Wolf Who Rules

Chapter 2: Go Ask Alice

Tinker fell a long time in darkness.

She found herself at the edge of the woods near Lain’s house, the great white domes of the Observatory gleaming in moonlight. The ironwood forest stood solemn as a cathedral before her. Something white flickered through the night woods, brightness in humanoid form. Like a moth, Tinker moved toward the light, entering the forest.

A woman darted ahead of her, wearing an elfin gown shimmering as if formed of fiber optics tapped to a searchlight — brightness weaving through the forest dimness. She was so brilliant white that it hurt to look at her. A red ribbon covered her eyes and trailed down the dress, blood red against the white. On the ground, the ribbon snaked out into the distance.

It came to Tinker, knowledge seeping into her like oil into a rag that she knew the woman and they were searching for someone. In the distance was a thumping noise, like an axe biting into wood.

“He knows the paths, the twisted way.” The woman told Tinker while they searched for this mystery person. “You have to talk to him. He’ll tell you how to go.”

“We’re looking in the wrong place,” Tinker called.

“We fell down the hole and through the looking glass.” The woman cried back. “He’s here! You only have to look!”

Tinker scanned the woods and saw a dark figure flitting through the trees, keeping pace with them. It was delicate-boned woman in a black mourning dress. A blindfold of black lace veiled her eyes. Tears ran unchecked down her face. At her feet were black hedgehogs, nosing about in the dead litter of the forest floor. In the trees surrounding Black and the hedgehogs was a multitude of crows. The birds flitted from limb to limb, calling “Lost! Lost!” in harsh voices.

“Black knows all about him.” Tinker said. “Why don’t we ask her?”

“She is lost in her grief,” White breathed into Tinker’s ear. “There is no thread between you. She has no voice that you will listen to.”

The thumping noise came from the direction that they needed to head, speeding up until it sounded like helicopter rotors beating the air.

“Wait!” Tinker reached out to catch hold of White, to warn her. She missed, grabbing air. “The queen is coming. You’ve murdered time. It’s always six o’clock now.”

“We can’t stand still!” White caught Tinker’s hand and they were flying low, like on a hoverbike, dodging trees, the ground covered with a checkerboard design of black and white. “We have to run as fast as we can to keep in the same place. Soon we won’t be able to run at all and then all will be lost!”

“Lost! Lost!” cried the crows and Black flew like a silent shadow on Tinker’s other side. They had left the hedgehogs behind. The red ribbon of White’s blindfold raced on ahead of them, coiling like a snake.

“He eats the fruit of the tree that walks.” White stopped them at edge of a clearing. The ribbon coiled into the clearing and vanished into the ground. “Follow the tree to the house of ice and sip sweetly of the cream.”

Feeling with blind fingers, White followed the ribbon, hand over hand, out into the clearing. The bare forest floor was black, and grew blacker still, until the woman was sheer white against void with red thread wrapped around her fingers. Tinker took hold of the thread and followed out into the darkness. Beyond the edge of the clearing, she started to float as if weightless. Tinker tried to grip tight to the red ribbon, but it was so thin that she lost track of it and started to fall upwards. The woman caught hold of her, pulling her close and wrapped the red thread tight around her fingers, making a cat’s cradle. “There, no matter what, you can always find me with this.”

Turning away, the woman pulled on the ribbon and pearls started to pop out of the ground, strung on the thread. “It starts with a pearl necklace.”

Tinker was drifting upwards, faster and faster. Black and her crows flew up to meet her in a rustle of wings, crying “lost, lost.”

Tinker opened her eyes to summer sky framed by oak leaves. Acorns clustered on the branches, nearly ready to fall. A cardinal sung its rain song someplace overhead.

With a slight rustle, Pony leaned over her, bruised and battered himself, worry in his eyes. “Domi, are you well?”

Tinker blinked back tears. “Yes, I’m fine.” She sat up, trying to ignore the pain in her head. “How is everyone else?”

“Stormsong is hurt. We have called for help but we should start for the hospice.”

“Its eyes are open,” Stormsong said from where she lay on her side, a bloody bandage around the leg that the creature had bitten. “It’s not coming back.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Tinker asked.

“It means what it means,” Stormsong groaned.

“There is no sign of the beast.” Rainlily added.

“Okay,” Tinker said only because they seemed to be waiting for her to say something. How did she end up in charge?

Almost in answer, a sudden roar of wind announced the arrival of Wolf Who Rules Wind, head of the Wind Clan, also known as her husband, Windwolf. Riding the winds with the Wind Clan’s magic, he flew down out the sky and landed on barren no-man’s-land of the Rim. Dressed in elfin splendor, his duster of cobalt blue silk, hand-painted with a stylized white wolf, whipped out behind him like a banner. He was beautiful in the way only elves could be — tall, lean, and board shouldered with a face full of elegant sharp lines. With a word and gesture, he dismissed his magic. Released, the winds sighed away.

Beauty, power and the ability to fly like superman — what more could a girl want?

“Beloved,” Windwolf knelt beside her and folded her into his arms. “What happened? Are you hurt? I felt you tap the clan’s Spell Stones and pull a massive amount of power.”

The ‘stones’ were granite slabs inscribed with spells located on top of a vastly powerful ley line that the domana accessed remotely via their genome. Until Windwolf unleashed his rage on the oni, Tinker hadn’t realized the power that the stones represented. In one blinding flash of summoned lightening, it suddenly became clear why the domana ruled the other elfin castes. Somehow, the monster had tapped funneled the power through her.

“Oh, is that what the fuck it did to me?” And with that, she lost control of the tears she’d been keeping at bay. What was it about him that made her feel so safe in a way not even Pony could? She hugged him tightly, trusting he would make it right. As she wallowed in the luxury of being sheltered by the only force besides nature that seemed larger than herself, Windwolf turned his attention Pony.

“Little Horse, what happened?” Windwolf’s voice rumbled in his chest under her head, like contained thunder. “Who is anyone hurt?”

“We were attacked by a very large creature,” Pony went on to describe the fight in a few short sentences, ending with, “Stormsong took the brunt of the damage.”

“We need to get her to the hospice.” Tinker pulled free of Windwolf’s hug, smeared the tears out of her eyes and started for Stormsong. “The thing bit her in the leg.”

Windwolf crossed to Stormsong in long strides, beating Tinker to the sekasha’s side. The forest floor was annoyingly uneven; after stumbling slightly, Tinker slowed to baby steps. Pony hovered protectively close as if he expected her to pitch face first into the dead leaves. The big gray Rolls Royce they’d left on the other side of the valley and an ambulance had picked their way through the shattered streets to stop fifty odd yards short of their location.

“Considering how fucked we were, I’m fine.” Stormsong slapped Windwolf’s hands away from the bloody bandage on her leg. “We didn’t stop it — it just left.”

Heat flushed over Tinker, and the sounds around her went muffled, as if someone wrapped invisible wool around her head. It was dawning on her that she’d been stupid and nearly got them all killed. By returning to Stormsong, she’d pulled the other sekasha back to a fight that they should have lost. She should be dead right now. So fucking dead.

Stormsong glanced up at Tinker, frowned and murmured something to Windwolf, giving him a slight push away from her. Windwolf looked up at Tinker and stood to sweep her off her feet and into his arms.

“Hey, I can walk!” Tinker cried.

“I know.” He carried her toward the Rolls Royce. “I have seen you do it.”

Tinker sighed at the nuances lost in the translation. This was how she ended up married to Windwolf — she accepted his betrothal gift without realizing he was proposing to her. “There is nothing wrong with my legs.”

He eyed her bare legs draped over his arm. “No. There is not. They are very nice legs.”

She studied him. All told, they had spent very little time with each other and she was still getting to know him. She was beginning to suspect, though, that he had a very subtle but strong sense of humor. “Are you teasing me?”

He said nothing but the corners of his eyes crinkled with a suppressed smile.

She smacked him lightly in the shoulder for teasing her. “You don’t have to carry me!”

“But I like to.”

“Windwolf,” she whined.

He kissed her on her forehead. “You might think you are well, but you are in truth pale and wobbly. You have done what was needed. Let me care for you.”

If she insisted on walking, she ran the risk of falling flat on her face. What harm could letting him carry her, except to her pride? Like so often since he charged into her life, Windwolf left only bad choices for her to make in order to protect her sense of free will — and she was too smart to choose stupidity. Sighing, she lay her head on his shoulder and let him carry her.

He tucked her into the Rolls and slid in beside her. Pony got into the front, alongside the sekasha who was driving.

She noticed that her T-shirt was shredded over her stomach. Under the tattered material, five shallow claw marks cut across her abdomen; barely breaking the skin, the wounds were already crusted over with scabs. A fraction of an inch deeper, and she would have been gutted. She started to shake.

“All is well, you are fine.” Windwolf murmured, holding her.

“I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do to hurt it. I wish I could do the things you do.”

“You can. I gave you that ability when I made you a Wind Clan domana.”

“I know, I know, I have the genetic key to the Wind Clan Spell Stones.” Which was how the monster sucked power through her. “What I don’t know is how to use the Spell Stones. I want to learn.”

“I was wrong not to teach you earlier.” He took her hand. “I allow myself to be distracted from my duties to you at Aum Renau; I should have started to teach you then.”

“You’ll teach me now?”

“Tomorrow we will start your lessons,” he kissed her knuckles. “You will also have to learn how to use a sword.”

“Shooting practice with a gun would probably be more useful.”

“The sword is for your peers, not your enemies. Currently you have the queen’s protection. No one can call insult on you or challenge you to a duel. But that protection will not last forever.”

“Pfft, like random violence solves anything.”

“True, it rarely does, but you need to know how to protect yourself and your beholden.”

She made another noise of disgust. “What you elves—” she saw the look on his face and amended it to— “we elves call civilized. Can I still have the gun?”

“Yes, beloved, you may have the gun too. I will find comfort knowing you can defend yourself.”

“Especially with a monster running around that sees me as some kind of power drink.” She winced at her tone — he wasn’t the one she was upset with.

“Reinforcements should be arriving soon, but until then Pittsburgh will not be safe.”

“What reinforcements?”

“After you and Little Horse were kidnapped, I realized that there were more oni in the area than Sparrow previously led me to believe. I sent for reinforcements; the Queen is sending troops via airship from Easternlands. They should arrive shortly. Unfortunately, this will pull the Fire clan and the probably the Stone clan into the fight — which is why I’m thinking of you learning how to use a sword.”

“Why is it a bad thing that other clans are going to help fight the oni? Isn’t this everyone’s problem?”

“We hold only what we can protect.” Windwolf squeezed her hand; she wasn’t sure if it was to comfort her or to seek comfort for himself. “By admitting that we need help, we have put our monopoly on Pittsburgh at risk. The other clans might want part of the city for services rendered in fixing this problem. The humans will fall under someone else’s rule.”

“You’ve got to be kidding! Why?”

“Because we can not protect all of Pittsburgh from the oni. The Crown will mediate a compromise.”

“Couldn’t your father — as head of the Wind clan — have sent us help?”

“He has. He sent domana to Aum Renau and the other East Coast settlements. It is a great comfort to me to know that they are protected. The domana aren’t that numerous, and the clans that can help are limited to those who have spell stones within range of Pittsburgh.”

“This is all my fault,” Tinker whispered.

“Hush, this battle is part of a war that started before even I was born.”

She snuggled against him, logic failing to squash the guilty feeling inside of her. She was distracted, however, by something very hard under her. “Do you have something in your pocket? Or are you just happy to see me?”

“What? Oh, yes.” Windwolf pulled a small fabric bundle out of his pants pocket. “This is for you.”

“What’s this?” Tinker eyed it tentatively. Accepting a similar package from Windwolf had indicated her acceptance of his marriage proposal — when she didn’t realize the significance of his gift. She still had mixed feelings about being married to Windwolf. As a lover, Windwolf was all that she would want — warm, gentle, and caring wrapped in a sexy body — and she loved him deeply.

It was the whole marriage thing — having someone else’s will and future joined to hers. They were building ‘their home’ for ‘their people’ and someday, maybe, ‘their children.’ Being the Viceroy’s wife, too, came with more responsibilities than she wanted; people were entrusting her with their lives. So far, the good outweighed the bad — but with elves “till death do us part” meant a very long time.

“Before the Queen summoned me from Pittsburgh, I ordered clothes and jewelry to be made for you. I know that they are not of the style you might pick for yourself. It is important, though, that you look your best in front of the crown and the other clans.”

“Okay.” She pulled loose the bow and unwrapped the fabric. Inside were four small velvet pouches with drawstring pulls. She opened the first to the glitter of gems. “Oh!”

She gasped as she poured diamonds out into her palm. Over a foot of necklace studded with pea-sized diamonds. “Oh my! They’re gorgeous!”

As she lifted them up, the afternoon sun prismed into a million tiny rainbows.

“They will look lovely against your skin.” Windwolf dropped a kiss on her throat.

The second bag spilled rubies into her hand like fire, but as she lifted up the strand, it reminded her of the red ribbon in her dream. The third bag held a matching bracelet.

“They’re beautiful,” she said truthfully, but still put them away.

The fourth bag held a pearl necklace. She couldn’t keep the dismay off her face.

“You don’t like them?”

“I had a bad dream after the beast knocked me out. I was looking for something in a forest with this woman. She had a long red ribbon tied around her eyes and on the other end of it, was a pearl necklace.”

She’d wanted him to say “it was just a dream,” but instead he said, “Tell me all of your dream.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes dreams are warnings. It is not wise to ignore them.”

So she said, “It was just a dream.” How could he rebuke her so easily with just his eyes? “I’m still me. I’m still mostly human — not elf. I would know by now if I had the ability to see the future.”

“In elves it is carried by the female line; being that humans and elves can interbreed with fertile results, we must be very similar.” He put away the pearl necklace. “It is the nature of magic to splinter things down to possibilities. Even humans without magic can see where the splintering will happen, and the possible outcomes. Humans call it an ‘educated guess.’ In the past, where magic would leak through natural gates from Elfhome to Earth, there were often temples with oracles predicting the future.”

“So it doesn’t matter if I’m mostly human or partly elf?”

“Tell me your dream.” Windwolf ran the back of his hand lightly down her cheek.

So she described what she could remember. “Both women are someone I know but not really. Movie stars or something like that — I’ve only seen pictures of them.”

“Both women wore blindfolds? The intanyei seyosa wears one when she’s predicting. It helps block out things that would distract her from her visions, but also it is a badge of her office.”

Tinker remembered then her one encounter with the Queen’s intanyei seyosa, Pure Radiance. The oracle had worn a white dress and red blindfold.

“So I’m dreaming that they’re dreaming? That’s very Escher-esque.”

Windwolf looked confused.

“Escher is a human artist that my grandfather liked; his pictures are all tricks of perspective.”

“I see.”

“Well, I don’t. What does it mean?” She prodded the bags with a finger. “That you were going to give me jewelry? What is so dangerous about the necklaces?”

“Dreams are rarely straightforward. Most likely the necklaces represent something else.”

“Like what?”

“I do not know, but it might be wise to find out.”