A child of Destiny

Alaska, 1950

On a cloudless December night, the stars shone brightly in the sky over northern Alaska. The moon was nowhere to be seen. Tonight would truly be a moonless night then. A woman screamed from within the cabin and midwives hurried to tend the pregnancy.

“Agnus, are the wards secure?”

“Yes, and we have several hunters standing guard.”

“Damn, why couldn’t the child come a day earlier. What a fates forsaken night. May the three-faced goddess still watch over us in this dark hour.”

The birthing was hard and it wasn’t until the darkest hour of the night that the villagers heard the tell-tale cry of a baby girl pierce the night air. She had a healthy set of lungs on her, that was for sure.

In the corner, the old crone, Enid, who the coven considered their seer, began to shake violently. Her eyes rolled back until only white could be seen. In an eerie chanting lilt, “On a moonless night is born a she-wolf. On her head rests the crown of feather, antler, and fur; By the TriMother, blessed be she. Through her shall the darkest night begin, and through her shall it end. Beware, the Lycan king seeks his bride. The heavens align, and Emrys Ballar returns.”

The room went silent except for a soft cry of a newborn baby girl. Everyone stared at the crone, who rocked slowly before opening her eyes, “Is it time for breakfast? Anyone get the grits on the fire yet?”

Those in the room looked at Enid like she was crazy. In Enid’s case, it likely was true. What many people fail to realize about history, however, is the druids didn’t die out when Rome concurred the world. They just got smarter. Emrys Ballar was one such druid who forsook the sacred vows of our old gods and managed to take his brand of magic to the uncharted lands of the Americas, long before most realized there was anything worth exploring. The Three-Faced mother saw to it that he was banished to the hells for his accursed twisting of men and beast. His demise was some 300 years ago this very area. Many of the fleets that brought colonists were actually part of the old order’s hunt for him. That was the main reason the coven had resettled here, a command had come to guard against his return, a return that many had begun to believe would never happen. Hence only a single coven responded to the call of the three-faced mother.

Outside howls erupted from every direction, sending the coven into a frenzied panic. Hunters called to each other as fires were lit and rifles passed out. When someone opened the hut door to get more snow for the waterpot, a clay pot sat on the stoop. The witch brought it in and set it next to the crone.

“What is it?” someone asked.

The crone reached forward and examined it. A wolf paw was printed on one side. The crone exclaimed, “The wolf of Brigid! She lifted the lid and withdrew a black feather and an antler. “By the gods, the trigod’s blessing!”

That night would be a sleepless night for the whole town as wolves howled, and crows wheeled in the night sky filling the air with shrieking caws.

On the bed, blood leaked everywhere as the midwives worked. High priestess Evelyn Quinn grabbed her sister's arm, nails drawing blood with the force.

“Sister, guard my daughter. Protect her.”

“I will, Evelyn. Never you worry. You will be fine.”

“Swear by the three-face mother, you will protect her with your dying breath.” Evelyn gasped, the strength ebbing.

“Evelyn! I swear, I swear. I bind my blood in yours, I will see her guarded. Evelyn!” sobbed Rihanna Quinn.

*** Seventeen years later.***

I crouched low in the snow as I approached the rise. I knew these mountains better than my own room. Cell might be a more apt term. There was a reason why I spent so much of my time out here in the open air of the forest. I pulled the gray furs tighter around me as I peaked over the rise and looked down onto the clearing below. A gentle stream flowed between the mountain peaks and here, the land leveled out for a time, forming a bowl that in the spring would turn into lush grassland. Right now, however, it was covered in several feet of snow.

At the edge of the creek, I spotted my target. A small pack of black wolves were busy hunting salmon in the shallow waters. This rise put me just shy of 300 meters from them. They were far enough they were not likely to scent me from the downwind place I was, but still within range of my rifle. This pack had been working over my deer herds the last few months and I was tired of it.

All animals have to eat, but these black beasts had decimated an entire herd and were working on another. It would destroy the balance of this area within a fortnight if this kept up. A bird call to my left told me Makya was in position. I looked to the sky and indeed saw Makya’s eagle circling high above. With him watching our flank I pulled my rifle from its protective leather sleeve.

Through the powerful magnification of the scope, I counted five wolves in the water, and a sixth standing watch on the shore. That one was massive and dark as night. I figured it must be the alpha. I wondered how much trouble I felt like stirring up today. I counted my bullets and thankfully had ten silver and ten hunting rounds. The silver were ones I had made myself with the help of Makya and his father, Chief Eyota. They did ok against normal animals but were expensive. Each round cost me nearly ten crowns with the price of the metal going up so much lately. I wondered if I dare waste one of these on that alpha. I had never actually seen a shifter, but my coven swore to the three-faced mother they were real, and after me. 

I loaded the magazine with a silver bullet, followed by two of my best hunting rounds and then another silver. I knew I could normally get at least one extra shot off and as long as I mortally wound the beast, I can always finish it with another shot if need be. I leveled my rifle again and brushed an errant red curl out of my face, tucking it beneath my fur hood.

“Morrigan and Cernunnos guide me.” I prayed. While I wasn’t sure if I believed in half the magic my coven claimed they did, I at least trusted in Cernunnos, one of our celtic gods, the horned lord of the hunt, to guide my path; and Morrigan, the goddess chooser of the slain, to mark my kills. If I followed their guidance, I always found game, and would hit the ones they marked for me. It was well worth a quick prayer to them. My coven were perhaps not purists, but they tried to hold to the old ways as best they knew how anymore. We may be far from Ireland, but we still felt connected to the earth out here in the middle of no where.

There, above the alpha wolf, was my sign. My hunt was indeed blessed by the Morrigan as a large black crow flew into the valley and circled above the alpha. I breathed deep like Makya had taught me, over and over. I finally exhaled and squeezed the trigger. Only .34 seconds later, red blanketed the white snow on the far bank.

The other wolves looked up in alarm as the shot rang across the valley, then they let out a blood-curdling howl of rage. “Shit.”

I knew I had two standard rounds next and quickly looked for targets. The Crow had flown off some distance and I didn’t see any of the black wolves being marked. They began to run and I knew it would be an impossible shot at this distance. As the wolves ran in my direction, another shot rang out from the left, taking down a wolf from the middle of the pack.

Nice.  Makya was a good shot and had taught me so much. While the loss of the deer meant less food for me, to Makya, the natural imbalance these new wolves presented in the land was unacceptable for many more reasons that I likely would never fully understand.

Makya’s eagle, Zophiel, wheeled overhead, likely directing Makya’s shots. The battle crow then came back into sight, flying low, and directly at the third wolf.

“Ok, that one is mine then.” I aimed, adjusting for the speed and closing distance, and squeezed off another round. The crack of the rifle caused a bit of snow to fall off the branches above me, burying my head in cold damp snow.

When I cleared my scope again, the last three wolves had scattered, clearly deciding this enemy was too deadly to face now that half their pack had been wiped out in a matter of minutes without even seeing their foe.

“Thank you, Cernunnos. Blessed be, Morrigan. And may Bridit forgive me for hunting her wolves.” I really hoped these were not ‘her’ wolves. Thus far, I had racked up a good number of pelts in my lifetime. If Brigid was mad at me for that, she had yet to rear her head about it.

I wiped down my rifle and slid it back in its sleeve before snapping my skis back on. It would make my way down the slope so much easier and more fun to use the short skies than to snowshoe my way down. Makya was emerging from his hiding spot and waved to me.

“Eileen, good shooting as always! Which did you use?” Makya called.

“Silver on the alpha, that one there was the 165 grain bullet. Seems to have done the trick.”

“That it did. The tanner should be pleased with you when you bring these pelts too. It's not every day he gets pure black pelts like this. It’s mostly those gray ones, and most of the hunters have been coming back with pelts full of mange.”

“Glad I can please someone,” I said sardonically. Makya meant well, but comments like that just rubbed me the wrong way. My step-mother for one, never seemed to be pleased with anything. I suppose she still blamed me for the death of her sister, but how was I to change the fact my mother died giving birth to me? “Let's get these back then.”

I worked my way across the creek and found what I hoped was the alpha. It was a huge black wolf. But there was no real way to tell now. I went to pick the beast up and lash it to my skis when I noticed silver leaking from the wound in its head.

Now that is odd. Normally the silver stays solid.

I didn’t think much of it and worked my way back to Makya. “Three wolves, two of us.”

“Not to fear, Eileen.” Makya looked up and let out an ear-piercing whistle, and I watched as Zophiel flapped off over the horizon. “He will be back shortly with Dakota and the sled.”

“You do think of everything don’t you?”

An hour later, we lashed the three carcasses to the sled and Makya took his seat in the sled, motioning for me to join him. Dakota, similar to Makya in his native looks sported long shaggy black hair that he worn in a ponytail and had dark tan skin. He smirked at us as we situated ourselves onto the sled, but I just ignored him and snuggled my way farther under the furs, nestling between Makya’s legs. At least I would be warm on the ride back, and pressed up against Makya was never a bad feeling.