Ney,Frothy,Rumar

2

"I stare at the painting for hours, sometimes, trying to make sense of those stars," the theurge says. "I've asked the painter and she says they don't mean anything, but I have my doubts. I suspect my wife was trying to tell me something. Though the glyphs aren't Garou, they're human alchemy. Her friend Harmonie was a human sorceress and occult scholar."

"That's your wife?" you ask.

Elton gestures to the painted woman.

"Katherine died defending the caern, like so many others," he says. "Before she died, she was one of the greatest theurges of her generation, a true prodigy. The spirits are silent now that she's gone. Most of the world is just…dust."

He follows the starfield with his eyes, then looks down into the fire.

"Kate told me a story once about the Milky Way. Long ago, during a winter worse than any winter in history, the god of fire stole straw from a greedy king. As he fled, bits of straw escaped from his bag, and they scattered across the sky, forming the Milky Way. What we see, then, exists as it really is, and also exists as a remembrance of an act of mercy. The same thing, but two ways of understanding it."

"I'm not much for riddles, Elton."

"I think I prefer mercy to the justice I've seen from my fellow Garou."

"Did Katherine intend that as a moral lesson, or as a riddle?"

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"The scope of our failure really is breathtaking, isn't it?" Elton says. "Genocidal wars against the other shapeshifters, whole tribes fallen to the Wyrm, humans running rampant across Gaia, and in our arrogance, we—I mean now the Garou of the Broad Brook Caern—thought we could save the world. Maybe we can't save the world, but if we've failed, I'd like to know why. And maybe we're close to some answers now.

"No one really understands what happened to the Broad Brook Caern, but I was completely in the dark, jailed for my doubts while almost everyone else died fighting. What is the Answering Tiger? And why have we done nothing since it happened? We live like ghosts, and it can't go on, Thunderhoof. We're going to talk to the other Garou, learn more about how David Banicki created those monsters, figure out what this thing is." He picks up the lance. "And even see if we can help your packmate. But first—"

"We head deeper into Broad Brook, to face and destroy whatever other Wyrmspawn lurk there."

"I'll bring you a sample of that horseflesh that you can analyze, so we can find a cure for Clay."

"We pay a visit to Daphne Clear and enlist her help identifying this lance." I may have torn up her office, but this is too important.

"We commit to rebuilding the Broad Brook Caern by finding its guardian spirits and performing rites that honor them."

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"No," Elton says, "first we have dinner. When was the last time you ate?"

He disappears down to the street, then returns with a perfectly spherical burrito for you and another for him. You try not to tear the burrito apart like a raccoon; it's hard, because you haven't had many proper meals lately. You eat in silence for a few minutes, looking around at Elton's collection of occult statuary: a jade unicorn, scattered medallions and candle holders in brass or bronze, a bust of Athena in white marble with African features and a helm of what you hope isn't silver. Bookshelves hide tapestries and paintings, and plush velvet curtains frame the windows.

"Tomorrow afternoon," Elton says as he retrieves a dusty bottle of wine, "you need to—Do you want some?"

"Wine me."

"I prefer beer, but whatever makes this scalpel wound stop hurting."

"I actually liked that tea."

"I know it's late, but do you have any coffee?"

"Just water, actually."

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"Give me five," he says. He immediately goes to work on the tea while sipping wine from the bottle, and soon presents you with a steaming cup. He looks around for a wine glass, then just retrieves another teacup and pours his wine in there.

"What was I saying?" the Shadow Lord asks.

"Tomorrow afternoon…"

"Right, tomorrow, I'm going to investigate the barrow and see how close I can get to the actual caern. Contact me in the afternoon and I'll fill you in."

You exchange plans for a few more minutes, but when you finish your tea, Elton clearly wants you gone. But as you rise, the Shadow Lord says, "Hold on," and digs through a kitchen drawer. He tosses you an iPhone. "Here, keep this."

This will be perfect for my investigations. "Thank you."

"Please tell me this isn't your dead wife's iPhone."

Cool, free stuff. I'm not proud. "Does it still work?"

"I'll find a phone on my own." I don't want to be more beholden to a Shadow Lord than I already am.

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"Should," Elton says. "It's reset to factory defaults, but it worked fine until I upgraded to the new one. Take it so we can keep in touch."

Free stuff is always nice. You pocket it and the charger.

Next, you really try to fight off the bread and the little jar of artisanal jam, but Elton is like an Italian grandmother and he absolutely won't let you leave until you have something for breakfast tomorrow. You still can't tell if he's reeling you in with gifts or if he really doesn't like seeing you so poor, but by the time you're back outside, it's almost midnight. And bitterly cold. Your side throbs as you shuffle back to your dingy little gambrel and plug your phone in to charge and fall asleep the moment you pull your boots off.

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You've already accomplished so much, but you've only defeated one Bane and fought a fomor. You need to reach the caern itself, not just the barrows, and face whatever lurks there. Your brain rattles over names even as you try to sleep, Elton Daphne Nin Melodie Podge, until you finally fall into a deep dream. In it, Elton holds one of those threaded paper circles with a bird on one side and a cage on the other. He spins the paper circle so the bird appears trapped in the cage. But then the bird hurls itself free of its prison, heedless of fragile and snapping bones. The cage breaks. The bird is out. It flies away, spilling blood across the skyline of Northampton, and trees burst out of foundations, shattering buildings and flinging people high into the air…

Morning. You check your wounds: they're healing cleanly. You change the dressings, even though you don't really need to worry about infection as a werewolf, then you check your new phone. A single email from Scarper, only a subject. It reads He's dead Clay is dead already you blew it you f****d up everything

Well, s**t.

I can only offer my condolences now. I tell Scarper that I'm sorry.

One mission can't be accomplished, but there's still more to do here—I ask for details I can use.

Scarper is an asshole, but I'm not going to dash off an angry email. I'll let it sit for now.

I don't want Garou business going out onto the internet. I don't answer.

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