The First Attack on the Parklands
1162 Words
A piercing howl, sharp and desperate, split the night. Her breath stuck in her throat, and Calla bolted upright. It wasn’t just loud; it was wrong, full of fear and pain. She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her cloak and pushed out of her den into the chill of the night.
The noise of the wolves in the Moonfang territory was alive; the wolves were running and shouting; they shouted one through another, and there were not even separate instructions; it was only chaotic noise. Calla’s heart pounded as she followed the cries toward the edge of the parklands, where the scent of blood hit her like a wall. It was thick and sour, with something unnatural in the taste.
She skidded to a stop when she reached the scene, calling, “What happened?”
The fur and blood were a mess in the clearing. Three wolves were writhing on the ground, twisted into contortions in pain. Their faces were pale, and a few pack members hovered over them. The rest sat nearby, scattered, rash, and their voices frantic.
One wolf shouted, 'They've been victims of an attack!''' “Like a storm, something tore through here!”
Her eyes scanned the injured wolves, and she moved closer. The air had poisoned the wolves, blackening and rotting the flesh around their deep wounds. She knelt beside one of them, her hands shaking as she pressed lightly against his side.
Another wolf snapped, her voice sharp with panic, “Don’t touch him!” “What if it spreads?”
Calla tried to keep her voice steady. “It’s not a disease.” “This is something else.”
Someone shot back, 'How would you know?' “It could be anything. ‘For all we know, it’s her fault!’”
Calla froze. She didn’t have to look to know who they meant. For years, the whispers had followed her since her mother's death and the fact she left no questions.
Cedric stepped into the clearing and growled. His presence, but the tension still crackled in the air, silenced most of the chaos. We can't fix this by blaming each other. We need to focus.”
'And what do you do?' another wolf muttered. “The wards are down, the elders are dead, and now we have... this.” His lip curled in disgust as he waved a hand at the injured wolves.
Her jaw tightened, and Calla straightened. “We don’t know what this is yet, but yelling at each other from here will not fix it.”
The wolf snapped back, “Easy for you to say.” “You’re not the one dying on the ground!”
Cedric cut her off before she could reply. “Enough. All of you. We’re taking them back to the camp. “I can save him, Calla, help with the injured.”
For only a moment, Calla hesitated before nodding. To her side knelt a young packmate named Thorne. His eyes were leaden with pain, his breathing shallow. And deeper down on his flank, blackened wounds oozed with a strange dark fluid that had a faint rotting scent.
She pressed her hand to his shoulder and said softly, “Thorne.” “Can you hear me?”
His lips twitched as if he wanted to speak; his eyes flickered toward her. No words came, only a faint, broken whimper.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We’ll get you back to the den,” he said.
One wolf motioned for another one to help lift Thorne, and they did. Whatever movement made him cry out so rawly, so painfully, that Calla's chest tightened with the sound. She bit her lip, trying to concentrate.
The clearing was eerily empty as people carried off the other two injured wolves. Her eyes scanned the ground, but Calla stayed behind. She had a feeling she’d seen this scene before. She noticed a cluster of claw marks sunk deep into the earth and a mere half step from the tree line. They were jagged and blackened at the edges, just like the ones from Elder Theron’s disappearance.
Her stomach churned. She crouched next to them, running her fingers softly down the marks. Faintly, they pulsed as if they were alive. A shiver ran through her.
A voice snapped behind her. “What are you doing?”
One of the older packmates, Fenrik, glared at her, and she turned to see. His eyes were distrustful; his lips pulled into a thin line.
She stood to face him, looking for answers. She said evenly.
“Answers, huh? Fenrik’s voice dripped with accusation; maybe you already know them. “Was your mother into this kind of thing?” “Old magic, secrets from which no one else knew.”
Calla spoke low and firm. “Leave her out of this.”
“Why should I?” His presence lurked in close, and Fenrik stepped closer. Have we all forgotten? Do you think we have? She was constantly stirring up trouble, messing with things she shouldn’t have been messing with. And now, you’re acting just like her.”
Calla clenched her hands into fists, the nails in her palms digging in. The rage wanted to boil under her skin, but she held it back down. Fighting wouldn’t help. Not here, not now.
She said quietly, “I’m nothing like her.” “It’s bigger than you or me, whatever this is.”
Calla caught a faint glow before Fenrik could respond. Beyond the trees, it flickered at the edge of the clearing. Her breath hitched. It wasn’t the moon, and it wasn’t firelight. It was something cold and unnatural.
She stepped past Fenrik toward the glow. “Do you see that?”
His gaze followed hers, and he frowned. “See what?”
Calla didn’t answer. Her heart pounded as she moved closer, her feet crunching softly against the ground. It dimly pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, pulling her towards it.
“Calla, stop,” Fenrik called. “You don’t know what—”
She was focused entirely on the glow and ignored him. The air was colder, and the smell of decay intensified as she stepped into the shadows of the trees. Again, the light pulsed but was brighter and illuminated the surrounding ground.
Her breath caught. Cracks and black marks scarred the black earth, with deeper claw marks radiating jaggedly outwards. It was coming from the center, from something buried just under the surface.
She crouched and reached out hesitantly. Fingers almost touching the glow of the object, a sharp jolt of pain shot through her hand. Her heart raced; she gasped and jerked back.
“What are you doing?” She didn’t look back, but Fenrik’s voice came again, closer now.
Brightly, it glowed, its air humming faintly. Fear prickled along the edge of her mind, and Calla’s chest tightened. This wasn’t natural, whatever it was. It wasn’t safe.
They hadn't finished it yet.
- Writer
