NINE
Sarah had always had unusual dreams. Ever since she was a child, it was like there was another force speaking to her. At least, that’s the way it seemed to a small eight-year-old girl at the time. As she grew up, and the more she read from the vast library at the Greyback Estate, the more she came to understand her dreams were something more than just flights of fancy.
For the ancient Aborigines of Australia, she learned, dreams were just an extension of the waking reality. There wasn’t really any dissimilarity between the two. When someone in the tribe had a dream about a flood, the whole tribe would up and leave the next morning. For them, the waking and the dream worlds did not exist as separate entities but rather two sides of the same reality.
Later, she read about the early psychotherapists, Freud and Jung. She could, again, see how dreams might manifest themselves as latent desires, sexual or otherwise. But what stood out for her in all her readings was inevitably Jung.
For Jung, there existed, not just in dreams, but in physical reality, a kind of burgeoning system of archetypes; female and male; anima and animus; constantly in competition with one another; but at the same time, infinitely in balance. There was another archetype that she had tried to assimilate into her own life, and one that seemed to fit too well: the Shadow.
Sarah was never sure if she believed in such things as the ‘darkness of the soul.’ And yet, the things she had experienced could not entirely let her disbelieve it, either. Whenever she closed her eyes, in that moment right before sleep, she could see the faces of those who had been lost to her, and those she’d had to kill in turn. Her cousin Caroline who tried to overthrow the Clawgrove and Greyback families out of vengeance; Patrick, the father of her husband, who had died believing in the pursuit of peace; even those enemies who rightfully should not have deserved her sympathy, like the rogue Damon, leader of the outcast Bloodweres, responsible for abducting her precious daughter, Cora.
She shivered and realized she was still in bed. The sheets were warm and she pulled them further up over her naked shoulder, and felt a familiar hand caress her skin. She snuggled closer and Connor’s huge hairy arm nestled over top of her, cupping her breast and holding her tight against him.
Home. It was a sentiment she had not always had and it was something that she had only earned after much suffering. But home existed. It existed in Connor’s arms and in the laughter of her daughter. Beside her she heard him breathing hard. Has it been six years already, she wondered, trying to account for the years that had taken up her life since she had first met him and they’d fallen in love.
“You still awake?” he asked in her ear and she touched his hand and pressed into her chest harder. “Bad dreams again?”
“It’s hard to say. Are dreams bad or good?”
“They can make you feel happy. Or they can make you feel frightened,” he clarified. He had a way of doing that – of seeing through her evasions. She had given up trying to fool him and let out a small sigh.
“I think I’m always afraid of my dreams,” she tried again, “but maybe that sounds egotistical.”
Connor propped himself on his other elbow but kept his arm around her chest. “I don’t think it does at all. I know better than most, how accurate your dreams tend to be.”
He had been with her both times, of course. First, she had dreamt of a tall white cedar, which had ended up being Caroline’s father’s tomb – the last evidence of an old Clawgrove and Greyback conspiracy that had been buried for decades. Then it had been a dream of Patrick, guiding them to the den of the Bloodwere Bears.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said soothingly, and there wasn’t a hint of contempt in his voice. As much as she had grown used to him seeing through every deception of hers, he had in turn grown used to her long absences of speech and of their melancholy deepness only she could enter.
“I know,” she began.
“If you need to talk, I’ll always be here to try and help you figure it out,” he said.
“There was a fountain,” she said softly, and he craned closer to hear, “a tall fountain, made of orange stone. It felt like I’d been there before, but I knew I hadn’t. I could smell salt, like the sea. And then…” she paused, and Connor stopped stroking her arm, “…then it was blood.”
“Blood?”
“Instead of water. Blood in the fountain. Dark and red and gushing and…” she started to quiver and turned away from him, trying to look brave in spite of the feelings the dream had stirred in her. She couldn’t understand it; it was like a physical reaction, something out of her control.
Connor pressed her to his chest tighter until she stopped shaking and slowly turned over in bed, her breasts rubbing across his pectoral muscle, and she was suddenly face to face with him. His hair had grown longer, and he had cut it differently, the top was still shaggy, slick and bear-like, but he had shaved the sides parallel with his ears. She rubbed her fingers over the short bristly hairs and felt a thrill.
His hair had changed, but his face was still the one she loved. Dark eyes stared out, piercing, magnetic. She felt as if she couldn’t look away, and she couldn’t imagine why she’d ever want to.
“It’s just a dream,” he said, trying to reassure her.
“You said my dreams came true,” she countered.
“I think all dreams have truth in them. But it’s not always a literal truth,” he said, “the fountain could mean anything. So could blood. And how do you know it was blood… did you taste it?”
She shook her head.
“Then for all we know, it’s a sign that our wine crop this year will do really well!” he teased, and she had to smile at his boyish charm. Even though he’d grown from a young and reckless adolescent into a solemn and sometimes strict adult man, he still retained a lively exuberance only she witnessed. It made her feel special.
“I hope so,” she said, poking him in the nose, “Otherwise it means we’re fated to watch The Ten Commandments with Cora again.”
Connor groaned. ”I never should have let her watch that. Or gotten me to watch it with her. I can only take so much Charleston Heston,” he said coyly and poked her back.
*
That morning, Sarah played with Cora in the gardens. She had grown into a precocious child, always eager to please, but equally intellectual. She started to read and speak well before her age, and both parents were surprised at how quickly she had picked up words and concepts. Like her mother, she had long black flowing hair that seemed as light as air at times when the wind picked it up, mare-like, and cast it over her shoulders, and sometimes dense as a liquid at night, when it seemed to flow in a perpetual cataract, catching the light of candles or the moon.
Right now, she was playing hide and seek and crouched low behind a blueberry bush just starting to come into its prime. Small white flowers perched at the tips like puckered lips and Cora pulled her thin white cotton dress further over her knees. Like her mother, she insisted on going barefoot everywhere, even after warnings from her father and the other servants at the Estate.
“Found you!” Sarah yelped, pushing her head around a tall clump of ivy that was climbing over a trellis.
Cora yelped back and nearly fell over. Her small round face went through a tumultuous sequence of expressions before finally settling on an uncontrollable smile that melted Sarah’s heart.
“You cheated!” Cora accused.
“I did not,” Sarah protested back.
“Yes you did. You were supposed to count to a hundred. You skipped a whole bunch of numbers,” the toddler exclaimed, pushing out her lips in a pout and putting her hands on her hips.
“You said to count to a hundred. You didn’t say I had to count all of the numbers in between,” Sarah squealed, “you’re it now.”
Cora stuck out her tongue and finally relented and huddled down, covering her head in her dress and started to count upwards. Sarah rubbed the girl’s head and grinned. She had on a small dark blue dress that stopped just short of her knees and was covered in a lily print.
“Hide!” Cora blurted without taking her head out of her knees, and Sarah giggled and tiptoed further into the garden.
She knew that Cora would find her, regardless of how well she did. The two main tribes, the Clawgroves and the Greybacks, had for years been insulated from one another. The bloodlines had gone stale, despite their best efforts. But Cora was the first child between the two clans in centuries, and it showed. It was as if she had gotten the best genes from both families and that included her latent Bear attributes, like scent, hearing and vision.
Still, she wanted to make it difficult for the child and rubbed her arm against a patch of grass growing, hoping to make it a challenge. Although I doubt she’ll fall for the trap, she thought to herself. She could still faintly hear the child counting. She’d reached around fifty – curious and temperamental, but honest. She wouldn’t cheat.
Suddenly she felt a presence behind her and turned.
“Shhh,” she heard a man’s voice say, and recognized Marcus. The older trainer pushed a finger to his lower lip. His grey beard was trimmed neatly, but belied his age, even if his physique didn’t.
“Geezus, Marcus,” she said, half-annoyed but also a little embarrassed her old teacher had managed to sneak up on her.
“Sorry, m’ilady,” he apologized, “I didn’t want to give away your position.”
“You’re better at this than I am,” she said regretfully.
“Again, apologies,” Marcus said, giving a small bow, “but Master Connor needs to see you. It’s very important.”
“What about?”
“I can’t say. Rather, it’d be best if he told you himself.”
She frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that. Marcus was probably the most loyal of all the servants and resident Greybacks. If it was something serious enough to warrant him not telling her, then it meant the other tribes were probably involved.
“Tell him I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said slowly.
“Aye. Oh, and… I think she’s onto you,” Marcus winked back.
She heard him retreat and then the sound of footsteps. She looked through the bushes and saw that Cora was on all fours, sniffing at the grass where she had hoped to mislead her. She probably wouldn’t experience her first transformation for several years, not until she reached puberty. But all the same, she could see that the Bear was alive and well in her blood.
Cora took in a deep breath, cocked her head to the side, and headed toward Sarah’s position. Sarah smiled proudly, and waited to be caught; the little rascal had earned it.
“Found you,” Cora exclaimed, racing around the corner, and Sarah made a mock cry of disbelief and tackled her.
“You did,” she said, wrestling Cora to the ground, who screamed and giggled trying to get away, “guess I’ll have to tickle you for your reward!”
“Stop! I can’t breathe,” she protested, trying to wriggle free.
“A Bear never surrenders!” Sarah exclaimed again.
When they’d finally exhausted themselves Cora leaned her head on Sarah’s stomach and pinched at her dress. They said nothing, and didn’t need to. It was a curious bond, between mother and child, and needed no words or expression or validation. Gently she rubbed the child’s soft head, combing her fingers through the dark locks of hair.
“I’ve gotta go, baby,” she said at last, “Daddy wants to see me. I’ll be back, okay?”
“Next time it’s your turn,” Cora said definitively.
***
Sarah walked briskly into the conference room, a large open atrium with marble pillars lining the side, and an ornate skylight above them. She could see that Connor was already seated at one end of the semi-circular table. There were a few others seated, including Marcus and another envoy she recognized as belonging to the Clawgroves.
Connor had his leather jacket on again, a smooth featureless brown coat that was open down the middle, a rough white shirt underneath hugging his frame. A few of the elders and the Clawgrove envoy frowned when they saw Sarah’s bare feet, dirtied and green from running in the grass; Connor grinned at their reaction.
“The Lady is in the court,” he announced, as if to call respect to her presence.
The others needed no incentive, and stood and gave a bow in unison, which Sarah simply nodded at and took her seat beside Connor. She hissed into his ear.
“What’s this about?”
“Trouble,” Connor said grimly.
“Now that we’re all in session,” one of the elders said, standing up and tapping a small tablet in front of him. In front of the table, a small holographic projection rose from the floor and Sarah marveled at it. Just installed, she realized.
“You may continue,” Connor said.
“As you know,” the elder said, “Ever since the incident with the Bloodweres, we’ve been on high alert. While it is true the union of Clawgrove and Greyback has led to peace on both sides, bringing the tribes closer together… it is also true that other dissident groups have seen this as a problem.”
Sarah chimed in. “While the Clawgroves and Greybacks had enacted a cease-fire for centuries, it wasn’t until Connor and I, that true peace was established. Before that, there had always been a tug-of-war in terms of our political influences. It would make sense that others might view our union as a centralization of power.”
Eloquent as always, Connor marveled. He had a very strategic mind, but some things tended to slip by him, in particular, how all the elements of a situation fit together in a larger puzzle. That was Sarah’s strong suit, the ability to put it all in a gestalt.
“Exactly,” the elder confirmed, “which is why our spies have continually been keeping their ears open for any kind of potential threat or uprising.”
“We don’t want a civil war on our hands,” Connor said, “but more than that, I’d rather have there be no reason for a civil war.”
“Not everyone sees it that way,” the elder shrugged, “which is why we’ve had reports from London that are troubling.”
“London? That’s a bit out of purview,” Sarah objected.
“Politically, yes. However, this does concern the tribes in particular,” he said, and the image on the holographic projection changed. It looked like a Bear in form, but it was different, leaner, and almost lupine in appearance.
“Is that what I think it is?” Sarah stood up.
The elder nodded. “It’s a wolf. At least, in some regard,” he tapped the tablet and another screen came up, a dossier with a picture of a sad looking man in a lab coat. ”This is Ernest Golding. He’s a bio-chemist in London. For a number of years his lab has been working on genetic manipulation… specifically, the introduction of animal genome sequences into human DNA.”
“And it looks like he succeeded,” the Clawgrove envoy spoke up, his mouth turning into a sneer.
“Success would depend on the intent,” the elder observed, “these creatures may have once been human, but they lack the genetic plasticity to return to human form. Meaning, they’re trapped this way. We believe that Dr. Golding has been experimenting on convicts, trying to re-create, in some capacity, what we Bears take for granted.”
“I still don’t see what this has to do with us,” Sarah said again.
“Normally, it wouldn’t. But this thing…” the elder lowered his voice and pointed to the grainy image of the snarling creature on the screen, “could only have been created by sampling the DNA of a theriomorphic organism. Which means, somewhere, somehow, he captured one of us to get the template.”
Sarah sat down and crossed her arms, and Connor leaned forward, his face etched with concern. The elder shut down the holographic screen and an uneasy silence followed. “If someone is doing illegal genetic research using Bear DNA, then it does become our problem. What do we do?”
He turned to Sarah, even though he had an inkling of what she was going to say. She had always been the one to preserve peace but both of them knew the cost that that peace ended up paying, in some way or another. Personally, politically. It was a curse, but a curse they had both vowed to suffer together, if it meant keeping the people they loved safe.
People like Cora.
“It means we need to book a flight to London,” Sarah said miserably, “and I don’t know about you, but I’m not a fan of fish and chips.”
“How about rain?” he grinned.
“I’m not a fan of stereotypes, either.”