Wolf's Tale

(Author's note: Firstly, thank you to all the readers who have taken time to write to me about my stories, I cannot appreciate your words enough. Secondly, I can't believe that it's been nearly three years since I last wrote a Wolf story, and almost five since the first, though I am gratified that people still take time to write and ask about another story. Thirdly, I have endeavoured to make this story as readable as possible without people having to know or read the previous Wolf stories on Literotica. However, feel free to go back and read the others, at the very least Wolf's Bane. Or re-read them. And if you want, leave some feedback too...)

*

The snow swirled and rose and dove in thick swarms, sapping the harsh outlines of the forest and leaving it a dark, dream-like haze. It seemed, for the longest time, to be the only movement in the Russian wilderness.

Until a family of chestnut-coloured deer broke through into a clearing, scattering clumps of snow with their panic, and yet instinctively remaining as silent as possible, despite the danger literally at their tails.

Not that this would help them; their predator had locked onto them with keen senses, and kept on their trail with an equally keen intelligence. Large as a bear, swift as a cheetah, she focused on the largest of the deer, leaving the younger one alone, though they would have quicker, easier kills. She told herself it was because she needed the larger one for its meat and skin, but she also acknowledged that she relished the hunt.

Her heart beat with exhilaration inside her massive frame, a sharp excitement at the imminent kill more satisfying and sweet than the flesh itself would be... Watching the wolves in their natural environment, she never thought she could fully understand it, until circumstances gave her this opportunity. If she could remember these feelings for a report-

Focus. There isn't much time, and you need this prey.

She listened to the voice inside her head, and paid attention. Just ahead of her, the deer – a female, to judge from its scent – had stopped looking behind it, as it dodged and weaved around the tall, thin black birches, the fog of its breath lost in the swirls of snowfall. Its fear was almost palpable, and that touched the human portions of its predator.

So she stopped playing with it, poured on the speed and brought it down, quickly breaking its neck with her powerful jaws, putting it out of its misery, as the rest of the family scattered.

Then she ate, equally quickly but being careful not to damage the hide too much. She let her hunger, and her borrowed instincts, submerge any remaining human squeamishness. She needed food, and a vegetarian lifestyle just wouldn't cut it here.

She filled her belly as the familiar pains struck her, as if the meat had been bad. She glanced up to see the first hints of light fighting to be seen through the thick clouds covering the dark mountains in the east. It was time.

The final time.

She was afraid of the pain, and ashamed of her fear.

Do not feel shame. No one seeks real pain when it can be avoided. But it will pass, and you do not have to be there to endure it. Come to me.

She did gladly, focusing her mind inwardly, as if she were racing through a labyrinth, sure of the path to reach the centre. She left her outer senses behind, as her bones and muscles and sinews twisted and melted, her silver and black fur receding into soft, pale skin, brining with it agony…

She ventured deep into her mind, into a mindscape much like the one in the outer reality: a forest, but one without snow, one of huge Nordic trees and a sky packed with stars and an eternal full moon hanging above the rocks. Here, she remained in wolf form – as did her lover, perched upon an overhanging rock, looking suitably proud and regal, and his iron-grey fur immaculate, and his copper eyes aglow. Beloved...

If she had a human mouth, she would have been grinning with giddy delight. Fenris: the Norse wolf god, the spirit of unfettered ferocity and instinct. The spirit that she once, in her arrogance, tried to leash and use to do her petty bidding, but who made her his pet – and then, so much more.

He leapt from his perch, towering over her, greeting her with a lick across her muzzle, and then a playful nip of her ear, triggering a chase game through the virtual clearing, as if they were pups, before he caught her, and they joined in a brief, primal game more suitable for adults.

Afterwards, they lay together on the grass. The pain of her real body was a distant, but still present thing to her, though now she could feel it ebbing as the transformation neared its end. She had to go, didn't she?

Her lover nuzzled at her neck. Yes, Beloved. And you will not transform again. My spirit helped you escape the humans" prison, but it is too strong for you to contain forever. Your human body is fragile. He licked at her fur. But appealing.

She wondered if there would be any after-effects of these transformations.

Sadly, yes. There will be times when you will feel the need to mark your territory with urine.

Really?

No.

She nipped him - he'd been hanging around inside her head too long, he'd developed a taste for human humour – and pushed in closer to him, as if that would keep her inside her mind. Would she be able to survive in the wilderness without this ability? Was the Source he scented close enough?

Yes, to both questions. The Source is near, and there are humans around it. When I've learned more, I'll tell you.

And would he love her still, when they couldn't meet in her head in lupine form? When he had to settle for appearing in the real world, and having her boring, human form-

He nipped her ear, making her yelp. Go, and keep heading eastward. And when nights come again, summon me, and then learn how much I still hunger for your human body. And as she felt her mind drawing away, he added, and carry my undying love for you in my absence…

The rush back to consciousness reminded her of the time she'd foolishly dove into the deep end of the community pool as a child, never believing that a mere three meters could be such a great length, and that the struggle to reach the surface and breath could take ages-

"Aaahhh!" The morning air was like a flannel on the inside of her lungs, and Sam Brennan sat up naked in the snow, in the middle of nowhere, covered in deer blood. She pushed aside the acute ache that suffused every cell of her body following her transformation, knowing that to remain in place for too long, exposed like this, would inevitably end her aches – and everything else.

Beside her, the remains of the deer lay, its black eyes staring accusingly at her, Sam literally having made a meal of it, the snow around it dark and spattered but its hide remaining relatively intact. The smell was strong, but she was used to that.

Now she knelt up and began to skin the kill, using the sharpened end of a broken rib bone from its carcass to cut and trim the hide into things she could use: moccasins, and a wrap to cover her torso, where most of her body heat would escape, not her head as the old wives" tale went. She used some remaining blood to mat down her long chestnut-brown hair and keep it out of her face.

God, what a sight she must look, like some wild woman of the woods...

She needed rest; she'd travelled far in the last seven nights, sleeping during the day whenever she found suitable shelter in some cave or hollow. But now she was trapped in human form, and besides, the Source Fenris spoke of was nearby, as well as other humans.

And how would she explain her situation to any of the latter? It was one hell of a long, complicated, unbelievable story: Sam travelled the world with her wolf god/lover, seeking Sources of arcane power in order to contain them before malevolent forces could exploit them.

Okay, maybe not that long and complicated.

But certainly unbelievable. The last person who'd heard her story, a Russian officer who'd captured and tortured her following an incident involving one of those Sources, certainly didn't believe. And if Fenris hadn't hidden inside her, transforming her body at night into a being powerful enough to escape, she would still be an anonymous prisoner instead of a naked fugitive, destined for a short, painful life.

Something not too dissimilar to what she would face out here now, if she didn't get help.

Suddenly a weariness overtook her, and not of her body. It was hard, sometimes, very hard to live the life she did with Fenris, though it was something she could never bring herself to admit to him; he wasn't human, what could he say or do about it?

For a moment she just sat and cried. How had she reached such a point in her life? She wished that she wasn't a witch, with the power and knowledge she possessed. That there was no conflict, no danger to the world, and that Fenris and she could settle down again. And though she was ashamed to admit it, she sometimes wished he was a normal man too, and that they could have real children.

Then she pushed such thoughts aside as unproductive, and unworthy.

She started eastward, as the snow eased off.

*

Sam had stopped at a wide, shallow stream cutting a gorge into a slope, in order to quench her thirst and wash the dried deer's blood off her body and out of her hair. She was cursing at the icy water when she saw her first human being in over a week: a man, barrel-chested with an unkempt pepper-grey hair peeking out from under a beige cowboy hat and wrapped in a battered brown longcoat, filling up a large plastic water container. And now staring at her. "Dobroje utro."

She had removed her hide to wash, but now lifted it up to cover herself as she crouched there, not sure what to say, except, "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

He nodded. "American?"

"English."

He rose. "Forgive. Hard to tell from wardrobe. I am Kolya Aranovich, but ladies call me Cowboy Cole. You lost? Hurt?"

His English was broken – but far better than her Russian. "Yes. I mean no, not hurt. Just lost." She rose as well, still covering herself. "And uh, in need of help."

"Da." He looked away as he shucked off his longcoat, revealing a broad frame in jeans, boots and a T-shirt with Clint Eastwood's Man With No Name character on the front. He dropped it between them. "Lone Wolf is on road behind me."

"Lone Wolf?"

He nodded. "My truck."

She smiled. There was always a wolf to save her...

"I have extra clothes, food." He lifted the water container and turned away, climbing up the slope. "Hurry, or I eat all your bacon."

*

His rig was on the edge of a narrow, winding road, just as he said. And he was squatting over a small campfire in the dirt, working a tiny skillet over the flames. "Just inside cab."

Sam hopped up. There was an enclosed area directly behind the driver and passenger seats, with the door slid open to reveal a mattress and pillow, and some clothes just as he said. She quickly slipped out of his coat and changed into a plain black T-shirt, jeans, boxers and trainers, all cheap knockoffs but still very welcome now. And she noted, with some appreciation, how he kept his back to her, never tried to approach and "accidentally" catch a glimpse of her again.

She still looked around, and found a pistol under the seat, though that in itself mean nothing, given how isolated it was for men like him out there. And there was a photo pinned to the dashboard, a smiling blonde woman in some apartment, sitting beside a laughing Cole, and a baby between them. It was an ordinary, but appealing image, and her earlier regrets returned...

She also noted the battered roadmap on the floor, lifted it up and tried to find a recognisable location; she had no idea where in the Russian states that gulag where they'd taken her had been, or how far she'd travelled since.

She did recognise one city, which appeared to be nearby: Chernobyl.

Goddess, no…

"Hey, English!"

Sam approached him. "We're not going to Chernobyl, are we? It can't be safe. We're not going there!"

He set aside the skillet, which was overloaded with sizzling strips of bacon, and proceeded to pour something from a thermos. "No need to thank me for clothes, or food, or ride."

Embarrassment at her lack of manners made her blush as she approached. "I'm sorry. And I do thank you for your help. My name's Samantha… Stephens." The surname came to her, seconds before she remembered the TV reference, which made her smile. "I just saw the name on the map, and panicked a little."

He smiled good-naturedly at her, offering the patch of ground beside him. "You do good to panic with that place. Still dangerous. But no, I'm bringing supplies to Byelyvolk. It was cleared of citizens when Chernobyl blew up, but never got contaminated, was too expensive to bring people back later, so they were moved to other towns. Still, I keep Geiger counter with me. You never know." He lifted the bacon and quickly set the strips onto thick slices of bread, handing one to Sam as she sat down.

"Spaseeba." It was amazing; she hadn't smelled cooked food in ages, had subsisted on freshly-killed prey. Now it made her slightly queasy. She still downed it, enjoying it. "I saw a picture on your dashboard. Your family?"

"My wife Roza. Our daughter Irina." He grinned. "I'll settle down someday, if I can get job where I'm not away most of time. But it's hard in Russia now; we must do what we do." He paused. "Have you husband, children?"

She breathed in. "There's... someone in my life. No children." The latter wasn't entirely true; early in their relationship, Fenris and she had cast spells using visualisations of intelligent wolf-spirits, which now roam the Scottish forests – they were children of sorts. But she hadn't thought of them in years, had come to distance herself from that notion. She wasn't some little girl dreaming of her Prince Charming anymore.

"What's he like?"

She smiled. "At times rough and gentle. Very protective. Hairy-"

Cole grinned. "Sounds like real man. But you need children; they bring joy and purpose-"

"So, if there's no one at Byelyvolk, who are you bringing supplies to? Soldiers?" Apprehension touched her, as she recalled her arrest and imprisonment by the Special Weapons Directorate forces.

And her anxiety must have shown, because Cole smiled and patted her arm reassuringly. "No solders. Scientists. Arkeeahl- ally- what's in English?"

"Archaeologists?"

"Da, them. There is an old fortress outside city, from time of Genghis Khan. Soldiers were there, but only until they found no gold. Nothing but bones and armour and pottery. I ship them back to Moscow, and bring them food, drink, mail, medicine, nitrogen-"

"Nitrogen?"

"Liquid nitrogen. Have canisters in back, for freeze drying sample packages for shipping."

"I see." She wondered, for a moment, if it had anything to do with the Source she sought. It seemed too much of a coincidence. But first… "You're not going anywhere near the border to Belarus, are you?"

Cole grunted. "Near out here is far everywhere else." He regarded her. "Are you better there than Moscow?"

She stared back. It was true; she had friends in Belarus, who could secure her with shelter, alibis, arrange for a replacement passport. Could she trust him? Did she have a choice? "I... might be in a bit of trouble."

He smirked. "A foreign woman alone in forest with no clothes or ID usually is. Well, I might make detour to Belarus border. I am Cowboy Cole, and must help damsels in distress, or my baby turn her nose up at me."

Sam smiled at him, feeling more secure than she had in a long time. "Spaseeba."

He smiled back, and slipped a cassette into his dashboard player, and soon some country song from a Russian Elvis sound-a-like filled the cab – along with Cole's less than perfect but still appealing voice.

*

A knock on the door made her wake up. "What-"

She sat up in darkness, having retired for a nap some undetermined time ago, and then slid the sleeping compartment door aside. "What's up?"

Cole kept his eyes on the road, his face sober, and the music off. "We are at Byelyvolk."

She looked out, seeing what at first looked like a rundown section of any Russian city, with grey and white block apartment buildings and wide streets lined with trees made leafless in the season. But after a few seconds, one noticed the absolute lack of people or vehicles, except for a few abandoned, charred wrecks. It was like she had entered an unreal world, a place of silence that both drew and repelled her. "Goddess..."

"They tried bringing tourists here once, but people who came couldn't stay, they were too scared. I think only cowboys like ghost towns." He nodded at weather-damaged statues of Lenin. "The animals like it though. They thrive with no humans hunting them. Wild boar, deer, foxes. Wolves."

She nodded numbly, staring at broken windows reflecting the dying afternoon sun, weed-cracked pavements, discarded pieces of lives. And then she saw them, crossing the road: wolves, unafraid of the arriving vehicle, obviously having forgotten the threat humans could pose. "Cole, do you ever hear stories about... spirits around here? Strange phenomena?"

The trucker grunted. "The man to ask that is Professor Emil Matrov. He knows everything about Byelyvolk, and its history."

*

They stopped outside of the city, at the ruins of a large, ancient fortress, of which only a few outer walls and a main box-like structure survived, its former glory faded like the nearby city. A few people milled about, packing crates and helping unload boxes from Cole's truck.

Inside the main building, Cole introduced Sam to Matrov, a gaunt, snow-haired man who appeared as ancient as the walls around them. He looked frail, seemingly swallowed up deep in a black turtleneck sweater, but still retained an animation as he greeted the visitor, leading them into a spacious main room with a lovely Persian rug and tables along the walls, filled with ancient plates, knives, jars, jewellery and daggers. In the corner, a small lamp burned a single flame, producing an unfamiliar scent.

He talked in good English about what was obviously his favourite subject. "Byelyvolk was once just a way station between khanates of the Mongol Empire, particularly the Ilkhanate, in what is now Iran, Iraq and much of the neighbouring nations."

"What happened to this place?"

He hobbled along, his face crinkling in slight pain as he showed off some of his group's findings. "In 1296, the Ilkhanate had formally converted to Islam, and many of the old ways were destroyed or cast out. Some forbidden items seemed to have been buried here."

"Forbidden items?"

"Da, relics, shrines to pre-Islamic Arabian gods." He indicated a carving in a tablet, one with a beast-like face that struck Sam with its familiarity. "And the Djinn."

Sam felt her hackles rise as she stared at it, feeling energies crackling around the stone, like static electricity. Her eldritch senses focused... this fortress was definitely the Source Fenris warned her about. "The Djinn? As in genies?" They had come up as part of her ongoing research into magic and the paranormal, but she knew very little about them.

Matrov nodded. "Formally recognised as real by the Quran, but objects said to contain their images were banished. Some seemed to have been stored down in the lower levels. After this, there was bad luck reported, spirits and sightings. The fortress was abandoned, and the lower levels sealed off."