6
It was during what the poets called the wolf-hours, the deep-dark a couple hours before dawn - the hours when those with heavy hearts woke, and paced, harried by their pasts - that the engines of the boats started. Never in my days had I heard such a sound. I wasn’t sure I didn’t like it, but the roar of them answered the question of why here, why this spot? The beach below was encased by cliffs, and above those cliffs were heavy woods. Even that roar wouldn’t travel far inland. There were signs that a couple of small villages use to be near here, but those had deteriorated down to foundations and plastic bottles long ago. Without those who maintained the buildings, they fell to ruin soon.
Some distance south of here, there once stood a great bridge, called the Golden Gate. After a hundred years it fell to ruin. A couple of the towers are still standing, but they show signs of falling in the future. The feat of building it boggled my mind.
Even in full dark I could see figures on the boats, moving about. The tide was back in, and they had closed up the front doors.
The figures didn’t move like zombies, but I had already come across one who moved just fine, so that didn’t mean they weren’t. The damn wind was still coming in from the east, so I couldn’t catch their scent. Were these more phantoms, like the one I came across earlier or some new kind of zombie? Humans? Raiders perhaps who found ways of using the zombies?
Should I let them leave?
I decided to do so, and to just watch, and learn all I could. Lights came on around the front and back of the water crafts. A large blue one came up from where the engine was located. I’d be able to see that light until the horizon, I was sure. At least, if nothing else, that would give me a direction.
But there were other questions to be answered. Like, what the hell were they using for fuel? Gasoline was a thing of the past. There was no oil and no refinery even if there was. What could they use? Alcohol? I had not heard of such large engines running for long periods on alcohol. But, maybe?
The coast curved here, making the beach a crescent of cliffs. To the north I watched in awe as a much larger ship came into view. Larger, though, might be a gross understatement. It was monstrous. Everyone inside of Myriana’s Keep and her villages could fit on that thing.
As it appeared, the engines of the landers roared even louder, and they left the shore, pulling out into the waves and then turning to meet the monstrous craft.
Jumping down to the beach, and running to the water, I caught the scent of their exhaust, and didn’t recognize it. It was like hell and fire. I became nose burnt and backed away, then sprinted toward higher ground.
Back on the cliff, I looked out across the water, and saw the monster ship use cranes off the side to hoist the smaller vessels up to the deck,
“Goddess,” I whispered. “What in the fuck is this? How in the heavens is it even possible?”
The monstrosity headed out to sea, straight west, pass the horizon after plucking the others out of the ocean. I went down to the beach again, found the trail of those who operated the boats, and backtracked them north. I didn’t have to go far. There were thirty of them. Ten for each boat. They remained together.
After two miles I found where they sat down. There were no other tracks. They left the boats and the others to come north, instead of following south. Obviously they took pains to hide their tracks, likely using the tide or walking through the water. They reached this point, and then sat down. Then they returned, and met the mother-ship? Nothing else?
After searching around for a moment I found packs which smelled of fish inside. All else smelled of zombie. So, they walked here, sat down and ate fish for a couple of days? Then left?
What the hell was going on here? Zombies don’t sit for two days. They don’t stop moving at all. I had never seen one sleep. Sure, at some point they had to, but never in my experience. It felt like finding a group of ants not doing anything for days. Unnatural. Completely fucking unnatural.
I had no answers as I turned away and headed back to the cliff. But I knew for certain that my mind would keep turning so long as it didn’t have an answer. I’d figure this thing out.
*
The sun was rising when I made it back to the cliff area and looked out to sea. The ship was beyond my sight, even from up here. There was nothing out there, except water. Well, Hawaii was supposed to be out there. Islands. Four thousand kilometers away, or something like that. I wasn’t sure, it being a fact that was never important to know, until now.
With the sunrise I looked back over my shoulder; not toward the warming star, but toward her. Myriana. It was useless to think about her. While we don’t age like humans, I was far too old, and by now she would know I wasn’t like her pups.
She possessed strong feelings about duty, which I admired, but by now she had also heard the story, about me being an outcast. Aside from all of that, I would pose a threat to her position.
Discussions about that topic - the age of shifters to be mated with Queens - had gone long into many nights. With Myriana’s mother, and other queens down the coast and into the east as far as the ranges. Now it was clear, to me, and them, that a shifter should be raised with the princess before serving the queen she is to become. We were too powerful, too strong. And many of us, too stupid.
Raiders still roamed. They came, for the most part, from broken realms; realms they broke themselves. Deciding that the realm should be a kingdom, they murdered their queen, and turned on the population with plans of war.
The other realms swelled with the exoduses. Whole villages ran for nearby borders. The nearby queens, enraged and needing the space to feed their new subjects, always joined together and brought the matter to a close. The Kind watched from the distance. Our treaty forbade us to meddle in matters of the realms, just as the realms were not allowed to voice opinions on matters of the Kind.
Kin and Kind shall always be separate, despite the populace of either.
Other than up north, the Kind lived in the mountains and hard lands. It was more to our nature and served us better. We were not farmers. Corn grew damn near anywhere. As did peppers. We were hunters, and our numbers remained low. Our women didn’t get with child often. Some never did. There were hundreds of humans to every one of the Kind; and humans weren’t zombies.
Many of the Kind, in recent years, have been quick to point out that we were stronger, faster, with natural weapons of tooth and claw. They point at the strongest of the humans and at how easy their skin is torn, how long it takes to heal, how weak their eyes are in the dark. These points are all true. Over the generations, the Kind have evolved as well, as if our children learn in the womb our weaknesses and fix them before their birthing.
While these are all valid points, humans adapt and overcome throughout their whole lives. We do not. We are slow to learn new ideas and even slower to make use of them. A human will learn new skills their whole life, and if shown or convinced something is possible, they will achieve amazing leaps in ideas and feats.
Once, I found a library deep in a protected vault. For me this was a treasure and I have kept that treasure - returning to bring out more books several times a year. In one of these volumes I read about a thing called the “Four Minute Mile Barrier.” It fascinated me. Astounded me. After reading about it, I sat dazed, for what could have been hours or even days.
The barrier referenced running a mile in four minutes. In the years before, and during, 1953, it was thought to be impossible to run faster. The human body simply wasn’t capable of achieving that speed. Doctors and scientists of all sorts produced proof of this; how the muscles and body simply could not sustain that speed for that distance. It meant running 24.14 km/h - or in their measurement, 15 mph. Then, on May 6th, 1954 a man broke that barrier. His name was Roger Bannister. Then he, and another man, later that same year, broke it together. The following year, three others broke it, and then more the following year. Within fifty years, breaking the four minute barrier was required to be on a men’s professional running team. From impossible to required, in less than half a century.
Once humans believe, they achieve. That’s their fangs and claws. We would do well to remember that - but we don’t. If we cannot see the claws, we forget they exist.
Again, I looked back toward Myriana’s Keep. I didn’t have answers. I only had more questions.
Going back this soon, even with the description of these new phantoms was useless, I thought to myself as I turned from the sea and began running toward the walls of her Keep.
Iris was always a good reason to go there. A good friend, but also the older sister of Myriana - though Myriana didn’t know this. It was their mother’s wish for her not to know, and for Iris to guide her. Myriana’s mother was wise, and while I didn’t understand her desire, I kept their secret. As far as I knew, only Iris and I knew this information. I discovered it on accident.
Arriving at the main gate, I found the doors open, and a massive wolf shifter facing the courtyard, and reading from a scroll.
Seriously, an actual scroll. Like he was a herald of the old days or something. A play of some sort? A farce? Then I heard what he was saying, and the rage took me.
Here? At Myriana’s gate, you dare!
Hearing this… proclamation? Whatever it was - hearing it was no problem for me. The message was clear enough: For harboring me, the Kind proclaimed any member of the Kind exiled who remained inside Myriana’s realm by sunset, and support for her realm was withdrawn.
There weren’t many Kind in Myriana’s realm. Perhaps a hundred. Living with the Kind communities didn’t settle well with all of us, or all types.
This was not the issue. The issue was, that this proclamation broke the First Agreement of the treaty between the Queens and the Kind. What Myriana did inside her realm was hers to do. No Kind tribe, group or person had anything to say about her choices. Her laws, her wishes, her ways were her own, and the Kind were not to interfere. This proclamation broke that treaty. It was a declaration of war with Queen Myriana. And every Queen who signed the treaty.
Perhaps there was a better way of dealing with this, but I was lost in my animal. My rage rushed me across the clear-cut to the gate. Hands as claws took hold of the Wolf at the gate and tossed him across the clear into the trunk of a tree. A pine. The sound of a crack, the breaking of bone, shivered the air. I cared not if it was his bone or the spine of the tree. My leap after him covered most of the ground. My rush at him had his throat in my hand before he could come off the ground. Then I was dragging him through the woods. Running. Rage roared in my ears as loud as the surf in storm.
He was large, certainly, but a whelp. Barely past the age of choice. Much like Myriana’s men. About the same age as they were. Age mattered with the Kind. As decades passed we hardened, strengthened, became faster, and more aware. Compared to this whelp’s muscle, even after his change, my muscles and skin would be like steel to his flesh.
As I ran, plowing him through the underbrush, I hammered him into a couple of trees. He was in full change now, and yes, he was impressive to look at, but he posed no threat. His claws could not even tear my skin. His teeth could not draw my blood.
In his eyes, I watched his awareness of this grow into shock. He realized, for certain, just how helpless he was in the face of a senior Alpha of the Kind.
I stopped and threw him into a cropping of granite that spiked up from the earth like a monument to chaos in this Eden forest. He hit with his back and shoulders, expelling a loud yelp of pain.
“Who are you?” I demanded in our language. Then I decided I didn’t care, and roared, “Who sent you?!”
He was dazed, and trying to get up, but his body was too abused to respond yet. He was past his limit. Exhausted, he was shifting back to human form. He would be fine in ten minutes or so.
After a reassessment I decided, perhaps whatever healing he managed wouldn’t fully transpire till morning. Then I noticed the mark on his neck.
Grabbing his lower jaw, I lifted his head back and twisted his neck.
Each of the trainers had their own style. The mark was always the same, but the style changed quite a bit between the five teachers. This styling was the same as mine, which meant his teacher was Rarn. Rarn was also my teacher, before I left his house, and the villages of the Kind.
“So the old man has finally lost his mind completely,” I hissed. The words came out clear. If there was anyone else here to hear them, they wouldn’t have been shocked at the trembling of my lips.
I wasn’t sure what was happening.
There were too many dots and not enough lines to connect them. And even if there were, I didn’t want to connect Rarn and the zombies with the same line. Even worse, I didn’t want that connection to end on Myriana.