Hunts the Spirals

It is a dark night; the heavy snow clouds are trying their best to hide the silvery full moon from sight this evening. Below, in a small Russian village, in a broken house, the wail of an infant of some sorts pierces the night. Inside, Walks like Mist is trying in vein to hush the child. Despite the old and broken outside of the house, she has managed to give the inside a warm and almost homely feel. In the left corner stands the only object still in one piece, a wooden bed, its mattress wet with sweat. Around it lie used towels, some soap and a bucket still half full with warm water. The fireplace, leading to the open hole in the ceiling where the chimney used to be, has a small fire made in it, and a kettle is hanging over it spewing steam. “ Hush, my son, stop your howls, don’t lead them to us, hush now” Walks like Mist softly whispers to the small humanoid form in her cradling hands, it’s black shiny wet fur, minute cat like claws, small horns and his stump short nuzzle giving the infant a horrifying look.

A deep dark voice breaks the constant of whispers and cries in the small room, “I should not worry about the child leading us here anymore bitch, it stopped it’s cries a bit late for that.” Softly Walks like Mist, stops her small steps and turns around slowly towards the door. Cradling and rocking her child in her arms, she faces her septmates, a look of defiance on her face. “You did not really think we believed your ridiculous story about the father, did you?” another, somewhat higher voice says. “I mean, come on, we are not bone gnawers or something, we checked up on you and guess what, that kinfolk mate of yours, Pjotr, died almost 2 years ago, sloppy of you Walks.” Walks like Mist glares at the young man, almost opening her mouth to defend her actions, but apparently deciding against it. Ever since the moment they entered she has been seizing them up, deciding whether or not she can take them. Boris Strikes with Steel, the first to speak and the biggest, only 3 steps away, but he is carrying his trademark steel bar which gives him the advantage of reach., next to him stands Alexander Seeks the Eyes, second to speak, younger than she is herself, but still a good friend once, they were in the same litter as cubs. But he had his rite of passage later than she did and still lives by his ganger ways, a weakling even for an ahroun, she as a galliard might very well succeed in taking him down, if they were alone. Then standing behind the first two, a woman, slender of build and beautiful with her dark hair and eyes, Seeks the Guilty, sister to Strikes with Steel and perhaps even a better tracker than he is. Born under the half moon unlike her ahroun brother. Standing to her side now, the Elder Philodox, Sharptongue. As always, wearing his all black suit, and carrying his jet black walking cane. His sleek black hair combed completely back. And last, blocking the doorway, the Beta himself, Nikita Stands his Ground, dressed in his police uniform, removing his hat so his short receding blond hair shows. All this, she knew, and within seconds after she had put her child on the bed, she had made up her mind and started to shift, dodging Strikes with Steels long bar, and jamming her glabro claws in the torso of Seeks the Eyes, the only one she might have a chance of killing before she herself went down. But only twice could she land a blow before the commanding voice of Stands his Ground draws her attention away, and before she could stop herself, she locks eyes with her beta and stands frozen in terror for his awing presence. From the corner of her eyes, she sees Seeks the Guilty taking care of the heavily wounded Seeks the eyes. Then she sees Strikes with Steel, joy showing on his face, raising his steel bar. “I love you my son” she whispers as the steel bar connects with her skull.

“I hope you didn’t kill her Boris, she has to receive her punishment, merely killing her would be to easy.” the soft sweet voice of his sister reaching Boris. “Of course not sis, I’m not stupid you know” he answers as he kneels down to the now human again body of Walks likes Mist, and checks her heartbeat. “How is Alex doing?” he asks, as he stands up again, satisfied that she is alive, and looks at the bloody mess where Alexander’s stomach used to be. “Yes,” the beta cuts in, “ how is our dear Seeks the Eyes doing?” “ He’ll live, but it’ll leave a nasty scar or two.” Seeks the Guilty answers as she ties a knot in the makeshift bandage. “Serves him right, the weakling.” Sharptongue adds, “why did you bring him anyway Nikita?” he asks as he turns his head towards the beta. “Not that it is any of your business Sharptongue, but I brought him exactly for this. But that’s enough talk for now. Boris, you take Walks, Seeks, you take Alex and Sharptongue, you take the metis. We’re going back.” A look of terror crosses Sharptongue’s face, mixed with confusion. “We’re taking the metis?, why, what fore?” The beta, turning back towards his elder philodox, answers in a low voice as to keep himself from shouting. “ Because, Fostern, I say so. Do you remember who I am? Well do you? I am your beta, I was chosen by Takes Chances, our alpha to be his second in command, and that is why you will do as I tell you to. Do you understand?” Sharptongue, knowing he crossed the line, bows his head in acknowledgement, and picks up the metis child. “And besides,” the beta continues, ”we cannot not kill the damn child, for he hasn’t done anything wrong, yet, besides getting born. His parents, that’s another story. As soon as the bitch tells us who the father is, we will cleanse their souls and give them back to Gaia. Now pick up your charges and follow me.”

Sitting on a big chunk of rotting tree, Mikael, a young cub, is bored. Watch duty sucks, he decides and throws another rock into the deep black lake, shattering the reflection of the trees surrounding him and sending up a flock of birds that had just settled down for the night. How is he suppose to learn anything from this, it all seems so pointless. Runs with Children, his den father, told him he should sit there in homid but try to hear as a wolf and see as one. How the hell was he suppose to do that? And besides, now he is missing the moot he was so looking forward too. Tonight’s the changing of seasons, fall is coming to the doorstep, and Runs with Children told them of how the quieting land is honoured as well as the dead of the past year. There will be much singing and telling of epic stories in the honour of fallen heroes both old and new. And he is going to miss it because of this stupid watc.. “What was that?” Mikael asks himself. Somewhere beyond the lake, he heard something. Or did he. He started to flex his ears and eyes, and then he saw it. At the other side of the lake. Movement. He waited until he could make out who it were, no need to tell the den father someone of thing was coming unless he new exactly who or what is was. He rubbed his ear as the remembered pain shortly returned. No he had learned that lesson, he would wait. It took the group several more minutes to get around the lake and within recognizing range of him. It was Stands his Ground and the group of hunters he assembled to fetch Walks like Mist. But something was wrong, five of them left but he saw only 4 people walking on their own. That was more than enough information to leave his spot for, so Mikael set out on a run to reach the den father.

“For crimes against the shadow lords and the whole garou nation, for breaking the first rule of our litany, the council has decided upon your punishment.” Sharptongue’s clear voice carried over the open field . The half circle of garou formed in front of him silent, awaiting the judgement the philodox council has deemed appropriate for their elder galliard. “For lying about the father of your child for 9 months, for bearing a metis child, the council has decided upon your punishment.” Between the half circle the sept formed up and the line of those with rank on the other side, she stood. Her head bowed in shame, her eyes on the den mother holding her child. Walks like Mist was only half listening to the elder philodox words. “For refusing to give the name of the true father, for keeping another from his rightful punishment, the council has decided upon yours.” That was right, the father, her beloved, she would not, no could not, let him die, who would take care of their son. Walks like Mist looked up when Sharptongue paused, not at him, but at the cairn behind him, and the ancient lightning split oak tree that marked this sept as Grandfather Thunder’s. She looked at these and then back to her son. “In choosing the punishment this council took into account all that Walks like Mist did for this sept and for Gaia.” Now Sharptongue’s words were directed to her alone. “Walks like Mist, kneel, kneel before Gaia and those that speak her words of judgement.” She kneeled, not because she wanted, but because it was the right thing to do, she never wanted to break the rules, they were so careful, but accidents happen. She could not kill her child when she found out, how could she, how could she kill her own flesh and blood. She never meant to affront Gaia. “It is this councils judgement that Walks like Mist will undergo the rite of the hunt. It is this councils judgement that she will be hunted by the chosen packs. May she find Gaia in her death.” As Sharptongue speaks his final words to the sept, a howl breaks loose and the chosen packs prepare themselves. Paint and clay glyphs on their bodies marks them as the chosen hunters. The elder philodox approaches and kneels on one knee next to Walks like Mist. Softly he whispers in her ear. “I suggest you run bitch.”

16 years later (to be continued)