WOLF'S CULT (The Circle of four)

The storm ripped over the mountains, gushing torrents of rain that struck the ground with the sharp ring of metal on stone. Lightning strikes spat down, angry artillery fire that slammed against the cannon roar of thunder.

There was a gleeful kind of mean in the air, a sizzle of temper and spite that boiled with power.

lt was grief that flashed in his eyes, as bold and as blue as those lighting strikes. And the rage from it spit from his fingerstips, jagged red that split the air with thunderclaps that echoed like a thousand airstrike.

Then, there was a storm in him, as black and vicious as that which bullied its way across the moon, the air and the land. lt whipped inside his blood, outside in the air, battling within and without as he stood on the slickened valley of the Eire mountain.

Rock rang, as the weather went black as the mouth of hell, and still he raged, and still he grieved. The moon turned fell red as blood and sizzled, burning on land, so that air smelled of its boiling.

The Night of Sorrows, it would be called, ever after, and those who dared speak of it spoke of the sorcerer who stood tall on the high cliff of the Eire mountain, with blood running down is face like death's tears as he dared both heaven and hell.

His name was Hunt, from the great family of Anyeraoh, who were said to be descended from Mayra, faerie queen and goddess. His power was great, but still young as he was young.

What he called in that terrible storm was death.

While the moon, the air, the land shrieked, he turned, putting his back to the tumultuous Eire mountain. What he had called stood on the high mountain.

She, for she had been a woman once, smiled.

Her beauty was impossible, unimaginable and cold as winter. Her eyes were black, her lips pink as rose petals, her skin milk white. When she spoke, her voice was music, a siren's who had already called countless men to their early doom.

"You're rash to seek me out. Are you impatient, young Anyeraoh, for my kiss?"

"You are what killed my brother?"

"Death is...." She pushed back her hood. "Complex. You are too young to understand its glories. What I gave him is a gift. Precious and powerful."

"You damn him, You evil."

"Oh, really." She flicked a hand in the air. "Such a small price for eternity. The world is his now, and he takes whatever he wants. He's mine now, more than he was ever yours."

"Evil, his blood is on your hands,"

She laughed very loud.

"Laugh all you wish evil, his blood is on your hands, and by the goddess, l will destroy you."

Again she laughed, like a child promised a particular treat. "On my hands, in my throat. As mine is in his. He is like me now, a child of night and shadow. Will you also seek to destroy your own brother? Your twin?"

The mountain fog boiled black, folded away like silk as she waded through it, towards him. "l smell your power, and your grief, and your angry. Now, on this place, l offer this gift to you. l will make you once more his twin, Hunt of the Anyeraoh's. l will give you the death that is unending life."

His face starts to turn into his alpha wolf, his eyes narrowed, as he stared at her viciously.

"Give me your name."

She glided over the fog now, her red cloak billowing back. He could see the white swell of her breast rounding ripely over the tightly laced bodice of her gown. He felt a terrible arousal even as he scented the stench of her power.

"l have so many," she countered, and touched his arm, with just the tip of her finger. "Do you want to say my name as we join? To taste it on your lips, as l taste you?"

His throat was dry, burning. Her eyes, black and narrow, were drawing him in, drawing him in to down. "I want to know what my brother knows."

Again she laughed, but this time there was a throatiness to it. A hunger that was an werewolves hunger. And those soft black eyes began to rim with red. "Jealous?"

She brushed her lips to his, and they were cold, bitter old. And still, so tempting. His heart began to beat hard and fast in his chest. "l want to see what my brother sees."

He laid his hand on that lovely white breast, and felt nothing stir beneath it. "Give me your name."

She smiled and now the white of her fangs gleamed against the awful night. "lt is Lisa who makes you. lt is Lisa who takes you. The power of your blood will mix with mine, and we will rule this world, and all the other."

She threw back her head, poised to strike. With all of his grief, with all of his rage, Hunt struck at her heart with his left arm, which has turned into an alphas craws.

The sound that ripped from her pierced the night, screamed up through the storm and joined it. lt wasn't human. Here was the demon who had taken his brother, who his her evil behind cold beauty. Who bled, he saw as a stream of blood spilled from the wound, without a heartbeat.

She withdrew, flew back into the air, twisting, shrieking as lightning tore at the sky. The words he needed to say were lost in his horror as she writhed in the air with steam of blood.

"You would dare me!" Her voice gurgled with angry, with pain, with outrage. "You would use your young clouness power, your pitiful magic on me? l have walked this world a thousand years." She threw out her bloody hand.

And when the drops struck Hunt's arm, they sliced like a knife.

"Lisa! Lisa!! You are cast out, Lisa! Lisa!! you are vanquished from this place. By my blood." He used his alhpa wolf's crews, scored his palm. "By the blood of the gods that runs through it, by the power of my birth, l cast you back,"

What came at him seemed to fly across the air, across the ground, and struck with the feral force of fury. Tangled, they crashed over the mountain cliff to the jagged ledge below. Through waves of pain and fear he saw the face of the thing that so closely mirrored his own. The face that had once been his brother's.

Hunt could smell the death on him, and the blood, and could see in those red eyes the evil Luna his brother had become. Still, a small flame of hope flickered in Hunt's heart.

"Dave. please help me stop her. We still have a chance, please."

"Do you feel how strong l am? Dave closed his hand around Hunt's throat and squeezed. "lt's only the beginning." He leaned down, licked blood from Hunt's face, playfully. "She wants you for herself, but I'm hungry. So hungry. And the blood in you is mine, after all."

As he bared his fangs, pressed them to his brother's throat, Hunt thrust his left arm craws into him.

With a howl, Dave reared back. Shock and disbelief and pain and angry rushed over his face. Even as he clutched at the wound, he fell. For an instant, Hunt thought he saw his brother, his real brother. Then there was nothing but the screams of the storm.

Then, he crawled and clawed his way up the Eire mountain cliff. His hands, slippery with blood and sweat, groped for any hold. Lightning illuminated his face, tight with pain, as he inched his way up the great Eire mountain. His neck, where the fangs had scraped, burned like a brand, while clutching at the edge.

lf she waited, he was dead. His power had waned with exhaustion, drained with the ravages of his grief, angry and shock. He had nothing but the his strong powerful left arm crews, still red with him brother's blood.

But when he pulled himself up, when he rolled to his back with the bitter storms, he was alone.

Perhaps it had been enough, perhaps he'd sent the demon back to hell.

Rolling over, he gained his hands, and was viciously ill. The power had gone out of the storm as it had gone out of him. He smelled home, horse and hay, the herbs he'd used for protection, the smoke from the fire he'd left smoldering in the hearth.

As he limped toward his cottage, his breath whistled out, hisses of pain that were lost in the rise of the wind. He knew if the thing that had taken his brother came for him now, he was lost. Every shadow, every shape cast by the storm tossed trees could be his death.

Hunt continued shakily to the small cottage, dragging himself to the door and through.

Inside was warmth, and the rippple from the spells he'd cast before he'd gone to the cliffs. He barred the door, leaving his brother's blood on the wood.

He let his soaked cloak fall, let it lay in a sodden heap on the floor, and had to fight not to join it there. He would mix potions for healing, for strength. And would sit through the night, tending the fire.

He'd done all he could for his parents, his sisters and their families. He had to believe it was enough.

Dave was dead, and what had come back with his face and from had been destroyed. He could not harm them now, but the thing that had made him could.

He would fine something stronger to protect them. And he would fight the demon again. His life, he swore it now, would be dedicated to her destruction. His eyes, stormy black, were glazed with pain, the aches of his body, of his heart, as those demons played inside him.

He hadn't saved his brother. lnstead, he has damned and destroyed him, cast him out and away. He wondered how he had won that terrible victory? Dave had always been physically stronger to him. And what his brother had become was viciously powerful.

He remembered, how they played wenches and sport. Pain rippled up his ribs as he shucked off his tunic. Bruises were already spreading, creeping black over his skin the way grief and guilt crept black over his heart.

He fumbled considerably, cursed violently, in wrapping the bandage over his ribs. Two were broken, he knew, just as he knew the ride back home in the morning would be a study in sheer misery.

He took some potions, then limped to the fire. He added turf so the flames glowed red. Over them he brewed yeah. Then wrapped himself in a blanket to sit, to drink, to brood.

He remembered, how they'd done something foolish together. Once they'd turned the boy who'd pushed their younger sister in the mud into a braying, long eared ass.

He sat back, chilled to his bones despite the simmering turf. He could hear what was left of the storm blowing still, splattering on his roof, wailing through the forest that surrounded his cottage.

But he heard nothing else, not beast, not threat. So was left alone with his memories and regrets.

He should've gone with Dave into the village that evening. Dave would be alive. Surely the demon couldn't have overpowered both of them. Dave would never have gone with her had his brother been by his side. Surely his gift would have allowed him to sense what the creature was, despite her beauty. "What good do they do me? Damn to them all, gods and faeries. He was the light of us, and you've cast him into the dark."

Not in battle, not even with clean blade of magic, but through evil beyond imagination. He waved a hand towards the fire, and in the hearth flames leaped and roared.

Not once in all of his life had he turned from his purpose. Not once had he used his gift for I'll, or touched upon the black arts.

Perhaps now, he thought, he would find the answer in them, Fine his brother again. Fight the Luna, evil against evil.

Perhaps he slept, perhaps he dreamed. But when he came to, the storm had passed. Light seeped into room and grew, bold and bright and white, to sear his eyes. He blinked against it, hissing as his ribs protected when he tried to sit up.

He smelled earth, the smoke from the turf fire that was still shimmering in the hearth.

He could see the shape of her, female, and sensed a staggering beauty. This was no demon come for blood. He got to his knees. Though there was still grief and anger in his voice, he bowed his head.

"My lady."

"Child."

The light seemed to part for her. Her hair was the fiery red of a warrior princess and flowed over her shoulders in silky waves. She wore white robes trimmed in gold as was her right by rank. Her eyes were green as the moss in the forest. Though she was the goddess of moon, goddess of battle, goddess of all Luna in the entire Eire region and beyond.

She was called Mayra,

"You have fought well."

"I have lost. l have lost my brother."

"Have you?" She stepped forward, offered him a hand so he would rise. "You stayed true to your oath, though the temptation was great."

"l might have saved him."

"No." She touched Hunt's face, and he felt the heat of her. "You would have lost him, and yourself. l promise you. You would give your life for his, but you could not give your soul. You have a great gift."

"You could ask anything of me now, Last?"

"A great deal will be asked of you, and of others. There is a battle to be fought, the greatest ever waged. Good against evil. You must gather the forces."

"l am not able, l am not willing, l am tired. l must go see my mother. l must tell her l failed to save her son." He dropped his head in his hands.

"You have not failed. Because you resisted the dark, you are charged to bear this standard, to use the gift you've been given to face and to vanquish that which would destroy worlds."

His head rose at sharp tone, "Lady. l have killed my brother tonight. Even the gods must grieve."

"Your brother was killed by a beast. What fell from the cliff was not your Dave. You must know this. But he..... continues."

Hunt got shakily to his feet. "He lives."

"lt is not life. lt is without breath, without soul, without heart. lt has a name that is not spoken yet in his world. lt is vampyre. lt feeds on blood," she said, moving closer to him. "lt hunts the human, the wolf, take lives, much worse, turns that which it hunts and kills into itself. lt has no face, and must hide from the sun. lt is this you must fight, this and other demons that are gathering. You must meet his force in battle on the feast of Al Salim."

"And how will I fight them? How do I find them? lt was Dave who was the warrior."

"You must leave this place and go to another, and another still. One will come to you and the other you will seek. The warrior, the witch, and the scholar."

"Only four more? Five against an army of werewolves?"

"A circle of five, as strong and true as the arm of a god. When at circle is formed, the five will be my army, the five will make a ring. A month to gather, and one to learn, and one to know. You will teach, and you will learn, and will be greater than the sum of you. The battle comes at Al Salim. You child are my first."

"You would ask me to leave my family, that thing that took my brother may come back for them."

"The thing that took your brother leads the force."

"l wounded her. l gave her pain."

"Yes you did. And this is only another step towards this time and this battle. She bears your mark now, and in time, seek you out."

"Can I fight her now, destroy her now."

"You cannot. She is beyond you at this time, and you, my child, are not ready to face her. Between these times and worlds, her thirst will grow insatiable until only the destruction of all animal and humankind will satisfy it. You will have your revenge." She said as he got to his feet.

"And what of my mother? Of my father, my sisters, their families, everyone else? Without me to protect them, they may die first before this battle you speak of comes to pass."

"lt will come to pass. But they will be beyond it."

She tipped back her head, held her arms up, palms cupped. The ground shook lightly under his feet, and when Hunt looked up, he saw stars shooting through the night sky. Those points of light streamed toward her hands, and there burst into flame. Pain sliced over his palm. He watched the blood well in his, and in hers as the fire burned.

"And so it shall live for all time. Blessed be those who wear Mayra's ring."

The fire died, and in the goddess's hands were crosses of gleaming silver.

"These will protect them. They must wear the cross always, day and night. You will know they are safe when you leave them."

She smiled. "You have been chosen, Hunt. You will leave this place and gather those who are needed. You will prepare and you will learn and you will grow. lf you are victorious, the wolf's pack hierarchies and the worlds in general will balance and you will have all you wish to have."

"How do I fight a vampyre wolf?"

"l have to learn from one of her kind. One she made. One who was yours before she took him. You must first find your brother."

"My brother! Where?"

"Look into the fire, and see."

He was standing in front of the hearth. The flames spiked up, became towers. Became a great city. Thousands of people rushed along streets that were made of some kind of stone.

"What is this place?" He barely to say a word.

"lt is called London, and its time is nearly a thousand years from where we are. Evil still walks the world, as well as good. Your brother has walked the world a long time now."

"l don't understand. ls he a god now?"

"He is vampyre wolf. He must teach you, he must fight by your side. There is no victory without him."

Building of silver and stone taller than any cathedral, he thought. "Will the war be in this London?"

"You will be told when is time. Go to your family and give them this rings. You must leave them quickly, and go to the Dance of the Gods. You will their teach to pass through."

He woke by the fire, the blanket wrapped around him. But he saw it hadn't been a dream. Not with the blood drying on the palm of his hand, and the silver ring lying behind him.

lt was not yet dawn, but he packed his clothes and potions, oatcakes and honey. And the precious rings. He saddled his horse, and then, cast another protective circle around his cottage.

He would come back, he promised himself. As the sun cast its first light, he began the long ride to Norwich, his family home.

ln this journey he was alone, and above battles and orders from gods, he would seek his family first. He traveled north on roads gone to mud from the storm. The wonders of the night played through his mind as he hunched over his horse, favoring his aching ribs.

He passed fields where men worked and cattle grazed in the soft morning sunlight. And lakes that picked up their blue from the late summer sky. He wound through forests where the waterfall thundered and the shadows were the realm of the faerie folk.

As the miles passed, he struggled to straighten on his horse whenever he came to villages. His dignity cost him considerable discomfort until he was forced to take his ease by the side of a river where the water gurgled over rock.

He thought, he had enjoyed this ride from his cottage to his family home, through the fields and the hills. ln solitude, or company of his brother, he had ridden these same roads and paths, he stopped to eat and rest his horse.

Now the sun seared his eyes, and the smell of the earth and grass couldn't reach his deadened senses. Fever sweat slicked his skin, and the angles of his face were keener as he bore down against the unrelenting pain.

Though he had no appetite, he ate part of one of the oatcakes along with more of the medicine he'd packed. Despite the rest, his ribs continued to ache .

He closed his eyes a moment, resting them against the headache that drummed behind them. A witch, he'd been told. He disliked dealing with witches.

Then a scholar, At least he might be useful.

Was the warrior Dave? That was his hope. Dave wielding sword and shield again, fighting alongside him. He could nearly believe he could fulfill the task he'd been given if his brother was with him.

While in his thought, then a voice whispered.

Go back! Go back!! Hunt came to his feet, reaching for his dagger. Nothing moved in the forest but the black wings of a raven that perched in shadows on a rock by the water.

Go back to your books and herbs, Hunt the Alpha Sorcerer. Do you think you can defeat the Greatest Luna of our time, the Queen of the Demons? Go back, go back and live your pitiful life, and she will spare you. Go forward, and she will feast on your flesh and drink of your blood.

"Does she fear to tell me so herself then? And so she should, for l will hunt her through this life and the next if need be. I will avenge my brother. l will cut out her heart and burn it."

You will be screaming, and she will make you her slave for eternity.

"lt's an annoyance you are." Hunt shifted his grip on the dagger. As the raven took wing he flipped it through the air. lt missed, but the flash of fire he shot out with his free hand hit the mark. The raven shrieked, and what dropped to the ground was ashes. ln disgust Hunt looked at the dagger. He'd been close, and would likely have done the job if he hadn't been wounded.

But now he had to go fetch the bloody thing himself. Before he did, he took a handful of salt from his saddle bags, poured it over the ashes of the harbinger. Then he retrieved his dagger.

"Damn you. Slave for all eternity," he muttered. "We'll see about that." he went to his horse and mounted with gritted teeth.

He rode on, hemmed in by green fields, the rise of hills chased by cloud shadows in light soft as down. He dozed, and he dreamed that he was back on the cliffs struggling with Dave.

He woke with a start, and with the pain. His horse had stopped to crop at the grass by the side of the road. There a man in a peaked cap built a wall from a pile of steely gray rock. His beard was pointed, his wrists thick as tree limbs.

"Good day to you, sir, now you're wake." The man touched his cap in salute. "Seems you've traveled far this day."

"Yes, l have." Though he wasn't entirely sure where he was. "l'm to Norwich. What is this place?"

"lt's where you are," the man said cheerfully. "You'll not make your journey's end by nightfall."

"No." Hunt looked down the road that seemed to stretch to forever. "No, not by nightfall."

"There'd be a cabin with a fire going beyond the field, but you've not time to ride here. Not when you've so far yet to go. And time shortens even as we speak. You're weary," the man said with some sympathy.

"Who are you?" Hunt asked, on a low tune.

"Just a signpost on your way. When you come to the second fork, go east. When you hear the river, follow it. There be a holy well near the Bridget's Well, that some now call saint. There you'll rest your aching bones for the night."

Hunt didn't say a word as he continued to listen to the man in a strange way.

The man continued, "There you'll cast your circle, Hunt the Alpha Sorcerer, for they'll come hunting. They only wait for the sun to die. You must be at the well, in your circle, before it does."

Hunt continued looking in disgust, as he wondered who his man was.

"You bear Mayra's Cross. lt's that you'll leave behind with your blood and your faith." The man's eyes were narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed worlds lived in them. "The sun's in the east already."

He wondered and through to himself, what choice did he have? lt all seemed a dream now, boiling in his fever. His brother's death, then the destruction. The thing on the cliffs that called herself Lisa. Had he been visited by the goddess, or was all this a dream?

But he took the east fork, and when he heard the river, turned his horse toward it. Chills shook him now, and the knowledge that the light was fading.

He fell from his horse more than dismounted, and leaned breathlessly against its neck. The wound on his hand broke open and stained the bandage red. Towards the east, the sun was a low ball of dying fire.

The holy well was a low square guarded by the rowan tree. Others who'd come to worship or rest had tied tokens, ribbons, gifts and charms, to the branches.

He knelt to take the small ladle and sip the cool water. He poured drops on the ground for the god, murmured his thanks. He laid a sliver penny on the stone, smearing it with the blood from his wound.

As twilight crept in, he began to cast his circle.

lt was simple magic, one of the first that comes. But his power came now in fitful spurts, and made the task a misery. His own sweat chilled his skin as he struggled with the words, with the thoughts and with the power that seemed a slippery wriggling in his hands.

He heard something stalking in the woods, moving in the deepest shadows. And those shadows thickened as the last rays of sunlight eked through the cover of trees.

They were coming for him, waiting for the that last flicker to die and leave him in the dark. He would die here, alone, leave his entire family unprotected.

"Damn it, if I will." He drew himself up. One chance more, he knew. One. Then he ripped the bandage from his hand, used his own blood to seal the circle.

"Within this ring the light remains. Burning through the night. This magic is clean, fire Kindle, fire rise, rise and burn with power bright."

Flames shimmered in the center of his circle. As it rose, the sun died. And what has been in the shadows leaped out. lt came as a wolf, black belt and bloody eyes. When it flung itself into the air, Hunt pulled his dagger. lt was repelled as the wolf struck the force of the circle.

lt howled, snarled. lts fangs gleamed white as it paced back and forth as if looking for a weakness in the shield.

Another joined it, skulking out of the trees, then another, then another, until Hunt counted five. They lunged together, fell back together. Paced together like soldiers.

His horse reared and screamed, each time they charged. His eyes on the wolves as he laid his hands upon his horse. He soothed, lulling his faithful mare into a trance.

After a while, he took what food he has left, water from the well, mixed more herbs, though the gods knew his self medicating was having no good effect. He huddled in his cloak shivering, and after dousing an oatcake with honey, forced it down. The wolves sat on their haunches, threw back their heads, and as one, howled at the rising moon.

He sat, his sword on one side, dagger on the other. The fire dancing in his eyes until they began to close. As his chin dropped to his chest, he'd never felt so alone.