Leaving the Blessed Mother to entertain the crowd, the column reached Southaven Base, an old military outpost from the early days of the conquest. Once large enough to house the three armies, nowadays it barely had enough space for a single one. The crawler opened its main door, and thousands of legs thundered across the landing ramp, bringing out supplies, weapons, armors, exchanging greetings with the Provincial Army’s soldiers, and setting up sentry posts.
“Welcome to Houstad!” A soldier grasped Janine’s paw as she pushed ahead of Martyshkina, her eyes blazing, to secure the finest den for her pack. “You’ve made quite a splash. Schalk Morrow, a humble sergeant at your service, warlord…”
“Janine. No second name.” She returned the handshake. The provincial army guard had skin as dark as coal and lush sideburns, but no mustache. His brown eyes, while keen, betrayed more warmth than Jacomie’s.
“An honor!” The man pressed a fist over his heart. “The songs of your brave battle against Blood Graf…”
“Schalk, you can kiss the warlord’s ass later,” Jacomie snapped, stepping out of the vehicle. There was an undeniable resemblance in their facial features, even though Schalk’s nose had been broken and reforged in the past and his hair was gray compared to the lieutenant’s pitch-black. “Our guests are tired. Help them get stationed.”
“By your will!” Schalk led Janine inside the base. “The structure is basic. The main armory is in the center, but your power armors can be stored in individual storages…”
“Are you and Jacomie related?” Janine interrupted him.
“Hail from the same homeland! Pacified by the Second, no less. The lieutenant was badly injured during it, but she is fully capable.” Schalk glanced around and lowered his voice. “Listen, I know my commander may seem grumpy at times, but she is completely loyal and means well. But she also likes to do things by the book. I don’t know much of how the Third operates, fan of the Second, you understand. If you need to expedite a transfer or take any other action to bypass the official channels, contact me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Sure. Tell me which barracks are the best.” Janine craned her neck, hearing Alpha’s heavy footsteps. “Hurry.”
Thanks to Schalk’s helpful advice, Janine had secured six barracks on the west side of the base, two for herself, one for Marty, and the rest for Predaig and Eled, making them the sole packs that didn’t have to enter another warlord’s territory to travel elsewhere. Alpha and Ashbringer glared and fumed but said nothing, respecting the right of the first pick.
Cristobo oversaw the setting up of the command center and left Dragena in charge before leaving to watch the crawler move to the airport. While the Normies drove tanks to the armory and reignited flares in the maintenance bay, the Alpha Pack restored firing ranges and worked tirelessly to rebuild training grounds. The task of helping the medics settle in fell to Martyshkina.
Janine gave her pack no time to marvel at the night city, and threw her pack into the firing range to sharpen their instincts, which had been dulled by the relaxing field trip. Her pack defeated Onyxia’s girls and immediately found themselves outmatched by Dragena’s troops. Janine grinned at the misfortune and whipped her pack into an ignominious run around the base, leading them as work was in full swing around them and shardguns continued to bark on the range.
Soon evening came, and the first dominations began. Howls pierced the night sky, and warriors faced off against scouts trying to earn promotions. Immediately, the males yielded, and Bogdan secured a spot on a crate, meticulously cleaning the bloody mark a scout had left on his neck. As the woman faced off against Elzada for the rank of chief scout, Janine’s boy began loudly cheering her on, describing her virtues in exaggerated colors. When the annoyed woman got distracted for a second, Elzada immediately elbowed her in the neck, sending her to the ground puking while the chief scout was busy breaking her ribs.
Janine stopped the fight before it could get too far, but said nothing to Bogdan, who counted the tokens he won from his bet. The ability to keep her cool was essential for a scout. If anything, the loser should be grateful to her boy for the lesson.
“Bitches. All of you,” Maxence said. The doctor stepped inside the sand circle and fired a tranquilizer gun into Zlata’s back. The wolf hag fell face down on her opponent, a young scout who left half of her face in Zlata’s claws. At the doctor’s command, his nurses quickly dragged them both away. “A day. Is it so much to ask?”
“Yes,” Alpha answered him. She picked up the man under her arm and carried him away from the field.
Eled and Predaig protected their ranks and spent the rest of the match praising their opponents. Anissa caught a scout on her claws and raised the twitching in agony Wolfkin over her head, basking in the cheers of her pack. Rather than casting the scout down, Anissa gently set her down and patted her, sending the scout to the medic before taking on two more challengers at once. Not far from her, Elzada struggled to stand. Her back was open, and the gleaming and wet bones of her spinal column were visible, but she smiled through the pain and accepted Ignacy’s help. An unconscious wolf hag lay on her legs, her tongue protruding. The mechanical leg kicked a deep dent in the woman’s cranium, squeezing the eye out. It dangled from a string of nerves. Winner and loser were wheeled away to the medical field center, and Janine thought she heard Maxence’s roar in the distance.
Two weeks of recovery, if not more. Janine sorrowfully wished her new scout good health and praised Elzada for her ingenuity in adapting her style so soon.
Normies cheered the victors or gasped at the gruesome wounds inflicted on their champions. Schalk lost a small fortune to Keon, but that didn’t dampen his spirits, and the officer gesticulated wildly, telling the young man tales of the Second’s heroic conquests and occasionally asking about his homeland.
No one challenged Janine, and she, Martyshkina, and Ashbringer sat together. Ashbringer gnashed her fangs as she watched Kalaisa sweep a scout off her feet and slam the woman face down in the dirt. Kalaisa briefly bit her opponent’s neck and stepped away, tauntingly inviting the next challenger.
“What’s wrong with you, Ash?” Martyshkina asked. A fist swung at her muzzle, but Martyshkina’s palms caught it, and an elbow was directed at her neck. “Rude. That’ll leave a bruise. Ash, no one can sneak up on me.”
“Spill the beans, Ashbringer,” Janine said. “You are on edge. If you feel unwell, visit a medic.”
“Tch.” Ashbringer spat on the ground. “Sorry, Marty. Should’ve challenged you first. It happens again. No one challenges me.”
“No one challenges Alpha either,” Martyshkina observed.
“Or us,” Janine added.
“Alpha is too strong, and you are too young,” Ashbringer panted, her claws tapping on her knee. “Arruda is strong enough to try. It’s plain as day. Why is she not challenging me? I haven’t maimed anyone; why am I always singled out? What is there to be afraid of?”
Forty paces away from them, Arruda desperately tried her best to save her skin from being brutally shredded by Sarkeesian’s drills. The rival wolf hag abruptly broke off the fight with her opponent and went after the other woman, spreading her jaws wide and advancing on all four limbs. She tried to bait the smaller Wolfkin into attacking her, deliberately snapping her jaws in the air and exposing herself.
Arruda wasn’t dumb. Her leg kicked, but Sarkeesian’s paws grasped the emptiness as Arruda halted her feint and planted her leg firmly on the ground. She struck with the second leg, sending the Alpha Pack’s wolf hag back on her feet and shutting her mouth. Two thrusts aimed at the neck followed the attack. Sarkeesian swiftly withdrew, avoiding the worst, but the thrusts sliced through her breasts. Her first adversary lunged at her from behind, sinking her fangs into the wolf hag’s neck, and Arruda quickly joined her.
Sarkeesian grabbed the scout’s wrist and pulled the limb into her mouth. The drills sliced through skin and muscle to the bone. The scout loosened her grip on the neck and screamed, trying to jerk her arm free. Sarkeesian showed mercy, sparing the bone. She backhanded the scout away and faced an incoming thrust to her forearm. A brutal elbow slammed Arruda against the chin, shattering two of her fangs.
“Maybe she stays as your second out of respect,” Janine suggested. She rose to her feet and hurried toward the fighters, ignoring the childish antics of the wolf hags. She picked up the mutilated scout as gently as she could and handed the loser to the medics.
“Then she is a fool,” Ashbringer growled upon her return. “You cannot reach greatness without adversity. Failure is the best teacher on the path to strength. If my subordinates lack ambition, then I have failed them.”
“Is Arruda’s potential future really what bothers you?” Martyshkina asked and leaned closer to Ashbringer, examining her snout.
“That is all you will learn,” the warlord stated.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Warlords.” Anji bowed and approached them.
“No one has challenged you?” Janine smiled and slapped at the bench.
“Yep,” Anji pouted. She joined them and began untying and retying her braids. “My warlord disappeared, and everyone is having fun while I am being sidelined. Typical.”
“Don’t let it get you down, girl. Onyxia can’t hide forever,” Martyshkina said. “Oi, Alpha!” She shouted to the alabaster figure overseeing matches. “No competitor, too? Join the Loser Club, not the worst company…”
A wave of fear swept through the group. Janine frowned, reliving the panic of her first litter, the nervousness of her trembling paws, and the intense desire to gnaw at her fingers again. Ashbringer flipped a middle finger to Alpha, while Martyshkina coughed and wiped drool from her lips. Anji handled the tickling best. The young woman closed and opened her eyes, refusing to bulge.
There wasn’t a living soul in the tribe willing to challenge Alpha, and not because of the passive terror that surrounded the warlord. The woman never showed an ounce of restraint. Her claws tore through an opponent mercilessly, opening veins and ripping through bones. The massive bulk of her body slammed an unfortunate soul to the ground, rupturing internal organs by sheer force of impact. When a challenger could no longer move, the Alpha would methodically declaw them, devouring fangs and claws to teach them a lesson.
The Alpha Pack was the strongest unit in the Wolf Tribe, excelling at everything thanks to the iron discipline instilled by such a merciless teacher. But it couldn’t change, because its members couldn’t hope to match their warlord. So as not to deprive the tribe of potential candidates, Alpha occasionally kicked her wolf hags and scouts into the lesser packs, where they inevitably rose through the ranks.
“Why are you irritating her?” Ashbringer asked.
“I like to tickle her nerves. Alpha is our big sister, and it isn’t proper for her to be alone.” Martyshkina stretched. “No idea what their deal is, but everyone should live up a little.”
With howls, blood, infighting, and struggle, the Wolf Tribe has settled into their new den, scenting every inch of the place. Normies diligently reconnected upgraded ancient terminals to the main network and opened kitchens, serving Houstad food to the soldiers. An officers’ club opened its doors, offering the finest beverages from Oaksters’ Vineyards, approved even by the high standards of the Ice Fangs. Schalk, playing the role of welcoming host in the absence of his superior, bought several rounds for each officer, and Janine found the drinks sweet.
Those among the winners of the domination were ‘recruited’ to help the work teams by keeping the toilets clean, and Ashbringer laughed mockingly as the realization of their task settled in Kalaisa’s eyes.
Warm clothing, including winter jackets, arrived at Chak’s request. The Ice Fangs quietly asked the Normies if their cousins had lost their marbles yet. Upon witnessing Anissa joyfully don three turtlenecks and a coat, Janine heard them conclude that the Wolf Tribe had collectively gone insane and needed immediate psychiatric help. She let this insult go unchallenged.
Janine had to physically drag Ignacy away from tinkering with the drones, so the boy could eat, visit Elzada in the infirmary, and sleep a little. After checking on the wounded, Janine cracked her knuckles and marched to the prayer den. The tribe had a problem, just not the one the ice boys were chatting about. Every problem had to be solved.
*****
Janine entered a spacious, dark den that Lacerated One and the shamans had prepared for their spiritual needs. In accordance with the traditions, the electric lights were turned off. Wolfkins used their eyes to orient themselves, and candles burned for the visitors. Five rough idols were erected from the stone, towering over the faithful from a distant wall. Each idol represented one of the great Spirits. The shamans had poured their skill and passion into four of them, giving them the closest resemblance to the Blessed Mother. The idol dedicated to the Spirit of Rage, a horrific creature with its mouth wide open, received the lightest touch and was placed farthest from the entrance.
Two Ice Fangs sat in the dim light of the candles; one was Sword Saint Leonidas, and beside him was a smaller woman who had elegant metallic prosthetics for legs. Leonidas serenely surveyed the surroundings, while the young woman pressed her paws together in a humble prayer to the Spirit of Pride.
Janine remained in the shadows until the two had finished, then nodded in respect to the sword saint, who returned the gesture. As the Ice Fang left, the shamans extinguished the candles and began laying wooden planks on the stone floor, preparing the den for the ritual prayers.
“Can you imagine? They said they believe in the Spirits!” A shaman whispered to Soulless One.
“One treats it as a joke, but another is serious.” Soulless One shook her head, wiping the floor clean. “What could it mean? I’ll pray for revelations.”
“Forgive my intrusion, sisters.” Janine clumsily put her paws together. “May I speak to the supreme shaman?”
“Here, Janine.” Lacerated One said it in an icy tone.
She sat in the far corner of the room, using her fingers to prepare bone idols. Flames embraced the soldiers who died in Just Peachy, and Lacerated One molded their remains like clay, creating toys for cubs or making decorated prayer beads the fallen could watch over the living even from the Great Beyond. Unlike the main idol, she gagged and blinded the Spirit of Rage on every image, safeguarding a faithful from the wrathful reaper’s attention. An open book lay beside her, opened to a page of prayers for well-being and gratitude. The supreme shaman took off her armor and put on rags.
“Excuse me for disturbing you at this late hour.” Janine bowed.
“You visit us so rarely, Janine, that you seem to have forgotten much,” Lacerated One replied in the same indifferent tone. The warlord concluded her relative was still pissed off over the loss of the skinwalker. “It is our duty to listen and counsel. Blessed be, Janine. Be at ease and tell me your concerns.”
“I want to have your support at the next Gathering,” Janine told her bluntly, earning a look for the first time. Gatherings were meetings of the tribe, a time when all violence was forbidden, except for ritual duels. Males and females sat as equals, voicing their ideas for the shamans and warlords to vote on.
In reality, nothing was so simple. While some trifle changes, such as allowing treats for the cubs, happened accidentally, the most important changes went through the shamans first, who outnumbered the warlords by a lot. Alpha also cast her voice in favor of religious leaders, splitting the group even further. A tribe member who wanted to change something had to first pay a visit to Lacerated One, or another high-ranking shaman, and prove the value of their suggestion.
“For whatever cause, pray tell?” Lacerated One inquired.
Janine bared her neck to the shaman’s claws, exposing her vulnerability in order to justify her intentions. Lacerated One did not bite her, but she gave Janine a bone talisman for Marco.
“I’ve met with a Wolf Hag recently. The name’s Kalaisa. A motherless cur, like me...”
“I am aware.” Lacerated One frowned and left a deep cut on her own nostril. “The investigation is concluded, confirming the shaman’s undeniable guilt. Kalaisa’s family is not at fault for their malnourishment. The shaman in charge of the village has already received her name back. Her penance is being discussed. No cub will ever suffer from being ignored there. This was our… my failure,” the supreme shaman corrected herself. “But you don’t need to ask for my support to expose it. Such a situation should never have arisen, not in the days of plenty. Being motherless is a flaw, a sad event, but not a sin, and certainly not something that deserves scorn and neglect. We will come clean to everyone about our grievous wrong.” A bone medallion cracked in the shaman’s paw, and Janine pitied the fool who had watched over Kalaisa’s village. Shamans held themselves to the highest standards, even in punishment.
“I never intended to rub dirt in your faces.” Janine gulped, hating herself. Look at her—not even two hundred years old and already daring to think that she had the right to change the tribe! No wonder her own mother had rejected her. “Warlords should be able to choose individual soldiers for themselves, regardless of kinship ties.” Lacerated One’s face hardened, and Janine hastily continued. “Yes, family is important. Abyss… Forgive the profanity. I know it! But we can’t just shove potential aces into mismatched packs and hope it all works out. That bitch... Kalaisa nearly drove her brother to death, believing that her family is holding her back.”
“She is wrong.” Distraught, Lacerated One swept a paw over her head. “Females are given more, so they are expected to carry more on their shoulders. Duties come before benefits, sister.”
“Of course she is wrong; she is a stupid cub!” Janine inhaled and faced the unblinking eyes. “But you saw her, didn’t you? A potential warlord, brought low by her own hatred. Any sister would’ve snatched her from the pits for her own pack. She should have been in Alpha’s pack. Surrounded by respect, a subject of strict discipline, Kalaisa would’ve never gone astray. Instead, we let her rot under ineffective leadership. It doesn’t help anyone, it solves nothing. Her family has suffered. Are we not all kin? If yes, why should we cling to the outdated tradition, weakening ourselves?”
“Your suggestion could lead to an imbalance in the packs, as the strongest warlords would grow overly strong by depriving the rest of talented recruits.”
“Then let the shamans oversee the situation, having the final say and regulating the distribution as needed, but always ensuring the best growth for the greenhorns,” Janine insisted. “Not every mentor can sharpen a flawed tool into an impeccable blade. It is your duty to ensure that no blade is wasted before it can drink its fill of the Dynast’s enemies.”
“You ask me to share power with the warlords,” Lacerated One mused.
“I demand you to do what is best for the tribe.” Janine bared her fangs. “If this situation happened once, it means it had happened in the past and it will happen in the future. Take the responsibility and act befitting the leader, Lacerated One. Correct the course.”
She expected to meet aggression, a bite, or an assault, but the shaman forged more toys for a good five minutes, ignoring the warlord. Janine shifted her weight, unused to sitting on her legs for so long. She wondered if Lacerated One was expecting something else—a promise of a favor, an oath of loyalty, or maybe a gift of respect? Dammit, this is the last time I ever get involved in the political life of my tribe! I am feeling like a dolt.
“Idiots.” he remembered Terrific’s words as her mother dragged her and Martyshkina by the ear into a voting booth and forced them to read about a ballot measure that would give governors nearly the same authority as military captains. “Politics is always interested in you, and you can’t afford not to respond in kind. Now hurry and vote against it.”
“But I kinda like that suggestion,” Martyshkina argued back then. “Captains can’t possibly know everything that goes on in the settlements.”
“Yep, yep.” Young Janine nodded. “It is logical to let the locals decide on the improvements. I’ll vote in favor of it!”
“Yeah, I’ll vote for it too!”
“Then you are not just idiots; you are full-on brain dead.” Terrific snarled. “Give civilians any authority, and one day they’ll forbid us to eat human flesh! These soft skins are cowards, incapable of seeing…”
Bones and figurines, both finished and unfinished, rained into an iron bucket, rattling and clanking, and Janine returned to the present.
“Janine,” Lacerated One said, “when was the last time we fought each other? To tell the truth, I don’t recall us ever clashing.”
“A perfect occasion to remedy the mistake then, sister.” Janine nodded eagerly, catching on to the game. “You and I, and let the Spirits decide.”
“Indeed, sister, indeed.” The Supreme Shaman smiled amiably. “I challenge you to a domination match. Come, let our blood unite.”