Darius was born during a blizzard in midwinter. His first impression of the world was the biting chill of the winter air. It settled into his lungs and never entirely departed after he had drawn his first breath. Darius shivered and his mother gently nudged him away from the entrance of the den and deeper into her warm fur. The steady rhythm of her heart had a soothing effect on him. Feeling safe and utterly exhausted, he fell asleep. Quiet and peace seemed to preside there for an eternity. Of the five wolf-pups that were born that night, only Darius and his sister Mara survived the intense cold.
In time the ground began to thaw and green shoots tentatively emerged from the earth. The brook that ran through their vale was transformed from quiet trickle into a rushing torrent as it flooded with melt-water from the nearby hills. Tantalizing scents drifted on warm spring breezes. The forest resonated with the high-pitched whine of insects. A myriad birds announced their return with a chorus of trills and warbles. Squirrels emerged from their winter hibernation, chittering at each other as they redefined territories they had held the previous year. Darius and Mara grew quickly. Their light-gray fur began to darken, soon matching the color of their mother's coat. They spent much of their time play-fighting—a pursuit involving a lot of tumbling and nipping at the other's paws and ears. It was while he and Mara were playing near their mother that Darius first noticed that a thin, flat vine encircled Garia's neck. It was dark-blue in color, like the the sky after a sunset faded. Upon closer inspection, Darius found a small, flattened, shiny rock attached to the vine. Tiny grooves, like the imprints of birds-feet but impossibly small, marked a regular script across the rock's smooth surface. Darius did not understand the meaning of what he saw:
Experiment #118B
ID7540118-B-973
GeneTech Labs, IncNext to the marks was a finely-detailed impression of a leaf. The tracery was curious to Darius. Each offshoot of the leaf's stem seemed a small reflection of the whole, every offshoot of a reflection was in turn a smaller image of its parent, and so on. The vine and its flat, shiny rock seemed foreign to Darius. He felt that they did not belong around his mother's neck, and he was disturbed by their presence.
When Darius and Mara were old enough to fend for themselves, Garia taught them the ways of the forest. She taught them how to track creatures by even the faintest trace of scent. She taught them how to ignore the sounds of the forest—the creaking of the evergreens as they swayed imperceptibly in the breeze, the distant roar of the waterfall which lay a half-morning's journey in the direction that the sun fell, the soft rush of wind that bustled through the leaves far overhead, and the constant chatter of the forest's more vocal denizens—in order to hear the nervous breaths of a rabbit who was at that moment hiding under the gnarled roots of an oak tree just over the next hill. Darius and Mara learned how to conceal themselves in the thinnest undergrowth. Garia taught them the patience and the timing they needed to stalk their prey. She taught them how to wait for the perfect moment before striking, and how to know when that moment had arrived.
And they learned fear.
During the spring, while storm-clouds roiled in the skies overhead, Garia's sleep became uneasy. She trembled and twitched as she dreamed, as if she were chasing something—or being chased by something. Sometimes her eyes would squeeze shut, as if in terror, as her lips curled back to expose sharp fangs. Occasionally she growled or whimpered softly to herself. It was her whimpering that would always awaken Darius. He often sat on his haunches next to her in the hope that his presence might comfort her, though it seldom did. He wished for something tangible to fight, some creature that he might defend his mother against. His inability to protect her from her dreams frustrated Darius. One night, as Garia whimpered quietly, Darius watched a storm rage outside. Lightning flickered sporadically in the distance and he saw the forest illuminated, the brief light throwing harsh shadows at the mouth of their den. Moments later the low crack-rumble of the thunder reached them—a sound like the sky itself being torn asunder—and Garia awakened with a start. Fear and adrenaline glazed her eyes. She glared wildly around, as if she were in an unfamiliar place, backing against the far wall of the den. After a moment Garia recognized where she was and that she was safe, but the fear never left her eyes. She huddled against the far wall, cringing whenever the thunder crashed outside. She crouched there till morning, scratching and clawing at the dark vine around her neck.
It seemed to Darius that the world was forever changing. The warm summer winds soon gave way to a chill autumn frost. Outsiders to the forest stalked deer for two moons. They were strange-smelling and ungainly. Garia avoided these odd creatures, giving them a wide berth. Darius and Mara once watched one of them from a distance, careful not to draw too close. Darius had attempted to stalk the strange two-legged raider and had received a nip at his heel from Garia when she caught him at it. After a time, these intruders retreated and the forest was once again quiet. To Darius, the blizzards and heavy snowfalls of deep winter seemed peaceful compared to the riotous storms of early spring, though he disliked the freezing rain that coated his fur with ice. From time to time Garia would take her children hunting after nightfall, when moonlight threw peculiar shadows at the snow-covered ground. When the moon reached its fullest they lifted their heads and howled, raising wolfsong in celebration of the moment.
Time passed quickly for the three wolves. Darius began to range farther and farther from home, hunting and exploring beyond the boundaries of their territory. Mara was content to stay closer to home, however. Darius noticed that his sister tended to stay near Garia, as if to protect their mother from the terrors that so often plagued her dreams. During his travels Darius never met another of his kind, though from time to time he recognized faint scents, many days old, of his brethren. The scents were both familiar and unfamiliar to him. They smelled distinctly wolfen, but something about them was not natural, not like Darius or his sister. Darius began tracking these scents, traveling farther still. Beyond the Oldroot that was his home grew much younger forests. The trees there were not yet as tall or as broad as those near his home. One crisp, clear morning, Darius made a strange discovery. A flat trail of gray rock weaved through the hills. It was raised from the ground, like a great scar carved from the earth and fused by lightning. Growing at regular intervals along the trail were perfectly straight trees, bare of branches save for their tops, which carried black vines that hummed and crackled. Cautiously, Darius followed the rock-trail from a distance until the daylight began to wane. Arriving in a small clearing at the top of a hillside, Darius looked out over the treetops and saw where the strange path led. The scarred earth wound its way to a giant nest of regularly-shaped dwellings which reminded Darius vaguely of insect-hives. The ground in and around the nest had the same fused look as the trail. Even from this distance, Darius could smell a corruption of the air. The wind stank of death and decay. The hives themselves were enormous structures that reflected the reddening sky like the surface of a pond as the sun passed beyond the horizon. As the shadows deepened Darius watched in fascination as lights flickered to life within the hives—like so many stars.
Curiosity overrode Darius' fear and he stealthily approached the giant nest. There, in the deep moon-cast shadows of the treeline, he saw creatures like those who had invaded the Oldroot to hunt deer. They were tall with short, fine hair and strange, multicolored coats. The creatures walked on their hind legs, appearing clumsy and yet somehow graceful as they moved. They traveled inside large beetle-shells with round, spinning feet. The shells moved quickly, growling and snarling as they flitted about. Once, a similar shell—shaped like a dragonfly but with circular wings—passed high over Darius' head with a deep thrumming sound. He stayed hidden at the tree-line, watching and listening until the morning came. When dawn finally broke upon the valley, Darius retreated back into the forest. Exhausted, he crept under a fallen pine tree, rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes. Darius dreamed fitfully of giant, snarling beetles and swarms of men.
He awoke as night was falling and decided to return to the Oldroot. What he had experienced at the man-nest was too strange for him to comprehend all at once. He needed time to think about what he had observed. Darius turned away from the nest and loped homeward through the moonlit snow. He arrived in the Oldroot three days later, relieved to be back in familiar surroundings. The strangeness of past days faded slightly from his memory. Darius reached the top of the vale and paused for a moment looking down at their den. Garia lay asleep at the mouth of the den, her chest gently rising and falling, but he did not see his sister there. It was unlike Mara to leave their mother unattended and unguarded while she slept. Usually she waited to hunt while Garia was awake—snow crunched behind him, wrenching Darius from his thoughts. He was already turning when a heavy, furred shape slammed into him, knocking him backwards and sending him tumbling down the snowy slope. He skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill and looked up at his assailant. Mara stood at the top of the glen and gazed down at him. She grinned and wagged her tail playfully. Awakened by the sounds of his fall, Garia regarded Darius with a questioning tilt to her head. Even after all the time they had spent hunting together, Darius was still unable to sense Mara's approach. She had a lightness of step that was like an autumn breeze, barely stirring a leaf or so much as bending a fallen twig. Darius stood, tossing his shoulders to shake the snow from his coat. He looked up at his sister. Mara met his gaze and raised one of her eyebrows. Darius grinned and charged back up the slope. Giving a yelp of mock-terror, Mara turned and fled with Darius in hot pursuit.
When they finally returned to the den, Garia caught the scent of the man-hive on her son's fur. She trembled and backed against the wall. Darius averted his gaze and tucked his tail between his legs. Garia snarled at him and left the den, avoiding Darius for the rest of the day. Her nightmares returned that night. His mother's whimpering awoke Darius and he sat on his haunches next to her as he always had when her sleep grew troubled. Garia awoke with a yelp, confused, afraid and furiously scratching at the blue collar that encircled her neck. Sensing their mother's unease at his presence, Mara chased Darius out of the den. He slept outside that night, braving the chill winter air and the softly falling snow to ease his mother's discomfort. Days passed and eventually Garia became comfortable around Darius once more. Her reaction to the scent of the strange hive made his growing perception of the man-nest all the more disturbing. Try as he might, Darius could not make sense of it all. Some essential piece of information eluded him, slipping his grasp as if he were chasing his shadow.
The seasons changed, for the rhythm of seasons was unrelenting. The bright claws of winter resheathed as spring took its first breaths. Darius and Mara stayed near home, venturing beyond their territory only rarely and never for very long. That summer passed quickly for Darius, and before long the water of the brook grew chilled, and the trees shed colored leaves like a blizzard of rust. That autumn stirred something inside Darius and he felt a compulsion to travel once more, seeking a mate in the quiet forests to the north-east. He traveled for many moons before finally reaching the Greatwater. Far in the distance, thunderheads rolled over the waves. An occasional flash of lightning lit the frothing surf and seared the air. The ocean roared and crashed against the rocky shoreline, spraying jets of water and mist. Fascinated, Darius watched the storm rage against the shore until the shadows grew long. The storm blew itself out overnight and the light of dawn met calm waters. Darius began to follow the coast toward the north. He caught no scent of his kin and found no trace of their passing. His howls went unanswered. A heavy snowfall announced the early arrival of winter as it swept down from the mountains to reclaim the countryside.
When Darius eventually did discover another wolf, it was entirely by accident. He had been stalking a jackrabbit, approaching the nervous creature from downwind. Darius broke from his cover and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blurred form of another wolf leap from concealment beneath a tree-branch weighted down with snow. Both wolves skidded to a sudden halt as they noticed each other. Seizing upon this unexpected development, the jackrabbit escaped in the confusion. Darius hardly noticed it leave as he examined the other wolf. She was slightly smaller than him and her coat was a lighter shade of gray, but her markings were dark and Darius found them quite striking. The other wolf drew her ears back and squinted at him suspiciously. Darius crouched low to the ground, letting his tail droop. He avoided her gaze but stole quick glances at her. He did not want to scare off the first prospective mate he had ever seen. Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, she approached Darius. She leaned cautiously forward and sniffed at the fur of his flank. He took the opportunity to lift his muzzle and sniff at her in return. Her scent was unfamiliar to Darius. It was wolfen, to be sure, but it was fundamentally different from his own or his sister's in a way that he did not fully comprehend. The female wolf recoiled in alarm. Her eyes widened and she flattened her ears against her head. Darius looked up, confused by her sudden anxiety. The she-wolf stepped backward and he noticed her legs were trembling. She ruffled the fur on her shoulders and growled threateningly at Darius. He stepped backward, avoiding her eyes once more. Abruptly, she turned and bolted back into the woods. In a moment, she was gone. Perplexed, Darius sat in the snow and puzzled over what had happened. He could have pursued her, but he suspected that it would have been a futile attempt. She had been terrified, but he could not understand why. Feeling very alone, Darius loped back in the direction of his home.
Winter had not yet broken when he finally returned to their small glen. Ice-crusted snow crunched under his paws, and the air was crisp and clear. Darius spied Garia resting near the entrance to their den. He remembered the last time he had returned home and spun quickly around. Mara was twenty strides behind him, slinking low to the ground with her tail playfully twitching in the air. Darius cocked his head to one side in mock-exasperation. Mara paused in her tracks and sat back on her haunches. The corners of her mouth turned upward in a sly grin. Mara suddenly stood and trotted past him, motioning for her brother to follow with a flick of her tail. Darius caught up with his sister and strode silently alongside her, curious to see where she was leading him. They walked southward for a long time before arriving in an area unfamiliar to Darius. Their mother had always avoided this place when they hunted together. Mara led him through a stand of gnarled and withered elm trees to the edge of a large clearing. She peered out at the center of the clearing and Darius followed her gaze. At the center of the clearing was a small hill covered with clusters of alder-bushes and rotting tree-trunks. The clearing and the mound felt strange to Darius. They seemed out of place with the general flow and shape of the surrounding terrain, but he was unable to touch his nose to the reason for this feeling. Mara backed away from the alders and moved around the edge of the clearing. Darius followed, beginning to feel uneasy. He thought he saw something move out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, he saw nothing. He and his sister circled a third of the clearing before peering out at the hill once more. Darius looked out, trying to follow her gaze. Then, over the treetops, he saw what had caught her attention. Something strange was approaching from the air.
As it neared, Darius saw that it was one of the dragonfly-shells with the spinning wings that he had seen at the man-nest. Its carapace was flat black and it made no sound as it descended to hover over the clearing. The beating of the creature's wings filled the clearing with a ferocious wind. The alders swayed wildly. Powdered snow billowed outward from the center of the clearing. Darius and Mara huddled together. They were terrified, yet unable to flee. Darius watched the center of the clearing, fascinated, as a large section of the hill slid smoothly to the side on previously-hidden tracks, revealing a dark pit beneath it. Two men in thick coats emerged from the hole and stood near it, bracing themselves against the wind and shielding their eyes from the furiously whipping snow. When Darius looked up, he saw a segment of the dragonfly's carapace slide back, providing an opening through which a third man lowered a vine to which a crate had been attached. The crate was black with a green logo on one side. Darius caught a quick glimpse of the symbol before the swirling snow obscured his view. It was a finely-detailed leaf, each offshoot of its stem a reflection of the last. The men on the ground caught the crate as it swayed on its vine and guided it to the tunnel from which they had risen. After a moment, the vine went slack and the man in the dragonfly-shell hauled the line back up. The sequence with the crate was repeated twice more before the black-shelled dragonfly rose and departed. A brief whirlwind of snow and small twigs in the clearing was all that marked its departure. The two men descended once more into the dark tunnel and a moment later the section of hillside slid soundlessly back to seal the entrance. Darius and Mara remained still for a long time afterward. The snow settled quickly and soon there was hardly a sign that the strange event had occurred at all. Half-formed thoughts flitted through Darius' mind. The leaf-symbol from the side of the crate was identical to the one on his mother's collar. The implications of that connection tugged at his awareness but refused to become coherent when he focused on them. Another detail of the event plagued Darius as he crouched motionless at the edge of the clearing. One of the crates had had small holes on its sides, and Darius was sure he had seen movement inside it.
Night fell quickly on the clearing. Eventually Darius and Mara grew confident enough to slink back into the shadows without fear of being seen. They were only able to relax after they had put a sizable distance between themselves and the hidden man-nest. A thin, curved sliver of the moon cast its feeble light down upon the two wolves as they reached familiar territory once again. Darius kept looking up at the night sky, fearing the return of the giant dragonfly and feeling unnervingly like he was being watched. He was unable to pierce the darkness for the lack of light in the night sky and the obstruction of the branches overhead. Mara was uneasy near areas of deep shade, as if she expected the ground to raise up and a swarm of men to spill forth from its dark depths. They arrived back at their home to find Garia asleep in the den. Darius and Mara curled up next to their mother and huddled together, seeking protection from the cold and from their fears.
The next morning Garia could sense her children's anxiety. She stayed near the den, listening intently to the sounds of the forest and watching Darius and Mara from beneath worried brows. Mara stayed with their mother while Darius departed to hunt for food. He followed the small brook out of their glen and traveled alongside it for a time before stealthily approaching his favorite hunting ground. There was a small hill where a nearby tree had fallen the previous autumn, providing a hole in the canopy of branches overhead. When the sun reached a certain point in its path across the sky, it illuminated the hilltop, melting the snow to uncover the pale grass underneath. Darius crouched downwind, perfectly still, under the upraised roots of the fallen tree and waited. Ideally, the hilltop would attract deer to graze on the uncovered grass. The sun had long-since melted the snow from the top of the hill when a rabbit hopped into view. Nervously, it scanned the area for predators while nibbling on a blade of grass. Darius allowed the rabbit time to eat, hoping that it would relax. When the moment was right, Darius sprang out from under the roots, catching the rabbit by surprise. The rabbit turned and bolted, attempting to escape, but it was already too late. With the rabbit in his mouth, Darius retraced his path along the brook. He was still troubled by what he had witnessed the previous evening and was anxious to return home. Nearing the glen, Darius heard a sound like a crack of thunder. He looked to the sky, but there were no thunderheads on the horizon. Darius heard it again—a sound like the cracking of ice on a winter river—followed by a cry of pain.
It was Mara's voice.
Darius dropped the rabbit and began to run toward the den. He reached the top of the hill and looked down into the glen. Two men stood facing the den from the opposite side of the brook. They wore plated black armor that reminded Darius of the overlapping chitin of huge insects. Black shells enveloped their heads, concealing their faces. Mara stood protectively at the mouth of the den. Her ears were raised and the fur on her back and shoulders was bristling. She bared her fangs, attempting to look as fearsome as possible and growled defiantly at the intruders. He could see that she was limping, favoring her left foreleg. Blood stained the snow beneath her. Darius sprinted down the slope, keeping his eyes on the two men. Mara snarled again and leapt forward. One of the men brought his arm up. Thunder cracked. In mid-leap, Mara's head snapped roughly back in a crimsonn spray of blood and bone. She fell to the ground, twitching.
Darius howled with grief but he did not break stride. The men turned slowly toward him, as if they were frozen in time. Darius recognized the markings on their shoulders. It was the same symbol he had seen on his mother's collar; the same one that was on the side of those crates. It was a finely-detailed leaf, each offshoot a reflection of the last. Darius felt his earlier impressions falling together, completing a pattern. Finally, he understood. Blood pounded in his ears like the crashing of waves upon the shore of the Greatwater. Darius loped down the hill, moving quickly and sure-footed on familiar ground. He was twenty strides from the intruders when a blurred form burst from the den. It was Garia, Darius knew, her paralyzing fear of man finally overcome in a moment of bright, burning rage. She leapt for the throat of the closest man and they fell to the ground. The man flailed his arms, trying to fend off Garia's fierce lunges at his neck with one hand while groping desperately through the snow for his weapon with the other.
Darius was still too far away to help his mother, but his charge down the slope managed to hold the attention of the second intruder. The man held a strange and sinister-looking weapon in his hands. He raised it to his shoulder and sighted along its length. The weapon roared and spat lightning. The ground near Darius exploded, spraying him with snow and earth, but he did not break his stride. The man's weapon roared once more. Darius felt a stinging pain in his right ear, but it was a distant sensation and he ignored it. Behind his attacker, Darius could see his mother struggling with the other man. The man's hand came up with his fallen weapon as Garia's teeth closed on his throat. The man's eyes rolled back in his head and he made a miserable, gurgling sound. He pushed feebly at Garia's chest with his weapon. Undeterred, she wrenched her head savagely, tearing through his jugular and the soft cartilage of his windpipe. The weapon thundered and lurched in his dying hand. Garia flew backward with a startled yelp. She was dead before she hit the ground.
Darius closed the last few strides on his own attacker, expecting to be struck down by the lightning the intruder seemed to wield. As Darius leapt across the brook, he heard a sound. It was an empty, voiceless rasp, like the sound of claws on stone, and it had come from the man's weapon. The man stepped backward, fearfully swinging his now-useless weapon like a club. Darius leapt for the man's throat. The man stumbled backward, hammering on Darius' shoulders with the stock of his weapon. The angle Darius needed for a clean throat-rip was blocked by the man's chitin-plated forearms. The man's breathing was ragged and hoarse. Dropping his ineffectual weapon, the man torqued his body and hurled Darius into the freezing water of the nearby stream. Darius scrambled to regain his footing as the cold waters numbed his legs and paws. His assailant turned away, frantically groping through the snow near his fallen comrade. Locating his partner's weapon, the man spun and brought it to bear on the wolf.
Icy water dripped from his fur as Darius rose from the stream, but he paid it no mind. His rage flared brighter than the sun itself and Darius found that he could suddenly see with profound clarity. He growled low and deep, curling his lips back from his fangs. Darius felt the hair on his neck and his back bristling, but something else, deep inside. He was changing. Lightning flickered through his veins and his blood sang with fire. Darius' claws grew in size, as did his fangs. His back paws grew longer and wider; his back legs shifted, growing larger and longer; his front legs became more muscular, his front paws grew and his toes extended. Darius unsheathed his claws and saw that they were long and wicked. He rose to his full height and walked upright on his hind legs. Snow crunched under his feet. The man slowly backed away, shaking his head in disbelief and gibbering to himself as he raised his weapon to his shoulder. Lightning struck Darius in the side and his ears were filled with thunder. The pain was insignificant, barely noticeable. Darius could already feel the wound closing over, felt the sinews pull themselves together, felt the shattered bone fuse itself whole once more. Grinning wickedly, Darius stepped forward and batted the weapon from his assailant's numb hands. The man turned and fled. Darius crouched—digging his hind claws into the frozen ground for purchase—and leapt, landing heavily on the man's back. They fell. Darius' hind claws scraped and scratched at the chitin-armor on the man's back to no avail. The man writhed and swung his arms, but could not break Darius' grip. Enraged, Darius reached up, under the man's helmet and wrapped his hands around the murderer's throat. The wolf-were extended his claws and—with one quick, fluid motion—bared the murderer's spine to the chill, winter air. The man made a wet, retching sound and soiled himself. The dying body twitched and quivered as its nerves misfired. Darius stood and stepped back, breathing heavily. Darius was overwhelmed by the acrid scent of the blood that dripped from his claws; felt the heady rush of adrenaline that came whenever he killed his prey. He was deeply disturbed that he was revelling these sensations. After a time, the adrenaline rush subsided. Darius could feel himself changing back from the man-like creature that he had become. The changing itself was not terribly painful, but the process was extremely uncomfortable. He could feel his limbs reverting to their original forms, becoming more familiar, more wolf-like. Exhausted, Darius lay panting on the ground long after his muscles and bones had stopped shifting.
After a long time, he summoned his strength and rose to his paws. Twitching his ears, he searched for sound and found none. The forest had suddenly gone silent, as if holding its collective breath in anticipation, or perhaps in dread. Darius could not bring himself to look to where his mother and sister lay and instead turned to watch the sun as it set through the treetops. As dusk fell, he began to lope toward the south, toward the clearing and the hidden man-nest. A fierce wind picked up. The snow crunched underneath his paws. He had no idea what he would find in that underground hive. Perhaps he would discover the answers to the questions that gnawed at him. Perhaps he could set the wrong things right again. Perhaps he would be able to exact some measure of grief and pain in the blood of men before they finally brought him down. Darius looked over his shoulder. Storm-clouds approached relentlessly from the north, black against the darkening sky. Lightning flashed in the distance and thunder roared like a promise.
Gabriel Logan-Wright is currently a resident of Halifax in Nova Scotia, Canada. In his early twenties, Gabriel has recently graduated from The University of King's College with a Bachelor of Arts, completing an advanced-major in English. In addition to short stories and small novels, Gabriel also writes screenplays. His influences include Larry Niven, Stephen R. Donaldson, Daniel Keys Moran and Neal Stephenson. Hobbies include playing the bass guitar, operating a small BBS and role-playing.Contact: gabriel_lw@hotmail.com, or on ICQ as user 4148140.