clyde could feel a subtle shifting in the dynamic of the gathering. The Alpha maintained his neutrality so that the lesser pack members could speak, and the younger wolves began to gain a foothold.
The final words were spoken by Heather, the matriarch of the four female timber wolves who ran with the pack. “We have listened to you argue for many hours’” she said softly, “and only have this to add. Love is fleeting for our kind. We hold it close when first it blossoms, and mourn its loss when our brethren move to greener woods. Clyde has found what most of us never glimpse in the blood and combat that marks our daily lives. Let him have his love, a man perhaps more powerful than other men, but no less capable of cherishing the bond they have forged between them.”
They voted then, each wolf casting his stone into the rough circles Luke traced in the sand by the river. By the slimmest of margins, Terry’s impassioned plea for tolerance had won the night.
“Take these,” said Luke, pushing the stones towards Terry’s feet. “Keep them to remember this night and our trust in your words. Remember also how few you hold in your hand, and how many more remain in the second circle.”
As Terry bent to pick up the stones, he barely heard the ragged voice at his ear.
“We will come for you warlock,” an old werewolf muttered. “And we will drive the traitors from our pack.”
Already Terry could see the division he had unwittingly wrought as several of the senior werewolves gathered together to glare at those who had voted for peace. He hoped the fracture would heal with time, and hurried to leave before the shifting began.
Clyde watched as Terry fled the clearing, relief overcoming his uneasy sense of foreboding. As he felt the growing sorrow of his impending shift, he surrendered to the dawn and upon awakening found that he was once more alone.