Servant of the Moon #1 - unedited draft

Ancient Storm by Adrian von Ziegler

Winter had come late, but it had come harsh.

An early December nor’easter had buried the entire coast and was paralyzing much of the continent. Several feet of wet snow covered the mainland as 40-50 miles per hour winds buffeted the coastlines and reached far inland, creating whiteouts over thousands of squares. Driving was impossible, the ports had closed, and airports had canceled all flights. No one was traveling in the storm of the decade. No one except a large group of warrior wolves traveling under the guise of being rogues. Their target was a pack of less than 300 adult wolves plus their pups on the edge of the continent. The weather had cut them off from their allies, now was the time to destroy them. Years of preparations had led up to this night. They had two objectives; capture a single she-wolf, and kill everyone else.

“Sir, the icebreakers are on schedule and we will land within the hour,“a stocky wolf declared.

The scarred gray-blonde wolf grinned, flashing fang and pointed teeth.“Good, let’s go get my nephew’s mate and end the threat to our rule.”

Two strawberry blonde wolves, a father and son, entered. “I jus’ talked to meh mate. Almost all the Wemyss wolves aire at tha Keep except those in the mountains and those furthest north in tha towns. There be only a few who chose ta ride out tha storm in thay homes, but we can get ye ta ’em when tha weather breaks,” the father announces.

The scarred one nods. “Soon Beta, we will destroy them and you will get your reward.”

“An’ ye promise meh son’s mate will nah be harmed?” Caully demanded.

“You have my word as a wolf and a royal, the Alpha’s daughter will not be harmed.” His black eyes follow them as they bow and leave. He turns to his second, “As soon as we get the she-wolf, kill them both.”

Comhnyall whined as he flopped back on her bed, “Moiraaaah, I can nah leave tha Keep. Tha rogues have been seen near Loch Alva, an’ tha Alpha wants all tha warriors ready in case thay attack again. There’s more thane’er before, nearly 250. All the wolves from Loch Aber to Caledonia’ave been brought to tha keep for safety.”

He had been gone for over a year, with only a few visits home, but every time he came home, Moire made him do something which got him in trouble with his father. Mamó was home from training the new Delphi, who had gone back to the Goddess’ Eye temple in the west, and he hoped life would get back to normal. But his mate was giving him fits.

Moire paced the floor by the bed with her fiery hair floating around her face as she wrung her hands, “But Nyall, Mamó is closer to tha coast and mainland. Iffen thay come, thay’ll find ‘er first. Pleeease Comhnyall, ye jus’ be scoutin’ an’ ’appen ta check on ‘er. Et won’ be yur fault ef I follow ye.”

He made a frustrated sound and sat up, “Oy, No! Moire, yur father will ’ave meh hide, and meh father will ‘have meh bones to chew, an’yur mum. I do nah even wanna think wha’ tha Luna will do ta me if I take ye out inta this storm.”

“Plaaaassseee Comhnyall, I’m scared fur Mamó, pleeeaaaasee,” she pled, her honeyed eyes wide and wet.

He held out his arms and she sat beside him in his embrace, she smelled of sea air and flowers, but mostly of the sunrise that matched her eyes. He had missed her so much. He could feel his wolf nudging him to give in. Their mate was depressed and worried, the urge to comfort her was overwhelming. They didn’t have a true mate bond yet and had not marked each other, but his wolf did not care. Their mate wanted him to do this and the consequences his skin would face did not matter. He looked down at the tattoos on his arm, he was the second youngest warrior in the pack history to receive his first battle and twelve kills marks, second only to his great-grandfather. The youngest warrior in this generation was an honor, but he didn’t know how he felt about being so good at killing. He felt his father call to his mind.

“Moire, I ’ave to go, tha Alpha wants ta talk ta meh. Promise meh ye will nah leave tha keep,” he looked deeply into her eyes. She nodded once and he rose after he pressed a chaste kiss into her forehead, “Ye promised ta stay. I love ye, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Moire was still sitting on the bed, head bowed, when he closed the door. She was going to try to make the run west to Mamó’s, he knew it. He didn’t need the bond to read her mind.

In 2 weeks, would be their 16th birthday, and after, they could be mated on the full moon after the summer solstice. It was a day he looks forward to more than another. He took a deep breath of warm air before going out into the freezing night and walked quickly toward the guard room at the gate. The walls were keeping the worst of the wind out but it was obviously very strong. Beyond the keep walls, he could hear trees breaking and groaning in the tempest.

He paused outside the door, he could hear his father’s voice carrying. “She won’ come. Tha other warriors aire scared of ‘er bein’ an oracle and a healer, and won’ go. ”

The Alpha grumbles, “Fools think Mamó is a witch, et’s a lot of nonsense, et is. But she finds et funny ta watch ’em squirm.”

“Mo Comhnyall will protect ‘er better than any of those dogs, he’s a true warrior wolf, no fear, an’ he respects tha Moon.”

Comhnyall felt himself flush at his father’s praise, embarrassed because he felt he was eavesdropping, he knocked and pushed in the door as the Alpha was speaking.

“Aye Lyall, he’s a good lad, tha pack be blessed ta ‘ave him. He an’ Moire will... Ah Comhnyall, I need ye ta go ta mo máthair chríonna, she refuses ta come ta tha keep an’ while wey believe no wolf will ‘arm’er. I’ll feel better if she has protection an’...”

“I knuw, I knuw, tha others think she be a witch an’ aire too scared ta do their duty,” Comhnyall snarled in contempt.

His father smacked the back of his head, “Mind ye tongue, Comhnyall. They still be warriors an’ yur still eh og cuilean (junior pup).”

“I’ll be 16 in two weeks, father. Can I beat their cowardly arses then?" He asked cockily.

Lyallfr opened his mouth but the Alpha’s laugh cut him off. “He es just as ye were at tha’ age, Lyall. Ye have one jus’ like ye.”

“Aye Alpha, but at least tha one like meh does nah have long red hair, an’ more attitude than all her brothers together,” Lyallfr teased back, and they laugh because all of Moire’s older and younger brothers are brunette like their mother, and none were as alpha and dominate as their middle sister.

The Alpha chuckled. “Ye be true, but et makes meh love her almost as much as ’mo mate.” He looked Comhnyall up and down, “Can ye make et Mamó’s in this tempest, Comhnyall?”

Comhnyall bowed his head, “Aye Alpha, I can fin’ me way ta Mamó‘s blind an’ deaf but...” He hesitated to continue, he didn’t want to get Moire in trouble, but she couldn’t go out in the storm with rogues about.

“What be ye worry, son?” Lyallfr asked slowly.

“Moire es worried sick abou’ Mamó. I made ’er promise not ta leave tha keep, but I worry tha she may go anyway,” Comhnyall explained.

His father nodded knowingly, Moire was just as willful as Merida.

The Alpha let out a growl that shook the room, and outside, even the wind seemed to draw back for a moment, “Do nah worry about ye mate, Comhnyall. Aye’ll talk ta mo nighean (daughter). Go an’ stay weth Mamó an’ wey’ll see ye after tha storm.”

The Master-at-Arms held out a leather carry-sack and Comhnyall stripped quickly, stuffing his kilt, boots, and cloak into it. He dropped into his golden wolf, bowed his head to his father and his Alpha, before closing his teeth on it and running out into the white wind.

Ice had crusted his fur and weighed him down greatly as he approached the end of his run to Mamó’s home. In the bitter wind, deep snow, and white-out, it had taken his wolf almost three times as long as usual. He skirted the southern shore of the Black Water and past the human dam and on to the Hellgate. Tiredly, he finally made the short trek up the hidden Hellgate uillt (stream) and leapt up the easen (waterfall), making his way to the rocky crevasse that held Mamó’s hidden den. He nosed aside the tarp behind the fallen limbs that camouflaged this place. Few wolves knew how to find it and no human had ever set foot on the consecrated earthen floor.

Comhnyall shook himself violently, flinging the crusted ice from his fur before painfully trading it for his skin. His eyes felt frozen in his head as he scrunched up his numb face. He wrapped his kilt around him, tossing on his shirt. Barefoot, he walked to the inset wooden door and scratched respectfully. Mamó did not answer so he entered quietly. He laid his boots by the hearth and added a piece of wood, he did not wish to wake to old shewolf if she was resting. Her yellowed, aged fangs were sharper than his father’s.

He carefully removed a silky cloth pouch from his boot.

“What be in ye hand, m ’ogha (grandson)?” Mamó’s ancient voice startled him and he jumped, cursing to himself. The old shewolf walked quieter than a cat, and he hated cats.

“’tis a gift for Moire on our birthing day. I was ‘oping ye woul’ keep et safe fur meh,” he begged as he held out the pouch to her.

Her gnarled fingers made quick work of the knot and she poured the gold herringbone chain and heart-shaped gemstone pendant into her hand, examining the sunshine colored stone in the firelight, with keen eyes.

“The jeweler said it was called Citrine,” Comhnyall said looking at the way the light shone through it.

“This stone hails from tha far southern mines across tha sea, an’ tha ole country witches say et ’olds tha power ta heal, but I think ye only see yur mate’s eyes when ye look on et,” Mamó responded wisely and Comhnyall blushed. “Ye paid a fair bit for this trinket.” She laid the necklace in his broad hand.

“Aye, Mamó. It cost most of meh warrior’s due from tha Moon’s Gate pack, but et will be worth every bit ta see Moire’s eyes looking at et aroun’ ’er neck.” He smiled at the thought. “When she saw et in tha window, I knew I ’ad to ’ave et fur ’er.”

Mamó patted his arm as he put the treasure back in it’s pouch. She kissed him on the forehead before tucking the pouch on a shelf. Then she made him a bowl of stew and settled him in for the night. She loved him like her own, he was her own because the Moon had given him to her great-great-granddaughter, Moire.

Comhnyall stirred uneasily in his sleep, he was having a nightmare. He was running through fire and snow then he fell into a suffocating darkness. His wolf nudged him awake. He slipped silently to the canvass beyond the door and listened. There were wolves beyond Mamó’s cave. He could smell them, three of them. They were not New Wemyss wolves.

“That damned Beta said the witch lived here somewhere.”

“There is nothing here but trees and rocks. If she’s really a witch, we won’t find her. Come on, let’s go. They will be on them soon, and what is one old she-wolf going to do anyway?”

Comhnyall bared his teeth and prepared to leap out at them, but Mamó’s bony hand restrained him.

Her ancient voice hushed, “Let them go, Comhnyall. I can nah reach anyone et tha Keep. I can feel dark powers et work. Ye must warn the Keep and find tha witch thay brough’ an’ kill ’er.”

“Mamó, I can kill ’em now.” Comhnyall growled.

“Nay, thay be takin’ tha road, hopefully their dogs will wait fur ’em.” Her old amber eyes were ringed with worry lines. “Goddess protect ye, m’ogha.” She wrote a symbol on his forehead in strong smelling oil. “Run Comhnyall, ye can beat ‘em thar. Warn tha Keep, an’ kill their witch.”

“Stay inside Mamó, I will come back fur ye,” Comhnyall promised and shifted.

He gingerly jumped through the snow to not leave a trail and scrambled down the icy waterways. His claws digging into the ice to give him traction as he ran as hard as he could through the near whiteout. He ran harder than he had in his life, not because he was running for his life, but because he was running for Moire’s and the pack’s lives.

Comhnyall took the shortest route to the New Wemyss Keep, and in the winter, the most treacherous. He didn’t care as he threw himself across the frozen lake’s surfaces. He kept trying to reach his father, brother, the Alpha, Moire, anyone... but there was nothing. Just a strange static, like the television when the station had gone off air for the night. He fought his panic and struggled to control the desperation of his wolf.

Suddenly, the ice gave way beneath his large wolf and he plunged into the black depths. His head bumped the ice above it as he struggled to find his way out. The cold water leached his strength away and his breath failed. He felt himself slipping into death, his mind flashed back to his nightmare. The Keep burned to ruins and Moire lying by the north wall, her body frozen to the ground with her own blood as she clutched young Ainsley, who’s throat had been slit.

Surprisingly, the moon shown above him and he could see where he had fallen through the ice. He shifted to his skin and swam as hard as he could. Gasping and grasping the edge of the jagged ice as his lungs expelled the foul liquid. He dragged himself out of the water, then he crawled away from the hole, he was so cold he just wanted to go to sleep.

He looked up at the moon as the clouds sailed past, and She spoke to him in a soft voice, almost like his mother’s voice, ‘Get up, Comhnyall. Get up and run, Moire needs you.’

He rolled onto his hands and knees and painfully traded his frozen skin for his soaking fur. The wind turned for a moment and brought him a strange scent. Something, someone, not a wolf but not quite human, was near. Someone who was burning wolfsbane and blood over rowan wood. His lip curled, the witch was close by.

The blowing snow made his golden, ice-crusted coat invisible in the storm. He saw them but they could not see him. Two wolves in their skin and a cloaked figure stood in a small clearing. The snow stopped swirling around them for a moment and the moon peaked fleetingly through the broken clouds. The storm seemed to be nearing its end.

When the wind returned, he stalked out of the trees and took the closest wolf by the throat, dragging him into the brush. He stalked the edge of the clearing as the other called for his companion. The witch, swinging her censer and chanting, did not notice. Comhnyall jump the other just as he turned, he did not make it half way through his shift before Comhnyall’s jaws severed his head from his body. He turned to face the witch head on. She had stopped singing, her hood’s shadow hid her features from even his wolf’s eyes.

Her voice had a strange lilt as she spoke, “Ahh, mon petit loup, tu appartiens à la lune. Tu viens juste pour sauver ton amant. Fuyez. CE FEU CONSOMME TOUT! (Ahh my little wolf, you belong to the moon. You come just to save your lover. Run away. THIS FIRE CONSUMES EVERYTHING.)”

He leapt at her, the place where Mamó had written in oil on his head burned warm, but it did not hurt. The witch gasped in surprise as he fell upon her. His claws tearing into her flesh as they landed in the snow. Her hood fell back to reveal a girl no older than Moire. Her skin, hair, and eyes were so pale, they appeared to be false, as if all the color had been leeched away.

She exclaimed shocked, “Ceci ne peut pas, tu devrais être brûlant!(This can not be, you should be burning!)” Somehow he understood her words in his mind and that she intended to kill him.

Comhnyall did not hesitate another moment, he painted the snow with her blood as he tore her into pieces. There was a scream in his mind as she died then he could hear the pack again. They were under attack, he was too late to warn them.

‘Father,’ he shouted into the pack link, ’I’ve killed tha witch.′

He felt the weight of so much death, the loss of so many who were no longer on this mortal plane, that he could barely stand. Over half the pack had gone to the Moon.

′Ye father an’ brothers be gone, Comhnyall! Come to tha keep, we need ye,′ Moire shouted back through the pack link.

He ran toward the light spot on the snowy horizon, it was hours until dawn so he knew it wasn’t the sun. It was the New Wemyss Keep and it was burning in the blinding snowstorm, just as the Moon had shown him in his dream. Just as She had shown Mamo and the Delphi.