The Wolf at the End of the World

Chapter 4: The Wolf

Chapter 4: The WolfGWYN BLAIDD STEPPED OUT ONTO the broad promenade that ran the length of Cil y Blaidd, his sprawling wood and stone home that sat on a hidden wilderness lake in northern Ontario. Gelert, his huge hound and pawakan companion, followed him outside, whining at the distress he sensed in his master. Gwyn quieted the dog with a thought.

Leaning on the wooden railing, he stared down to where the midday sun shone bright and beautiful on the water below. Bright and beautiful. So different from the news he’d just received.

Mary dead? He couldn’t believe it. He’d known her all her life, taught her to track and hunt, gone camping with her and Ed. It’d been two years since he’d seen her. Ed and Mary had been the only ones who came to say goodbye the day he’d left Thunder Lake. He remembered her as warm and caring, smart and confident, with a self-deprecating wit and quick smile. Ed had written not long ago that she was starting at U of T this fall.

Now she was dead. Just eighteen. He shook his head. Too short a life, even for a human. Killed in what the cops were calling an animal attack. But Ed suspected something quite different.

A Heroka killing? Leiddia was the only Heroka in that area—at least that he knew of. But she’d been one of Mary’s closest friends. She could never have killed Mary. Hell, she could never kill anyone. Leiddia had a temper, for sure, but he could never imagine her killing someone.

Or eating them.

Leiddia. Two years together, and now two years apart. He tried to remember how she looked on the day they’d said goodbye, but her face kept morphing into Stelle’s.

Which encapsulated perfectly what had been the problem in their relationship. He’d loved Leiddia. Maybe still did. But he had still loved Stelle, too.

Maybe still did.

When it ended between him and Leiddia, he’d told himself that they’d met too soon after Stelle had died. Leiddia had a simpler explanation—that he loved a dead woman more than he loved her. He wasn’t sure she was wrong.

They had not parted friends. And now Ed was asking him to come back to save her.

He hadn’t left Cil y Blaidd for those two years. He thought of Ed and Mary, of Leiddia, of all he’d left behind in Thunder Lake. He looked around. He’d built this place twenty years ago as his occasional retreat from civilization. But it had now become his permanent home. Or had his act of retreat become permanent?

He pushed that thought away. Ed had no right to ask him to come back. Heroka didn’t kill innocent people like Mary. This couldn’t be a Heroka killing. The police could handle it. And Leiddia had made it more than clear that she never wanted to see him again. She was a big girl. She was a Heroka. Predator class. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him.

Turning his back on the lake, with Gelert trailing after him, he went back inside, into the main living area of his home, a large high-ceilinged room with oak floors, scatter rugs, and lots of couches and chairs. A stone fireplace flanked by bookcases filled one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the lake. A notebook computer attached to a satellite Internet link sat on a desk near the windows.

He sat down at the computer and sent Ed his reply. It was simple. It was short.

Sorry, but no.

Gelert raised his great head from where he lay beside Gwyn’s chair and whined.

Gwyn glared down at him. “Shaddup. They don’t need my help,” he said. And she wouldn’t want it, he thought, still trying to convince himself.

~~~

HE WAS STILL BROODING OVER his decision later that day when the sound of a plane brought him outside again. Staying out of sight, he searched the sky until he found it. The plane dropped lower, and he relaxed as he recognized its markings. It belonged to Michel Ducharmes, current head of the Circle of the Heroka and the only other person who knew the location of Cil y Blaidd.

He shook his head. Mitch was a friend, but he wouldn’t have flown hundreds of miles for a social call. He would have a problem, one he’d want Gwyn to help solve. He thought about Ed’s email. Got enough problems right now, old friend.

The plane did a circuit of the lake before landing, scanning for sunken logs that could rip a pontoon open. It pulled up to a dock hidden from above by arching willow branches, alongside Gwyn’s own single-propeller de Havilland Turbo Beaver. A huge man, his hair and beard a mass of red curls, climbed onto the dock and began to tie up the plane. Mitch.

Gwyn straightened as a second person emerged from the plane. Much smaller, with a slim female figure and spiky black hair that did not ring any memory bells.

Swearing silently, he headed out of the house and down the path to the dock, Gelert loping behind him. Why would Mitch bring a stranger to Cil y Blaidd?

Mitch looked up as Gwyn stepped onto the dock. Gelert bounded forward to greet the big man, his tail wagging furiously. Mitch patted the dog, and then, with a nervous glance at the girl, he gave Gwyn a broad grin and stepped forward, arms out.

They embraced, and Gwyn stepped back. “You’ve brought a guest,” he said, glaring at Mitch, then turning to the girl.

She looked somewhere mid-teens. She wore torn black jeans and an unzipped black hoodie over a wrinkled t-shirt proclaiming the band Metric. Now that he was closer, he could see that her spiked hair was dark blue, not black. Two silver rings pierced her right eyebrow, and she had a stud in her right nostril. A large gray rat perched on her left shoulder.

A familiar aura tinged her outline—the Mark of the Heroka, visible only to another Heroka. He focused on her aura, and the image of a brown otter superimposed itself on the girl for a heartbeat. Rodent clan, which he’d already assumed from the rat—her pawakan, no doubt.

The girl was smoking a cigarette and staring at her cell phone.

Mitch cleared his throat. “Gwyn, this is Cassandra Meadows. Goes by Caz. Caz, this is Gwyn Blaidd, an old friend.”

Gwyn put out his hand to the girl, but she kept staring at her phone. “No signal,” she said. “How…rustic.”

Shooting Mitch another look, he dropped his hand and forced a smile. “Welcome to Cil y Blaidd.”

The girl looked up at him then. She had big, gray-blue eyes framed by too much eyeliner. She took a drag on her cigarette. “Silly Blade? Weird name.” The rat twitched its whiskers at him.

He took a breath. “Seel ee Blah-heed. It’s Welsh. It means Lair of the Wolf.”

“So why don’t you just call it that? Or, you know…house?”

Mitch covered a grin with a hand. Gwyn bit back a retort. “Let me show you to the…house,” he said.

Caz looked up at the sprawling structure perched on the rock face above them. “Wow. You can’t even see that from the air.”

“I like my privacy,” he said, glaring at Mitch, who ignored him.

“Kinda creepy, you ask me,” she said.

Nobody did, kid. At least they weren’t staying.

He led the way up steps carved from the cliff face. Pines grew thick at the top, but a cleared path led into the trees and then followed the cliff edge.

Halfway along the path, Caz stopped, taking a step back and staring into the forest. “Uh, what are those?”

Two great stags emerged from the woods, their antlers barely missing trees on either side. Turning back to face the bush, the stags lowered their heads toward three gray shapes hovering behind them in the shadows.

“Looks like my totem feels I need protection from your troops,” Mitch said with a grin.

Three large timber wolves stepped from the trees, keeping their distance from the stags. Gelert wagged his tail, but the wolves ignored him, focusing on the stags, Caz, and Mitch.

“That’s Magula and some of his pack. They guard Cil y Blaidd for me,” Gwyn explained.

“Wonderful. Predators,” Caz muttered, slipping her rat into the pouch of her hoodie.

“Magula, take off. You should know Mitch by now,” Gwyn said. The largest wolf stared at Gwyn for a breath, gave the newcomers a final appraisal, and then led the other two back into the forest. A moment later, the stags retreated as well.

Gwyn turned back to the trail, then stopped as he caught the sound of another plane. Staying hidden, he stepped to the edge of the trees and looked up at the sky. A familiar yellow seaplane with black markings was passing over the lake.

“Trouble?” Mitch asked.

Gwyn shook his head. “The Ministry of Natural Resources plane. Usually see it about once a month. It’s early this time.” By at least a week, he thought, then dismissed the incident as the plane disappeared up the lake.

They emerged from the forest path onto a graveled walkway leading to huge oaken doors set in the stone front of the house. Gwyn pushed open the doors and invited his guests inside.

Corridors ran off the entranceway into the two wings of the house. His bedroom lay in one wing, guest bedrooms and unused rooms in the other. A broad half-flight oak staircase led down into the main room.

Caz’s gaze fell on Gwyn’s computer on the desk. “Holy s**t, technology. I don’t believe it.” She turned to Gwyn. “You got Internet?”

“Satellite link.”

She moved toward the desk. “I’m gonna check my f*******:, okay?”

“No,” Gwyn said, stepping in front of her. “Definitely not okay.”

She glared up at him. “Why the f**k not?”

“Because I said so.”

“God, what is your problem?” she said, taking a step back.

Before he could reply, Mitch cleared his throat. “Uh, Caz, why don’t you go for a walk while Gwyn and I discuss business? Won’t be long.”

“A walk? Outside? With the wolves? Yeah, right,” she said. “I don’t suppose he’s got TV?” When Gwyn just glared, she shrugged. “Figures. I’ll wait on the dock.” With that, she pulled out a pair of earbuds and headed to the door.

When she was gone, he turned to Mitch, but Mitch raised his hands before he could speak. “Okay, okay. Take it easy. I can explain.”

“It had better be good. Want a drink?”

Mitch smiled. “About time. Scotch. Neat, please.” Mitch settled his bulk into an oversized leather chair while Gwyn poured them both drinks. He handed a glass to Mitch and took a seat across from him. Mitch took a sip. “Nice. The Macallan? Eighteen year?”

“Twelve. Think I’d waste the good s**t on you?”

“Cheap prick.”

“So talk. Start with why you’d bring a stranger here. Especially her.”

Mitch chuckled. “She’ll grow on you over time.”

“I’m not planning to give her the chance.”

Mitch’s smile faded. “Her parents are dead.”

“Oh.” s**t, he thought, wishing he could rewind his introduction to Caz. “Sorry. Recent?”

“Just after she was born. Two of the first ones we lost to the Tainchel. Older brother, too.”

Gwyn frowned. Caz Meadows. Meadows. He knew that name. “Not Peter and Selma?”

Mitch nodded. “Jeremy, too.”

“Their son. Yeah, I remember now. They did have a daughter. Younger than Jeremy,” he said, thinking back. “Must have been hell for her.”

He and Stelle had still been together at the time. Back then, he ran security for the Circle in the northeast, which had mostly amounted to ensuring the Heroka remained nothing more than creatures of legend. Shapeshifters. Werebeasts. Things from fairy tales. Things that no rational person would believe in.

Then came the Tainchel, a covert operation of the federal intelligence agency CSIS, formed, as they later learned, with the single goal of tracking down and capturing the Heroka. For scientific testing. Testing that the Heroka subjects generally didn’t survive.

Tainchel. Old Scottish term: armed men advancing in a line through a forest to flush out and kill wolves.

The Tainchel developed specialized scanners from tests on early victims. Subtle differences in alpha wave patterns, infrared readings, and metabolic rates gave the Heroka away, even in crowded cities. Several Heroka, like Caz’s family, disappeared before the Circle caught on.

But they had caught on. Eventually. And then things changed. Including between him and Estelle.

“So who raised her?” he asked, pushing away dark memories.

Mitch sighed. “It’s more like who hasn’t. She’s had several foster homes, some with us, but mostly with humans who are sympathetic to us. She’s…challenging.”

“Gee, you think? So why—” He stopped as he felt contact with a wolf nearby. The mental touch had been brief, but long enough to know that the wolf was strange to the area, part of an intruder pack, not Magula’s. He’d sensed alertness, even alarm, in the animal. He reached with his mind trying to reestablish contact, but with no success. He repeated the process with Magula and his pack, searching for any sense of danger from the guardians of Cil y Blaidd, but found no signs of concern there.

“Something wrong?”

He shook his head. If a new pack had wandered into Magula’s territory, he had probably detected the intruders’ fear of confrontation with the resident pack. “False alarm. So again, why is she here?”

“I’m her trustee. I arrange her foster care, and right now, she doesn’t have any. So for now, I’m it.”

“Her last foster parents kick her out?”

Mitch studied his drink. “They were killed.”

Gwyn stared at him. “Explain, please.”

“Cops called it a botched home invasion. Both her foster parents were shot. House was ransacked. Jewelry, cash, electronics taken.”

“But…?”

“But the cops don’t know the whole story.”

“Which is?”

“Doorbell rings late at night. Four men force their way in. Demand to know where Caz is.”

Gwyn swallowed as the old Tainchel chill ran down his spine. “And where was she?”

“Upstairs in her room. She hears all this and figures these guys are cops.”

“Why?”

“She’s got a record of petty felonies. And she’d done some shoplifting that day. Like I said, she’s challenging. Anyway, she figures it’s about that, so she slips out her window and takes off. Hard to stop one of the rodent clan at night. Comes back later to find her foster parents dead. She called me then.”

“s**t,” Gwyn said, shaking his head. “But if they weren’t cops, who the hell were they? And why were they looking for her?”

“I have a theory.”

“Yes?”

“I have a source inside CSIS,” Mitch said. He looked at Gwyn. “He thinks someone’s resurrected the Tainchel.”

Gwyn swore. “Within CSIS again?”

Mitch shook his head. “My contact doesn’t know, and he’s pretty high up. They may have people there. Within the federal government, for sure.”

“So you think this was a botched abduction of a Heroka.”

Mitch nodded.

“Have you told Caz that theory?”

“No. She’s feeling guilty enough about their deaths as it is. And with the Tainchel killing her parents….” He spread his hands.

Gwyn stared at Mitch. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re trying to recruit me again, aren’t you? Bring me back to fight the Tainchel.”

Mitch shook his head. “Actually, old friend, I would expect no more success in bringing you out of seclusion this time than I’ve had in any of my attempts over the past two years.”

Gwyn winced. “So why are you here?”

“I’m hoping to put your isolation to good use. If Caz has been targeted by the Tainchel, then I need somewhere safe to leave her until I can—”

“What?!”

“—until I can find a more permanent arrangement for her.”

“You’re kidding, right? You want me to play babysitter to that antisocial little—”

“Excuse me? You are calling her antisocial? She’s not the one playing hermit.”

Glaring at Mitch, Gwyn stood and walked to the window. “Don’t start on that again. I—”

The pain from the first bullet dropped him to his knees. The next two shots came in quick succession.

“Gwyn! What’s wrong?” Mitch ran to his side.

Though the wolves were miles away when it happened, Gwyn felt their deaths immediately. Felt each bullet shatter their bones and rip through their organs. Felt it as if he’d been shot himself. Felt them die. He slumped onto his side on the floor, weak and shaking, as he felt the life force of the wolves fade away, draining part of his own strength from him. Gelert appeared, whining and nuzzling his face, sensing his master’s distress.

“Gwyn?” Mitch asked, kneeling beside him.

“Hunters,” he managed to gasp. “Somebody’s hunting wolves.”