Fallen by James Somers
Wolf’s Bane
Oliver’s portal through the fireplace, within his once luxurious but now charred dining hall, had delivered us into a land of darkness and fog, a realm inhabited by werewolves. Seeing that the werewolves had fought with Oliver had immediately set my mind at ease about them. After all, I was beginning to get used to strange creatures, especially since I was mostly convinced that I was somehow one of them.
However, as soon as the fiery portal closed behind us, at least a dozen werewolves encircled Charlotte and me. Her fighting knives remained out defensively, her eyes keen to the threat around us. I naturally assumed that the problem must lie with me.
“You did not mention the vampire,” one of the larger werewolves said.
I could tell by the way he said vampire that he disapproved a great deal of the Breed.
“She’s with us,” Oliver said, moving between two of the werewolves to join us within the circle. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
Hearing Oliver call these huge hairy creatures gentlemen almost made me want to laugh. However, I was too busy at the moment trying to figure out what animal I might transform into if this situation turned ugly. I was actually favoring the Kodiak again when the werewolf leading the others spoke again.
“She will not be allowed within our city,” he said.
“Lycean, would disagree,” Oliver countered. “Knowing that I have the ear of your king, Kron, I would suggest dropping this ridiculous bigotry before I take issue with it. We’re all on the same side here.”
Kron appeared to consider his position for a moment before standing down. His face morphed into that of a man’s—the wolf quickly reabsorbed. The others with him in the circle did likewise. Their skin remained somewhat dark like people who might live in Egypt, but the fangs and fur and claws no longer appeared.
My attention darted between Oliver’s cool collectedness, Charlotte stowing her knives away, and Kron’s sneering as he dropped the matter and turned to lead us toward a castle in the distance partially obscured by the omnipresent fog. As we approached, flanked on either side by the werewolves, I noticed that this gothic edifice before us was no mere castle. A wall of immense size, stretching as far as I could see, was attached to the great building. We were on our way into the city Kron had referred to—a city that must be full of werewolves just like these.
“Stay close to me,” Oliver said to us both. “Lycean has been my friend for a long time, but he does not tolerate the company of strangers easily.”
“He’s the king of the werewolves?”
The men around us all looked at me with contempt, turning away slowly as though I was being dismissed as some young idiot.
Lycans, I heard in my thoughts. This was Oliver’s voice speaking into my mind.
I turned to him. He gave me a knowing grin. The voice continued.
Telepathy, Brody, he said. The werewolves prefer to be called Lycans, and Lycean is their king.
How are you doing that? I asked.
You’re doing it now as well, he said.
Indeed, he was right. My thoughts were transmitting to him. I could see it in his eyes. Charlotte remained outside our exchange, though her coy expression indicated some understanding of what we might be doing.
I was interested in continuing our unique communication, but the wall loomed high before us. As we approached a massive set of iron doors, they began to part. The grinding of metal and wood testified to the great mechanisms working to allow us into the city of the Lycans.
“Welcome to Wolf’s Bane,” Oliver said, as we passed through.
Within the city, a great many people passed here and there, giving us a cursory examination as they went on their way. Many paid special attention to Charlotte, probably because she was the most obvious threat. Our Lycan entourage barked orders to those who took too much interest, and the way quickly cleared so that we could enter the castle directly.
On our way in, more guards wearing their werewolf forms stood to bar the way of interlopers. They let us pass with the exchange of a password delivered in a series of growls, clicks and barks that made no sense to me whatsoever. Beyond the large wooden doors, the castle lit up inside.
Torches and lamps were found upon all of the walls and laid out upon the tables. The light was ample but not overdone. A Lycan warrior could still pounce upon you from the shadows. Charlotte may have had the same idea. She gave these areas of shadow special attention along our way. Cages bearing long forgotten skeletal prisoners were the only thing missing from this gothic horror show. It was exactly what I might have expected to find in a town of werewolves.
However, the further we walked toward the interior the more the décor changed. We found wide corridors displaying ancient sandstone blocks, bearing Egyptian hieroglyphics. Moreover, many of the figures that I had seen within books and museums came alive with familiarity. What I had been told were jackal-headed gods and masks now appeared to be ancestors of the Lycans.
I wanted to examine these artifacts more closely, but our escorts herded us on. When we finally stopped, it was because our way happened to be barred by a set of large golden doors. Again, jackal-headed figures were prominent in the embellishments found on them.
I was beating myself up inside trying to figure out who this was supposed to represent. I knew it was an idol god of some sort. I wanted to ask Oliver, but this was no time for a lesson on ancient Egyptian deities. My father would have known, and remembering our lessons together caused me to miss him.
As the golden doors were opened by two keepers on the other side, I suddenly remembered. The room beyond was absolutely massive, continuing in the theme of ancient Egypt. Statues of the jackal-headed god, twenty feet high, lined both sides of the room, towering above us. Sandstone, marble and gold filled the room with wonders from a world long dead.
I had stepped back in time.
Warriors stood by the Lycan king dressed in golden breastplates and wraps that hung to their knees. I had barely registered the form of dress our escorts were wearing until now. Their uniforms were of a much plainer sort, clearly meant to betray very little of the culture that they originated from.
Upon a golden throne in the midst of the room sat the king himself. We came to stand before him in all his royal splendor, and I said what came to my mind first.
“Anubis.”
Oliver and Charlotte turned to me, perhaps startled that I had said anything at all. Honestly, I was a bit startled myself that I had spoken. I had truly not meant to do so. Nevertheless, the appearance of their king had startled me.
He was the spitting image of the Jackal-headed god worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. Perhaps the difference between the wolf and the jackal in the artwork had been of little importance. Maybe the archaeologists had simply been misinformed.
Still, here he was. His coat was smooth and nearer to brown than gray. His frame sleek and muscular; power without the menace I had seen in his warriors earlier.
Despite the surprise on my companion’s faces, the king actually seemed to be amused in his wolfish way. “What do you know of Anubis, young one?” he asked.
Now, I didn’t really want to speak, but Oliver’s furtive glance left me with little choice. You make your own bed, as they say.
“Your Majesty,” I began, “my father taught me that Anubis was one of the many deities worshipped by the ancient Egyptians. If I’m not mistaken, he was considered to be the Lord of the Dead.”
We all waited for the king’s response. After a moment’s pause, he rose to his feet. His appearance changed quickly—the wolf absorbed and replaced by the form of a man. With his olive skin and regal bearing, he looked just like one of the pharaohs of old.
“Are you Anubis, Majesty?” I asked, unable to contain the question any longer.
“I am not Anubis,” he said. “However, I am descended from him. You see, young one, Anubis was one of the Fallen. He only took the form of a canine. His descendants possess this same character
“Where is he now?”
“I do not know, neither does it matter,” he said in a rich, deep voice. “We are all that is left of Egypt’s glory. We once ruled over an empire like no other, an empire that is still talked about with wonder. But the Lycans are all that is left of that wonder.”
He strode down the half dozen steps separating us to take Oliver by the hand. Our Lycan escort fell away upon his approach, perhaps fearing the report of their conduct that Oliver might deliver unto their king. He was a handsome man, but would have been totally out of place in today’s society. He was quite proud of his culture, even if it had long ago passed away from the world. Imagining him in a proper suit was nearly impossible.
“Lycean, this is Brody West,” Oliver said by way of introduction.
King Lycean did not offer to shake my hand. However, he did at least acknowledge me with a friendly nod of the head.
“You are a curious fellow, Brody,” he said. “You are welcome within my kingdom.”
“Thank you, Majesty,” I replied with a slight bow. “I look forward to learning more about the Lycans and your culture.”
Lycean’s gaze then fell upon Charlotte. She had been watching him all this time with an intensity that betrayed a long history of hatred between the Breed and Lycans. He turned back to me unexpectedly.
“I think that is a wonderful idea, Brody,” he said. “In fact, my daughter Sophia would be happy to escort you through the gates of our wonderful city, Tidus.”
The king indicated another golden doorway to our right where a young girl near my age stood waiting. She was wearing a traditional sand colored, Egyptian-styled dress with the customary ornamentation. Her wavy hair fell over her shoulders dark as a raven’s wing. She was exquisitely beautiful, and her eyes were fixed on me.
“Now, is as good a time as any to see how we Lycans really live,” Lycean said.
“But I thought we had already come through the city,” I said.
“Not at all, young man,” Lycean said. “Our true heritage is preserved in Tidus. The village you saw is merely what we allow others to see of us. There is so much more.”
I looked to Oliver for assurance. He smiled at me, patting my shoulder. “Go ahead, Brody. I’ll catch up.”
I nodded and then walked toward the young princess, Sophia, waiting by the golden doors. She smiled very faintly, deferring her eyes a little as I drew near. The doors opened to us as she gestured for me to enter. I held back my smile, attempting to seem very serious.
“Thank you, Princess,” I said as we walked through together, leaving Oliver and Charlotte in the company of Lycean and his Lycan warriors.
Dysfunction
King Lycean waited for Brody and his daughter to pass through the golden doors into one of the royal anterooms. From there they would proceed down to the gate corridor and the city of Tidus beyond. Oliver had been to Tidus many times and felt completely at ease concerning Brody’s safety. However, the current situation within the throne room was a different matter.
“I do not recall giving you permission to bring one of them to my realm,” Lycean said to Oliver.
“She is my friend and a valuable ally,” Oliver attempted to explain.
“The Breed are not my friends, neither are they my allies,” Lycean said.
Standing nearby, Kron gave Oliver a sly smirk. He was enjoying this immensely after their little showdown on the moors.
“She reeks of her brother’s stench,” Lycean continued. He turned to Charlotte then. “Oh, yes, I know exactly who you are: the spawn of Hageddon and sister of Sinister.”
Charlotte ground her teeth at the accusation. Lycean was right, of course. She was descended from the angel, Hageddon the Breed King, as was Tiberius her father and Sinister her brother. But that didn’t mean she followed after their ways.
“Charlotte has been nothing if not loyal to me and our cause.”
“Your cause, Oliver?” Lycean said. “I care little about what happens to mortals.”
“A war on mankind will draw Heavenly fire upon us all,” Oliver countered.
“As you’ve said many times. But we still prefer to distance ourselves from the conflict. It is only our long friendship and the debt I owe you that has caused me to offer my help at all.” Lycean glanced at Charlotte again. “I did not expect you to abuse our relationship by bringing the enemy within my camp.”
Oliver did not immediately answer. He knew the prejudice between the Breed and the Lycans too well to believe that his words would overcome it in a day. In fact, he had spent many days in the attempt before now, and very little had changed. Still, the fact that he and Charlotte were alive did testify to some progress.
“Lycean, I apologize for offending you,” Oliver said. “It was not intentional. Please understand, I had little choice with Breed warriors swarming through my home in London. Charlotte brought the boy to me, saving him from her own kind. She fought bravely, side by side with your warriors, against her brother and the Breed. Knowing you to be a gracious king, I had hoped you would take those details into consideration.”
Lycean did not immediately answer. Charlotte watched him suspiciously. Oliver maintained a penitent if hopeful expression. When the king spoke again, he was noticeably less agitated.
“I can appreciate your willingness to fight against your own kind,” he began with Charlotte.
Charlotte interrupted him. “I am not fighting against my people—only those who are following Black.”
Oliver waited for the inevitable eruption of Lycean’s temper, but the king managed to keep it in check.
Lycean stepped nearer to her. “Your tongue may kindle a fire that you are unable to extinguish, young woman,” he said. “Testing my patience would be unwise.”
Charlotte looked as though she might speak again, but she glanced at Oliver. Seeing his expression, she thought better of it.
“As I was saying,” Lycean continued, “I can appreciate where your allegiance now lies. However, I am the ruler of a proud people. And they do not want you here. They would tolerate even less you being allowed to enter into our sacred city of Tidus. And since that is where we must go, you have few options available here.”
Oliver started to make his own suggestion, but Charlotte interrupted him. “I’ll go back to London,” she said. When Oliver began to protest, she added, “I can keep an eye on what Black and my brother are doing. We can meet up later, after you’ve conducted your business here.”
Oliver smiled. “Are you sure? I don’t want to put you in any danger. Black may believe that we perished in the fire. If they find you in London, they will know that Brody is alive also.”
“The boy will be safe in Tidus,” Lycean assured them.
“He’s right,” Charlotte said. “Besides, I doubt very much that Black would simply assume we were killed so easily. I think he expects more from you than that.”
Oliver nodded. He had already considered that to be likely. Black would not be outsmarted by a simple escape through a portal. But that also meant he would have his minions watching for them to reappear in London.
“Please be careful,” Oliver said. “I’ll send you to my house in Yorkshire. It has not been compromised.”
Charlotte and Lycean regarded one another a final time before the passing of Oliver’s hand sent her through one of his portals to Yorkshire. She disappeared completely from the king’s throne room with a mere shimmer, like ripples on the surface of a pond. Hopefully, she would not be discovered. However, like it or not, Black would still be searching for the boy.
There was a war raging for control of London, but Black had diverted his energies to finding the boy. He had to find out why Brody was so important to the angel. And he was running out of time.
The House of Commons lay below Black’s high perch where he was seated upon an ornamental chandelier in order to watch the spectacle about to take place. His presence did not interfere with the light fixture in any way, neither did
Black absolutely adored politicians—all the lying and cheating, the lust for power and the scandals. He enjoyed the wonderful irony of it all. The best men for the jobs were entirely unelectable, while the worst men pandered to the general populace and were ushered in with flying colors.
Today’s election, of sorts, would be far more dramatic—at least for the politicians involved below. In the House of Lords it would be the same. A coup of London’s power base was underway.
Sinister’s Breed stood watch so that none might manage to escape. But this was merely a technicality. The dolls rarely lost anyone they were sent for, though a few citizens had been more trouble than they were worth. A second attempt had been all that was necessary to collect them in the end.
Of course, some of these politicians had already been taken previous to this session. They sat in their seats making no political arguments among the other wranglers. Dolls were not humans. They were purely creations of spiritual power. Some might even call it magic, but that definition left too much to be desired.
Black savored the moment as long as he could stand. The tension in the room from the mortals alone was palpable. As it began to wane, Black called to his creations. He spoke words that no mortal tongue had ever uttered in a language that had originated in the heavenly realm.
“Se bli estueri,” he whispered.
The dolls heeded the call of their master to bind with those mortals whom they had been linked to in their manufacture. For over a year, Sinister’s boys, as well as other groups, had been taking personal belongs from anyone and everyone they came across throughout the city. These personal affects had then been incorporated into the dolls once they were fashioned in the various sweatshops Black had established around London.
Without the binding spell, which he used to give the dolls life, they remained mere burlap sacks stitched with button eyes and thread for mouths. However, Black had not only infused these creatures with his power, he had utilized a master key within the spell, binding the life of the dolls to a powerful Descendant of the Fallen. The dolls could not be truly killed and their mortal hosts released while this individual lived.