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  Now trying to kick, her dagger dropped to the ground in her fear. Before she could scream, struggling to drown out the high pitched unholy sounds and pounding movements, a hand covered her face, and then pulled her deeper into the shadows until she imagined herself to be part of the bark itself. She could feel the hardness and warmth of something burrowed into her backside. She could feel the hot breath of it melt against the curve of her neck. If she were prey, she was helpless to change it.

  She tried to use her magic to free herself, to mist herself away, but it was useless. Whatever held her, bound her gifts so that they too were powerless. Before she could think of something else to do, the sounds which thundered towards them came sweeping up underneath the trees below. She nearly passed out as hundreds of Nosophoros appeared from all directions, scattering about on all fours. They leaped from ground to air, bouncing off tree and rock. They froze and smelled the atmosphere. Their mouths were dripping with black poisonous pus while their throats vomited forth hellish screams that ripped against her ears. Her body shook, even though they didn’t even notice her or whatever held her captive. They moved in blurring speed to somewhere else. They were moving in the direction that the horse had run. The blood, the essence, was calling to their unquenchable hunger. Whoever or whatever held her in the trees had used its blood to steer the creatures away.

  Once they were gone, whistling silence filled the forest and the decaying smell of the monsters faded at the hands of the furious wind. Samanthŕa shivered. She had never seen a Nosophoros up close before and even now, it had happened so fast that her mind was unable to grasp the details. Only warriors had been cursed with enduring such company. She’d heard tales and even tapped into the mind of a warrior or two to see what they saw. Never had she seen them first hand.

  And before she could accept what little she did see, she was removed from the trees by the strange hands, which held her. A falling sensation embraced her entire being. Once more, her body and flesh struggled to adapt. Before she touched the ground though, her ability to fight returned. From trepidation and fright, she struggled to tear loose from the mysterious hold that had her bound. Her body fell violently to the flattened ground which still held lingering smells of festering putrefaction from the creatures who had not long left.

  The horse returned out of nowhere and stopped somewhere between her and them. They had power and consciousness of it, she thought, if they had misted the horse back to them instead of letting the beast become the meal of the Nosophoros. One of them began to see to the blood on the animal, speaking some sort of incantation in an unfamiliar tongue to remove its scent and power. Although she could not understand the words, she knew their intent because of the magic that lived inside her . . . or that was her only reasoning for such intuition.

  What was this language? Her mind spun for an answer. She took pride in knowing such things, but why did this escape her? It sounded beautiful though, the words coiling off the foreigner’s tongue like a silhouette of song.

  She scolded herself in her mind. Do not fall prey to their magic. Stay on guard, Priestess!

  Who were they? Them…they…dark figures covered in cloaks whose blood made her inebriated and whose prose mesmerized her. Her vision was still blurry, her mind a bit high from the same blood that obsessed the Nosophoros, but her fear released her senses so that she could recognize their energy.

  They were the ones from the tavern. The very ones she was running from.

  Was I one of the ones marked? Her mind panicked. Why else would they have followed me here? They followed me here and saved me from the Nosophoros so that they can kill me themselves. It wasn’t unusual for Evil to be greedy and fight over a prey. And she was more than worthy as prey. She may have been a Vii but she was High Priestess. She offered more power than most even if it seemed like nothing compared to theirs!

  The largest one began to caress the horse while another spoke in the language she still could not understand. Instinct took her over. She pulled herself up like a cat ready to strike. Her one hand was secretly feeling the ground for her dagger. She heard them laugh but she remained focused on what she was doing. She was ready to destroy them, because in her mind, they had followed her here to do the same. Yet here they were, so vain that they were laughing.

  The largest one let go of the horse and took a step closer. Samanthŕa recoiled, trying to call her powers back to her. This magic, his magic, held them useless. Who was he that he could trap her magic inside her, or was it because she was just a Vii? Still, being High Priestess normally would have given her an edge. He would be on his bottom right now, if all this had been normal.

  Face still hidden by cloak, with a deep, strangely familiar voice, he said in her language, “What should we do with our little horse thief?” And then she remembered what forced her to flee from the pub so quickly. Her dreams. His was the voice that haunted her dreams.

  Dear Goddess, was Dĩas right? Was she the one who caused this storm? Had she been unleashing the curse in her sleep? How was it possible? She had not stopped taking the herbs for that long!

  “She doesn’t do well for a horse thief, does she? Perhaps she needs a new trade.” Another voice replied and laughed. “After all, she was thrown, was she not?”

  Bloody Hadãe, I would have to steal their wretched horse, wouldn’t I? The very ones I was running from? Only I could be so cursed.

  Before they could reply, she threw a handful of rock and dirt towards the huge one’s face. He let go of the reins and ducked, amused by her efforts, chuckling, while she jumped on the four-legged beast again. Her boot swung around to kick him in the head. She grazed his cheek as he bent the opposite direction, laughing even more at her attempt. The horse began to rear, showing it was loyal to its owner. She hissed and cursed but refused to be bucked off again, so she held on.

  Then her eyes widened. Her heel had scratched his cheek. The scent of his blood, although just a drop, splashed and spread across the air. She froze and saw each of them suddenly do the same. The laughter was gone. Their attention was turned and even the horse took notice, halting in midair. The scratch had healed, but the scent released.

  Silence.

  Perhaps such a small drop was not strong enough to call the creatures back. That's what she hoped even though her high had rippled itself anew. All hopes were lost though, when the slow hum of a noise, building up closer, closer, closer . . . .

  The Nosophoros were returning. The thundering pounding of their charge and the crashing of what was destroyed in their path filled the air around them again. Even though the one had removed the blood from the horse, somehow they had caught the scent again.

  The cloaked figures drew their swords, obviously deciding to fight this time, as the creatures began to rear from the darkness. The large one yelled something at the horse in an ancient tongue. Another of the cloaked figures slapped the animal on its rear. Samanthŕa tried to grasp what was happening but before she could, the horse took off like lightning through the forest once again.

  Samanthŕa never looked back or even questioned why the horse was running. She stayed low to its back, avoiding any more branches or falls. Repeatedly, she kept trying to summon her power, hoping it would return to her. When the horse leaped a huge log, her magic finally exploded. Before its hooves touched the ground, she turned them both into vapor and mist. As if they were both thrust into a huge mass of water, disappearing as the massive splash of it dissipated, like water evaporating in a puddle of daylight, they faded from the forest to her desired destination, high in the mountains and through the Lycãon Realm’s portal.

  ***

  ****

  “Who goes there?” A voice called out from the darkness. Samanthŕa recognized it immediately as she and the horse finished materializing. She tried to shake the dizziness she felt from bringing the beast along with herself. It was a bit much for a Vii, even if she did have a touch more power than most. If she had a moment to think on it, she might have wondered just ho
w she was able to pull it off. There were more pressing matters at hand though . . . .

  And before she could reply, a grey wolf leaped from the bushes and then shifted into a dark skinned, black haired man as naked as the world around them. Such things did not faze her though. The body in its natural state was nothing for her to blush over. After all, she wasn't a silly Phãegen maiden, now was she?

  “Samanthŕa? Ah, there is your familiar fragrance. The scent of your beast threw me off!” Rameŕas Vlachŕa grabbed the reins of the exhausted beast. Snapping his fingers, brewing up his own magic, since this was a night of festival, which meant more than just his bloodlines wondered about . . . he mustered up some clothes. His ruby-colored shirt flapped in the heavy wind stirring, revealing hints of a toned, dark chest. His long black hair was bound at the nape of his neck. His almost black eyes sparkled with a golden tint still clinging to that of the wolf. After all, Lycãons were more beast than man.

  He studied the panicked animal, knowing it was not from Dĩas’s stables, as anyone of their bloodline would know. The scent of the horse was truly puzzling him though, and his expression showed it. The way he kept sniffing at the thing spoke louder than words. “What ails you, woman? You are out of breath.” He continued to pet the stallion and look it over. He pulled some honey cubes from its satchel and gave them to the animal. Rameŕas's wolf senses must have caught the scent of them being there. "What has your pulse racing?"

  “Nosophoros,” she explained as she dismounted. “They are swarming the foot of the mountains just below the portal."

  "You jest."

  "No. I think the lightning has frightened them into the forests. We must warn the others at the festival. I don’t think they will come this far up, but after the night I've had, nothing would surprise me.” She said this gasping as she hurried through the woods to the sacred grounds and lairs of the Lycãons.

  “How many are there?” Rameŕas called out from behind her. Other wolves leaped from the shadows, some shifting, and some staying true to their lupine form. "We will take care of this problem."

  “No Rameŕas. Stay. This is not a swarm. This is an entire hive. More than you’ve ever seen,” Samanthŕa warned. They were known to travel in packs of five to ten, but never in the masses had she just witnessed. “Where are Vlachŕa Kaléé and my sisters?” She nearly shrieked the question with her dry voice as she passed through their camp in a hurried frenzy.

  It was a large circle of meadow surrounded by the deep rich forests, and in the middle of it were heavy, towering stones, which were revered as sacred. She never noticed the noises from the festival or the Phãegens dancing sky clad. She never once paid attention to all the faces standing around the huge Drągýn’s mouth, drinking and dancing around its mammoth flames. Nothing was moving the same speed as her. Her adrenaline was soaring through her in large doses at light speed.

  Wishing to know what all the craziness was about, an old crone moved from the rock cliffs and down towards the clearing in the megaliths. Her hair and eyes were silver. A flaming glow was reflected in them.

  "There be your Vlachŕa now." Rameŕas pointed at his sister.

  “Samanthŕa," Kaléé spread her arms wide. "What took you so long and why do you look as though you have seen the face of a Phãegen death?”

  “Because I have seen the face of death,” Samanthŕa confessed. She didn’t wish to go into tonight’s events, not now, but she couldn’t easily forget what she'd seen and what had spooked her.

  “The lower lands are swarming with Nosophoros,” Rameŕas told Kaléé.

  “Impossible. Someone has slipped you a funny root. Your sisters said you snuck off to the Tavern. What unearthly thing did you drink there?"

  "I tell the truth. Nosophoros!"

  "With this lightning?” Kaléé said with her crackling voice.

  “Sister,” Dezarãe cried out from beyond the big fire. She nearly stumbled over, having had too much to drink already. Vlachŕa wine was potent, especially the kind they prepared for the festivals. “Finally,” she laughed. “I was about to send poor Dǒntáe after you. He wouldn’t have complained, you know. Why do you resist your Awakener like you do?"

  "Her what?" Rameŕas raised a brow.

  "Oh hush, Uncle and go howl at the moon." Dezarãe giggled, swiping her hand across his chest. Nearly falling right into Samanthŕa, "How is that possible, sister?”

  She fell anyway. The Priestess struggled to hold her up, still out of breath. The fumes from the spirits on her breath slammed Samanthŕa hard in the face.

  "How can any Vii avoid her Awakener?" Dezarãe threw herself back and raised her hands, staggering." I will not. No, I will not at all!" She hiccupped.

  "She is drunk." Samanthŕa shook her head. Ignoring whatever gibberish her sister was speaking, Samanthŕa pushed her away slightly and said, “Dezarãe, find our sisters now. We are leaving. Hurry.”

  “What?” Dezarãe hiccupped, looking at her sister as though she were mad. "I speak truth and you punish us? You are becoming just like Dĩas, Sister--"

  “Nosophoros, Dezarãe." Samanthŕa's words brought an unnatural silence. "Now find our bloodlines and keep silent of this. We don't want a panic.” Samanthŕa didn’t need to explain any further. As her face went starkly pale, Dezarãe hurried away.

  At this point, Samanthŕa was ready to mist them all home. She didn’t care how angry Dĩas was. Better to be home and facing his wrath than having the jaws of the Nosophoros clamping down on them.

  The creatures were still a mystery. They seemed to have created themselves from absolutely nowhere. Not even Evil claimed to know their source, which was strange, considering Evil was very possessive of their territory. Yet Evil had no control over these creatures, and the creatures didn’t seem to mind whom they made a meal out of. Whether it be of Light or Evil, hunger was hunger to the Nosophoros.

  "Kaléé, I must take my sisters and go--"

  “Where did you get this horse?” Rameŕas yelled his query, for the wind was becoming fiercer. Storm clouds formed above them, not clouds of energy, but ones holding moisture. This was strange for such a storm, even stranger because the clouds now were blocking the storm of energy above them, as if another hand of power wielded it. He held tightly to the reins as the horse bucked.

  "Now is not the time to talk horses, Rameŕas." Samanthŕa told him but then a familiar grip tightened around her arm. Kaléé’s wise gaze flashed towards the beast; she noticed an ancient glyph burnt in the flesh. Her eyes grew curiously wide. She even leaned into Samanthŕa and sniffed.

  “There be an imprint on you." Kaléé said. A chill raced over Samanthŕa's skin. "I cannot name it but it is on the tip of my tongue. How about you, brother?”

  “The same as the horse,” Rameŕas replied, inhaling the animal. “Where did you say you got it?”

  “I didn’t say. No time to say. But if you must know, I stole--” Samanthŕa tried to reply as horrid screams and wailings sounded from the darkness. She realized now why the horse was bucking. Those Creatures were upon them. “Impossible! They could not have followed me here! They could not have moved so quickly! They have not the power to track my magic!”

  Kaléé whirled around as Rameŕas threw back his head and howled with the tongue of a wolf, calling back the clans from the forest. By the sounds of those creatures and all their thundering, he knew he needed his warriors here and now! Flesh falling to the ground and turning to ash, fur replaced what was, and a giant of a wolf replaced the false image of man.

  “Something is aiding them.” Kaléé eyed the dark clouds swirling above as the beast paced back and forth in front of them. Above, all in the sky were smoldering black, moving beneath the electrical storm and snuffing it out “I don’t like the looks of this. This is not the prophecy I had visions of.”

  “Prophecy?” Samanthŕa's ears perked as she and Kaléé hurried towards the sacred circle of rocks marking the Lycãons’ sacred grounds. Following the Vlachŕa's suit, she began throwing kindling
down and lighting it with her mind. "What prophecy Kaléé ?"

  "The one I was to reveal tonight, to you, on Beal-Tene. But not now. Now we need flame!" Kaléé shouted to any who could hear. Fire was their best chance. The light would frighten off the Nosophoros. The fire from the Drągýn’s mouth lit the entire area, yet for this reason, the women wanted even more light. More fire.

  "Kaléé! What Prophecy do you speak of?"

  “Not now child, not now,” Kaléé told her while ordering the others to bring more kindling.

  Lycãons leaped from the dark exterior trees, Their eyes were those of the wolf and glowed intensely against the dark. Some burned gold while some burned silver. The storm crashed overhead and from the murky outlandish clouds, moisture began to fall. Their eyes glanced upward in confusion. Rain?

  “Impossible. No electrical storm of power makes rain!” Kaléé hissed.

  “We are not dealing with the same storm,” Samanthŕa reminded her. She became sick with worry. Neither of them could taste the imprint of the one conjuring the storm but they knew deep inside that it was different from the source working the first one. As if it was on the tip of their tongues, yet they could not name it, speak it, or even completely think of it. This was dangerous because what could not be named could not be destroyed or attacked.

  Before their hearts could clamor against the lightning and brutal winds, and now rain, the first pack of Nosophoros was upon them. They paced the shadows far away from the fires like hungry rabid dogs. Everyone turned and froze, realizing what was circling them from the shadows of the forests edge.

  Fear.