Day 2: Evening.
“It’s already 19:31,” Zlata checked the time on her terminal. “We’re going to be late.”
“Relax, they show commercials for the future movies for the first fifteen minutes.” Schalk waved his hand, stepping from the bus, and grabbed Keon and a young soldier by their collars. “Wait a minute, lovebirds. I know you heard it a thousand times, but stay on the main roads, avoid trouble…”
“We will,” Keon promised.
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him safe,” the woman slipped her hand under the blushing Keon’s arm.
Zlata ignored the confusing mating dance of the Normies and stormed through the crowd to the building, accompanied by Arruda. Her whole body itched; the medicine of the Core Lands had done wonders for the skin cancer that had plagued her since she had been shot by a green disintegration ray. She’d been half content with perishing as her organs began to give in; one after another, the throat hurt and it was difficult to swallow food.
Then her friends dominated her and forced the disgraced wolf hag to receive medical help. It was humiliating; the Wolfkins weren’t supposed to get sick, but it saved her life, even if she became dependent on pills and procedures to keep going.
Dressed in heavy military coats, sweaters, and thick pants, the wolf hag ignored the tasty smells emanating from the stalls and headed for the movie theater. It was built according to the structures of the Old Times. Stone pillars supported the triangular roof, stairs of fake marble led to the entrance, and in place of modern light, it had bright projectors illuminating ferocious monsters on the walls.
Houstad boasted a wide array of cinemas, but Arruda and Zlata had been eyeing this particular place since they heard about their “vacation”. This theater didn’t show recently made movies or those from the last days of the Old World; no, its selection of films predated even the first space flight, and movies about cowboys, the Middle Ages, and black-and-white pictures awaited guests interested in the old times of the Old World.
“Two…” Zlata stumbled and glanced at Arruda for help as they stopped before a booth. The woman inside, a young lass in a full-body black-furred costume, squealed and pulled the animal mask from her head.
“Tickets. It’s what you call a permit, right?” Arruda said, tilting her head at the Normie’s strange behavior.
Zlata sensed panic and… shame reeking from the young woman. She could somehow understand the panic; the news kept talking about the brutal fight between Janine and Lacerated One. Since the army had refused to comment, the experts said that the Wolf Tribe had consecrated the base in this way.
Not the worst way to put it. Zlata thought, curious about the reason for the shame.
“S-sure!” the cashier quickly fired the words and pushed the tokens back. “N-no need! The government is paying for you…”
“Cool,” Zlata grinned. Those tasty sausages in bread will be hers on the way back. “So, we just go in?”
“Which seats do we take? Never visited a cinema before,” Arruda explained.
“The staff will show you to your seats.” The woman pressed her palms together. “But are you sure you want to go? The ‘Blood-Curdling Howl Five’ can be... you know... insensitive, offensive, that sort of thing.”
“You’re joking, right?” Zlata smiled. “We waited years for a chance to see a proper horror.”
The two officers were led into a wide hall. Its surface sloped down from the entrance so that every customer could see the wide white screen in its entirety. The sounds of teeth munching popcorn, children laughing, and parents hushing greeted the Wolfkins as they were seated in wide chairs more suited to Orais than to them. Aside from a few curious looks, no one had disturbed them, and they relaxed, listening to advertisements for local restaurants as the movie was about to start.
****
“Is this a horror or a comedy?” Zlata gritted her fangs, checked the brochure, and tried to keep her voice low. “No, don’t growl; you imbecile; bite and chew already, you evolutionary mistake.”
On the screen, a huge gray werewolf crept closer to a small window of the attic where the survivors of the party massacre had gathered, hoping to wait until the sunset. Zlata grabbed her own throat, choking on her own rage, as the idiot creature roared, removing every ounce of advantage gained through stealth.
It smashed through the window, yellow eyes burning, moonlight reflecting off the glass stuck in the matted fur, and dropped Kirk, the muscle-head of the group. Instead of ripping his face off, it roared into his face and then closed its jaws around the teen’s neck, shaking his body in the air as the others screamed, tried to help, or ran. Then it tossed Kirk, still alive, at a girl, sending them both through the thin wall of the attic.
And roared. Zlata grabbed her hair.
“Easy,” Arruda’s steely fingers pressed on Zlata’s wrists, loosening her grip. “It’s a male; what did you expect? Are you rooting for a bad guy?”
“I can’t help it; he’s so pathetic and retarded. Again. Why are you howling, you freak?” Zlata cursed.
“Everyone is retarded in this movie,” Arruda stated, sipping off a soda drink. “Oh, we found bloody bones in the creepy guy’s house. Let’s call him out loud instead of... running away…” she growled, the fur on her back rising as the group of survivors tried to get into a car outside the house. “Flee, dumbasses! There was an engineless car before; it’s self-evident…” A panicked woman hurriedly searched for the keys on the screen and tried to start the car when the beast landed on top of it, crumpling the roof. “… You deserve to die.” Arruda rubbed her nose.
“Even cubs would be more mature.” Zlata leaned back in her chair. “Those actors in the movie. They’re dead, right?”
“Probably.” Arruda shrugged. “It’s been what, over a millennium? Why do you ask?”
“It’s just dawned on me,” Zlata laughed, scratching her chin. “We were filmed entering the city yesterday. Imagine someone pulling up that old video a thousand years from now and seeing us, living, breathing, while we are long decomposed.”
“Morbid,” Arruda said. “It doesn’t bother me. We’ll die doing our duty and living to the fullest. How many can claim the same?”
Zlata shut her mouth, surprised at the statement. Indeed, how many people are blessed with gifts and second chances like hers? She was honored to be born in an era where she could pay the blood price to protect others and bask in the radiance of a living god fighting by her side. Is she afraid of death? No, it couldn’t be so; she had brazenly faced and overcame mortal perils enough times to be sure of her dedication.
Eternity dreaded her, Zlata realized. Surely none of the actors on the screen could have imagined that one day their homelands would be reduced to ashes, that the oceans and lakes where they relaxed would dry up, and that life itself would be in danger of withering away. They, too, were living good lives, bringing emotions to their viewers, and there came a moment when everything anyone had ever done was in danger. Humanity nearly died. Who was to say that somewhere in the impossible, distant future, the Reclamation Army would not be toppled, eroded, or burned? She imagined the walls of the movie theater crumbling, its halls empty of human speech for decades, debris falling from the ceiling…
“Are you werewolves?” A girl’s voice brought Zlata back to the present.
Several kids left their seats and came to the Wolfkin as the group on the screen had reached the police station. The girl who asked the question was accompanied by her father and looked completely normal, aside from having a set of fat, oily, and pale tendrils for legs.
“Don’t lump us in with that junk, little one,” Arruda said.
“We are Wolfkins.” Zlata smiled. “We are like Ice Fangs…”
“Only better,” Arruda interjected.
“And can’t shapeshift,” Zlata finished her words.
“I’ve never seen your kind in the city,” a boy said.
“That’s because we live outside the wall,” Zlata answered, and a flood of questions about the people living outside the Core Lands poured at her. She grinned, waved the personnel away, and began explaining the situation, customs, traditions, settlements, and cultures, as she understood them, to the curious little ones, forgetting all about her fear.
She wasn’t a god, so why worry about the future? It was best to concentrate on living here and now, serving the state honestly and protecting the weak. Soon Arruda joined her, and their explanation continued long after the movie ended.
****
Day 2: Deep Night.
Soulless One put paws behind her head, examining the white disk hiding in the clouds above. Lacerated One sent her and several other shamans to learn more about Houstad, and the shaman spent her time familiarizing herself with an extensive park in the city's south. There were many trees here she had never even seen before, not even on the Net. From firs that decorated the streets during New Year’s celebrations to sturdy oaks, their branches decorated with wooden gazebos. Soulless One snuck into one to meditate in peace.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
It wasn’t easy this time, no matter how hard she tried. Worries clouded her thoughts, selfish worries that focused strictly on herself rather than the betterment of the tribe. The augments buried in her body no longer ticked or clanked; they worked so quietly that she sometimes forgot their existence altogether. Pus no longer covered her eyebrows in the morning; the coughing and cramping had left her; her limbs were elastic; food brought her joy; and, worst of all, she was grateful to Janine.
The shaman clenched her paws. The sanctity of the body was paramount to the Wolfkin, ever since forced copulation had been outlawed as abhorrent and barbaric. No female had the right to order a male or female to change the color of their hair, let alone ravage their souls by breaking their connection to the divine through the insertion of foreign metal. This law was being circumvented all the time, but the knowledge of it didn’t help Soulless One.
Who knows how long she will live now? Days, years, decades, centuries, or worse? A taste of technology was enticing; already Soulless One had the thought of asking Till Ingo and Banshee to improve her further, to give her the ability to feel in the numbed parts of her body, to make her stronger and faster, and… it was Janine’s doing. She saved the shaman’s life; she helped Soulless One to come into this world, but this ultimate breach of trust and the nagging temptation bothered the shaman, denying her the clarity of her earlier vision, where she knew for certain the imminent end of her misfortune.
“Why did you hit him?” Soulless One’s ear perked at hearing little ones going below. It was unusual; the park’s paths were brightly lit, but very few families still walked in this late hour.
“That asshole yelled at me after I accidentally crashed into him on my bicycle. He even kicked it…”
“You crashed into him?” the first voice asked, and there was a sound of struggle. “Come, let’s apologize.”
“I am not going to do this cringe! He’ll come to his senses tomorrow!” The second voice panicked.
“And what if not? Would you like to have one less friend, T?” the first voice inquired.
“Ughm… No,” the second voice admitted. “But it’s kind of dark already. Can I apologize tomorrow, Jay?”
Thank you. Soulless One thanked the Spirits for guidance. They never intervened directly, but there were signs, and this here was exactly it. Friendship. Janine wanted to save her in her own awkward way, not just because of what the shaman represented to the pack, but because of who Soulless One was to Janine. In a way, it was a weakness; the warlords were meant beyond such feelings, but the shaman smiled and jumped down, frightening a pale, fat boy on a bicycle and his taller friend, whose face was covered with freckles.
“You have allies in the night too, little ones.” Soulless One bowed low, showing that she meant no threat. “If you allow me, I will accompany you to ease your souls and then back to your parents.”
“I am not ready!” T, the fatter boy, panicked suddenly, and Jay took him by the shoulder.
“We’re orphans, miss,” Jay said. “It’s not time for us to go to our parents yet,” he finished with a sad smile.
“Then I’ll simply be your guardian for tonight,” Soulless One offered and extended her paws. After some hesitation, they took her by the paw and led her to the playground, telling her about their fight and firing questions about whether it was true that the Wolfkins preferred to eat human flesh.
Soulless One enlightened them to the best of her abilities and waited patiently for T to apologize for his actions toward another boy. There was no chance for life in her womb. But thanks to Janine, there was still strength within her to protect and safeguard the little ones of the world, and to help her kin reach greater heights. And in finding this purpose, Soulless One found contentment and her measure of peace.
The fight was soon forgotten, and the group of little ones surrounded her, loudly urging her to flash her claws and cut something to show how amazingly sharp they were.
****
Day 3: Morning.
“I was expecting more people,” Zero said, glancing out of the cab at the front gate of Ironwill Mansion. “I don’t even see any Wintersongs, Sunblades, Summersprings, or even Voidrunners here.”
Zero smelled of soft violet perfume and put on silver bracelets and necklaces gifted to her by the Twins themselves for this happy occasion. She wore the sleeveless black gown, cut at one side to reveal her elegant leg and the dark purple of the inner side of the gown. There was still a helmet on her head, but she adjusted it to show her snout, hiding her ears and eyes from the curious people.
“It’s politics,” Ashbringer replied, checking the gifts. “Our cousins are weird like that. It isn’t proper for the upper households to grace a lower one without receiving a proper bribe, and the Ironwills are heavily invested in their expansion. Technically, even Bertruda shouldn’t be here, since the Mountaintop household is much larger than the Ironwill, and rumor has it that Tancred isn’t really a sword saint.”
“The rumors lie; I can attest to that, sister,” Zero said.
“Don’t ask, don’t care,” Ashbringer snorted. “Shameful. The girl is shaking, entering another house, and the old fucks play rituals, flaunting their ranks and showing the Ironwills their place.”
“Is that so…” Zero mused.
Ashbringer got drafted by her sister for this wedding invitation. Out of respect for the anxious young one who will marry Tancred, Ashbringer dressed for the occasion, donning the stern business suit she had purchased at the Ironwill boutique. A stern blue tie held up the collar of her auburn shirt, golden pins held up the sleeves to free her paws, and on her legs were comfortable boots. The annoying salesman tried to force her to put on the skirt, but she told him to piss off and took the pants, not seeing what the big deal was. On her head was a simple helmet that hid her hideousness from the eyes.
Then came the trickier part. Every guest attending a sword saint wedding was expected to bring a gift. This, in and of itself, wasn’t that much different from the Wolf Tribe, where the warlords did the same. But the Ice Fangs were an exquisite group, and a simple beer like Zero wanted at first just wouldn’t do. No, they needed a proper gift, and Ashbringer dragged Zero by the ear into a jewelry workshop belonging to Mountaintop after receiving tokens from Lacerated One. The materials for the gifts were found in the trophy rack of the Inevitable. Upon learning of their purpose, the workshop’s owner refused to accept payment and explained that First Sunblade would cover the expenses.
It was satisfactory, and Ashbringer entered the smeltery at night and left in the morning, having fused the golden ore, a bar of platinum, several chunks of silver, and diamonds into two amulets. Zero’s sharpest claws then woven the tapestry onto the metal. Then a thin layer of diamond was placed over the open side of the amulets, forever sealing the drops of blood taken from each warlord inside, and the overlapping metals forming the chains created pleasant-to-the-eye imagery of dancing wolves woven into each link of the chain. Ashbringer truly enjoyed the warmth of the forge and thanked the overjoyed owner for his kindness.
If the Ice Fangs won’t support their family, the Wolf Tribe will. Sure, not every wolf was the same size, and the amulets were rough around the edges, but the named sisters were proud of the results.
They stepped out of the taxi and were greeted by the worried youths of Ironwill, who escorted the two warlords to the mansion. Guests from the city were there, chatting in the gardens and being entertained by performers. Ashbringer hesitated, drawn by the pageantry of the Fireeaters’ crew. They leapt through the rings of fire to the accompaniment of music, stepped into the burning cages, only to be launched from their tops and devouring burning stakes. To an outsider’s eye, they were the masters of the flames, bending them to their will, but the warlord noted how respectable and cautious this family of five was. They never left their members without support; every trick and jump was the product of tireless practice, and she applauded their skill.
Rare dishes, tables of hurrying servants, displays of the latest Ironwills products filled the modest gardens. The household tried its best to portray opulence, but it showed primarily prosperity, and the most interesting people in today’s marriage were the investors. The mayor sent his secretary to represent him; there were no civilian representatives from the larger households present; the guests took their time before bowing to the masters of the house, and Ashbringer got pissed even further when she finally met the newlyweds.
Lord Tancred held himself with dignity, dressed in a black suit, and greeted each guest who stepped under the defense of his house. There was a glint of uncertainty in the eyes of his lady—a young and somewhat fragile Ice Fang in a sky-blue gown, her hair adorned with jewels.
“Welcome!” the lady said, her clear voice trembling as the warlords closed and Ashbringer knelt to reassure her. No wonder she’s worried; in a pack, her family would be at her side, teasing, cheering, and infuriating her to the point where anger would drown out worry. If any of her wretches and buffoons would’ve needed her at their wedding, but didn’t call her thinking for fear of being too low status, she would first explain to them that this is not so, and then she would break their skulls for such idiocy. “Please do not kneel, honored guests. Everyone is equal under the roof of our house today. Guests of your stature bless us with your presence alone.”
“Hard it is not to kneel before the sight of such splendor,” Ashbringer recycled the words she had once heard at First’s wedding. “May the light of your union shine upon Houstad for many years to come. I wish you many healthy offspring and offer these humble gifts to show our sincerity.” She handed the amulet to the woman.
“Yeah, me too.” Zero smiled, giving her gift to Tancred.
Ashbringer straightened up, not listening to the lady’s gasp. She turned around and spread her arms wide.
“Is it fitting that our civilized friends should lag behind mere barbarians? We can see the greatest pearl from afar. What is your excuse, honorable sirs and ladies?” Ashbringer addressed the crowd.
“Hear, hear!” Bertruda replied and hurried to the mansion’s owners, ignoring the intention of being fashionably late. She bowed and presented her gifts, warmly wishing them many years of happiness, and the guests followed her example, dropping their ceremonial indifference and easing the worries of the Ironwills.
The procession entered the mansion, where the sages of the Ironwill household proudly stood ready to complete the ceremony. Ashbringer and Zero found themselves placed in the front row, but where her named sister paid close attention to the sages’ words, Ashbringer’s focus lay elsewhere.
Music! Classical music echoed from the tower of glasses. The soothing song of the harp joined the flow of champagne, the piano sounds reflected off the sages’ armor, and Ashbringer found herself lost, enjoying her passion. She adored the classical music of any kind, but an orchestra was her favorite. It reminded her of home—about the days she returned after the pits straight into Mom’s and Dad’s embraces—of the years when her brothers and sisters were still alive and there was always a shoulder to lean on.
Now she was that shoulder. But even an adult can get weary over ages.
She was so lost that she didn’t even notice Zero standing up during the last part of the ceremony and approaching the Tancred and his lady. At her request, the sages quickly placed a black booth to hide Zero, Tancred, his wife, and Bertruda from the prying eyes of the curious assembly.
That idiot… Ashbringer shook her head when a newborn sun suddenly flashed from behind the booth, coming from Zero’s eyes. The people didn’t see her, but they witnessed Bertruda fall to her knees, a trembling paw pressed to her chest, and murmurs filled the room as Zero spoke casually. She lacked her sister’s grace and eloquence, but her words came from the heart. The strongest warlord wasn’t just offering the newlyweds her best wishes; she was, in a sense, a conduit for the Blessed Mother’s will. Try beating that, Sunblades. Ashbringer grinned and elbowed a nearby Ice Fang.
“The place is getting quiet. Care for a dance?”
“Of course, Sir Ashbringer,” the young man said. “Which ladies shall we ask to be our partners?”
“I’m a woman, you degenerate!”