WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (27 page)

There were other dreams too, about a snake and an evil, armored robot. Two of these dreams were hard to dismiss; he’d never had such visions before. Each was a solitary image representing a single moment in time with no beginning, no middle and no end. Were they foretellings of some future event? It was as if both images were a single picture from the future, of something that would happen.

In the first picture he was bound with rope; there was no hope of escape. Ash didn’t recognize where he was — he’d never been there before. All was silent as he saw himself from above. Such a strange sensation. Weightless. Disembodied.

Time stood still.

Was he dead? Passions boiled in this picture. Emotions were the most realistic part of the vision: he felt fear and despair, but rage most of all. He burned with a wolf-like need to kill.

The next picture was of a young woman. Again, it was a single image: no connection to the first picture. Again it had no beginning, no middle and no end. The woman lay crumpled in a fetal position, curled up on the floor like a cast-off rag. Her blonde hair covered her face; he could not see her face, but he knew there was a bruise forming on her cheek. In the vision, Ash panted, completely out of breath, and once again he felt a fevered rage. The woman had been hit heavily, with a closed fist. Who was it? Not the Lady Lindha, surely.

In his heart, Ash knew that in this picture he had struck the woman. He’d been standing above her, and he was glad to have hit her because she deserved it. The emotions connected with the picture were so vivid: dominant, merciless and enraged. In the vision he could feel his hackles rise. He felt like a leader with a disobedient member of the pack. It was insane. Ash knew he would never, ever, hit a woman. But he couldn’t escape the feelings this particular vision gave him. He felt as if he would be justified to have killed that woman. In the image in his mind he was still considering the matter. He wanted to kill her with his bare hands.

Ash fingered his talisman armguard. According to Delian legend the stone could give visions, and discern truth. Before his mother died it glowed. The gems had glowed with Dorian, too. He had no explanation for that. There were two empty spots on the armguard where Ash had removed two stones, one for each twin. If the King’s Mirror was sending these visions, he couldn’t see the point.

It was all so frustrating.

After a breakfast of meat jerky and wild leek, he returned to the ruined vessel. The situation with the security console was the same. He’d research Icom and go straight to the fringes. Someone would have the tools needed to free the Testimonials.

Irritable and sleep deprived, Ash made the mistake of checking Icom news. He had flagged the word Delian, so he immediately received a report concerning the arrival of new colonists. The report rehashed details of the genocide, with pictures of his mother and father and Forseth. An extrapolation of what he himself would look like was projected, and this was the only redeeming part of the broadcast. The image they showed of Ashton Chayton looked nothing like him. He had grown and flourished with the wolves and was much heavier and taller than they’d extrapolated.

In a murderous rage, Ash started home. In the back of his mind, he knew his behavior was not entirely rational. He suspected the Dark Sankomin. In this mood, however, he didn’t care. If he was going mad, so be it. He fingered his knife. What he wanted to do was kill something, because now the Testimonials would have to wait. He didn’t dare be seen — someone might recognize him. While the physical extrapolation was completely wrong, his face was accurate. The authorities were desperate to arrest Forseth but why were they so set on finding him? It made no sense.

Ash could hardly remember his journey home. He returned to the den late evening, in a vicious, irritable mood. His wolf family, sensing his bad temper, left him alone.

Exhausted by emotional turmoil, a sleepless night, and the long walk, he finally slept.

In the morning, Ash was surprised to be brought awake by his wolf father standing over him. Ash sat up, startled. Long Fang must have risen early because he had already been on the hunt and had arrived at the den
with fresh meat.
Never had his adopted father brought meat to the den. Never.

Still thrown off balance from a lack of sleep and the disturbing news of the day before, Ash’s mind reeled and sought an explanation. Long Fang raised his eyes in greeting.
“I dragged this twill here to honor the fastest two-legs in the forest.”

Ash smiled and something tight, a painful knot, loosened in his chest. He imagined Long Fang tracking the twill and laughed out loud.
“You were careful not to find one in the valley?”

Displaying his long white teeth, Long Fang grinned. He appeared to be rather pleased with himself.
“If one is foolish enough to carry meat to one’s den, it is best to kill something nearby. Something one can drag down the mountain, not up it.”

It was another long sentence from his reticent wolf father, and Ash felt quite privileged to receive such a rare gift. Long Fang had obviously been concerned over his wayward adopted man-cub. He had wanted to cheer him up.

“Oh, Long Fang,”
Ash said with feeling. He didn’t know how to thank him. Ash had never stroked Long Fang as the wolf’s dignity would never permit it. Gratitude filled his heart, an overwhelming emotion that could find no form of release.

Long Fang, sharp-eyed and perceptive, came to his rescue.
“Never mind, lazy cub. Eat. But next time, be warned. I race with an empty belly.”

Long Fang left then, and Ash got a fire started, blazed it hot, and let it burn down to red embers for cooking. Meanwhile he took his time dressing and preparing his meal. The bird was fresh and young, and he looked forward to eating it. He giggled and thought, “
To a wolf, nothing says I love you more than freshly killed twill.
”

His wolf family grounded him, but life with the wolves couldn’t continue. Ash’s face set in a grim tight mask. Soon he must return to the world of men. He had never forgotten the vow he made almost five years ago, to find Forseth and kill him.

O
ver the next few days, Ash attempted to fit in with his friends as usual, but there was a barrier. His hate and rage toward Forseth was overpowering, tainting everything. His stomach was in knots; he had lost his appetite. Nighttime was unbearable, as Ash never seemed to have a normal, restful sleep. It was the dreaming! Terrible dreams that he couldn’t remember. The Dark Sankomin was riding him, and he seriously wondered whether this time he would actually lose his mind.

He wanted to mind-touch a boar, preferably one engaged in a fight to the death with another boar. He wanted to run naked through the woods; he wanted to scream, pull his hair out, or kill something. He wanted to punch a tree until his hands were bloody. With a desperate force of will, Ash did none of these things.

To top it all off, it was mating season.

For the first two nights he held his ears, trying to shut out the sound of howling. Tonight was the third night, and it was worst of all. Ash’s jaw tightened as he reassured himself he was in control. He recalled the parables of Jana:
“The best triumph of all is to conquer oneself; to be conquered by ones base desires is of all things most shameful.”

Long Fang and Seeta had left the den, he and Teella were alone. Ash had been repeating the Testimonials, in hopes of finding peace. It had provided little distraction from the howl of lovesick wolves. He thought:
“Jana’s gift can be lost in shadow; paled by burning fever: flesh desire. Fall not to thy animal nature or thy power shall fade: a wisp of smoke, an insignificant dream.”

Jana, protect me,
Ash prayed, but the Goddess afforded no help.

The howling, as usual, had aroused him, and Ash, as always, imagined the Temple Prefect, Lady Lindha. He often thought of her and while he had no clear idea what she really looked like, he had a vivid imagination. Sometimes he made love to her intentionally, in waking dreams as well as when asleep. Her flesh was soft, and she always responded to his touch, his tongue, and his lips. There would be a catch in her breath and soft little sounds as she folded against his body and moved with him. It would be an act of love, what they would do together. In his mind, Lindha always wanted him, as he wanted her. And he did want her. He yearned for her, hungered for her body, her heart and soul, as well as for that clear, calm mind he had touched just once. That mind that he knew could give him peace.

It seemed so irrational. With pragmatic logic he was sure that when he finally did meet the Lady Lindha he would be disappointed. Surely he had created this woman that would be perfect for him. It was his just his imagination; reality would be much different. And yet …

The sound of a wolf howling penetrated his thoughts.

Teella padded softly to his side and nuzzled her cold nose toward him, touching his bare skin.
“What is wrong, brother?”

Ash jumped as if burnt.
“Go away,”
he thought, reacting to her touch.

Teella tensed and her yellow eyes flared, both startled and uneasy.
“I must stay in the den, Mother said.”

“Of course, Teella,”
Ash replied, reaching over to stroke her, to soothe her.
“It’s me. I must go. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. You wait here, all right?”

“I will stay.”

Thoughts crashing like waves on a rocky shore, in a storm of upheaval and need, Ash left the den. He shouldn’t. But he must. Finding a grassy alcove, he lay down, shut his eyes and said, “Jana, forgive me.” He searched. Catching his breath with surprise and relief, he made contact. He had entered the mind and body of a large male wolf, one that he had seen on occasion on the other side of the mountain. He was howling, telling of his desire. Himself forgotten, Ash was the wolf and the hard urgency in his loins burned like fire. He scented the musty smell of his fertile mate and raced to her side, nipping and biting, demonstrating his affection and his need.

The she-wolf was playing, letting him chase her. Possibly not yet really interested, she was attempting to struggle free.

“No,”
he thought with unswerving determination. He caught her with his teeth, his own heated need adding to the male wolf’s desire. He jumped on the she-wolf, holding her down. He stayed with her, pushing her against the ground, growling. The growl was not angry; it helped the male wolf temper his own rising need while warning the she-wolf not to move. He was holding her, whining, licking and biting and holding once more. He wanted to mate. He wanted her to want him. She smelled ready for him. He was waiting until she reacted, until she was burning with the new season’s mating instinct as completely as he was.

The she-wolf was beginning to respond to his nips and caresses. Instinct took over, and she turned, to nuzzle and lick, her interest making his heart leap.

Instantly the male wolf reacted. He gripped the ruff of her neck with his teeth and mounted her. Ash’s own flesh flamed, his blood boiled and his breath became rapid and ragged. The pounding of his heart echoed like a drum in his ears. He felt it might burst from his chest. Something inside him swelled and expanded …

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Pounding! Pounding! Biting! Blood! Ash was the wolf! The sensations were all-consuming, indescribable, and then,
the best
. He became part of each mating wolf, in full mind-touch with both. The she-wolf thrashed and then stiffened, climaxing first. Ash felt hot pulsing waves of her pleasure roll through him. She made a guttural sound of satisfaction that inflamed her mate further, as she become relaxed and compliant. In the background to him now, was an echo of her sensual joy. Ash once more became only the large male wolf. Within moments the animal reached his own summit.

Ash experienced it all, he
became
them both and it was ecstasy …
ecstasy!

The rolling pleasure blocked all thought. Ash forgot himself entirely.

Moments later, in a languid, dreamy state, Ash returned to his own body. Relaxed and content, his heart beat slowly with deep, comforting thumps. His chest rose and fell, and even the natural action of breathing seemed to add to his sense of peace. Ash rested, utterly released. The Dark Sankomin was a distant dream.
I have let go of it all. How can something that good be bad?

He listened attentively.
Yes.
He heard another wolf howl — this one further away. It was a piercing cry, slicing deeply through the silence of the night.

Ash wore a joyful smile of personal gratification, intentionally planned. How did the saying go? If caught stealing ten credits, it may as well be twenty. Throwing his conscience to the wind, his hand curled down between his legs as he reached out to contact the other love-sick wolf.

The same procedure went on most of the night until finally Ash fell asleep, mentally and physically spent. It was the best night’s rest he’d had for days.

And he didn’t have a single dream.

Fringe dwellers, more commonly known as Ferals, is a name given to groups of people who camp on the outskirts of towns and cities from which they have become excluded, often through illegal activities or personal choice. Generally Ferals don’t have Icom, are suspicious of the government, are opposed to modern ways and technology, lack education, and are superstitious. There are Ferals living on the fringe of every Freeworld.

— Dr. Katie Toohey, Sociology Nobel Laureate

T
hree weeks later, tense and edgy, Ash sat outside the den, whittling thick wooden stakes. He had gathered a pile of about ten branches, ready for his attention.

Ash viciously attacked the wood, his mind in turmoil. He had enjoyed mating season, and by the love of the Goddess, he refused to feel bad about it. At least he had gotten much needed relief from the Dark Sankomin. Unfortunately, with the end of mating season, the guilt of participation had set in. And he had no cure.

Damn
Assurance
. Damn, damn, damn! He frowned. Visiting the ship had caused his worst memories to return. His most recent dreams had all revolved around his mother, Sartha. In his worst nightmare, he himself had killed her. The dream had been so real. It had set him thinking. Just before they crashed he had wished his mother dead. Had he somehow been responsible for her death? Did he have greater powers than he realized? He recited from the Testimonials:
“Those with evil thoughts and deeds will travel a cruel road, their very power hastening their end, the way to death and darkness. How, then, to remain pure? One must touch another’s mind …”

He swore then, comprehensively, using every vile curse he had learned from the Ferals. Ash had accidentally touched Long Fang and Seeta during the season, and had joined in their mating. He was consumed by lust, and finding who he had touched, he felt it didn’t matter. What distinction should it make? But it had made a difference. It was too much like that time with his mother.

He was becoming tainted and burdened. The Dark Sankomin loomed before him. With no one to touch his mind he would be plagued to death. He already had enough passionate uncontained emotion for a hundred normal people. He wasn’t just sad when he was upset — he felt distraught. When angry he burned with an enraged urge to kill something. When he felt guilty, unwanted thoughts of suicide, plans and possibilities ran through his mind. It couldn’t go on like this. He needed to get help. How long before he lost his power and went completely mad?

He recalled
Cleric Hinton’s warning,
“No Delian can be in this universe without healing mind-touch. A Delian alone will surely die — or at least they will most certainly want to.”
Except Ash was the last of his race. Well. There was nothing he could do about that.

With unnecessary force, he threw another completed stake down, and picked up another branch. One thing was certain. He would leave before next mating season. When he returned to civilization perhaps he could marry. Even if his bride couldn’t mind-touch, at least she would be a companion, someone to share his troubles … and his bed! Sex with the wolves gave him a better night’s sleep than at any other time. Perhaps sex with a woman would be the ultimate distraction from the Dark Sankomin. He certainly hoped so.

Masturbation as therapy was one area he had extensively examined. For a while, at one point, he must have pleasured himself twenty times a day. Sure it worked, but when it came to pushing back the Dark Sankomin it lasted about as long as the act of self gratification did. He often considered the idea of paying for Service. But how could he get enough credit to visit a courtesan? Yet a courtesan might be able to give him good advice. Licensed courtesans were trustworthy, trained and experienced counselors. Such liaisons were confidential by UWG edict, so it wouldn’t matter that the police wanted to question him. Courtesans never told a client’s secrets. It wasn’t just a matter of law — to them it was a matter of honor.

Ash smiled and for a moment he was completely diverted from his problems. He could purchase an entire year of daily Courtesan Service with just one of his Damithst stones. All courtesans were beautiful, but he wondered if there were any members of the local Courtesan Guild who had a mind and soul as sweet as Lindha’s? A surge of happiness rolled through him as he recalled mental contact with the Temple Prefect. Her mind had been a joy, as pure and uplifting as a clear mountain stream. Ash had never forgotten Lindha. He dreamed of her still.

A trained courtesan would probably be as close as he would ever get to full mind-touch consummation. For that, surely, he could be excused for selling one small Damithst stone from the talisman.

The thought of the King’s Mirror brought back memories of his father and just like that all his happiness fled, like air in space vacuum. It was replaced by a crushing blind rage. None of this would have happened except for Larren Forseth. Ash glowered with hate. It seemed all his troubles always led back to one man. Forseth had destroyed his people. It was
his
fault his parents were dead. And it was through him that he had lost his innocence.

Ash sprang up, threw his knife — which lodged in a nearby tree — and dropped his last stake. Curse his volatile emotions! He paced back and forth, his mind in turmoil. He wanted to scream, but instead he ran two kilometers, straight uphill. Despite the step and rocky terrain, he did it in less than ten minutes. At the top he turned around and ran back down, going back the long way. A wild pig-dog jumped out of a bush as he passed and tried to bite him with its long yellow incisors. It grazed his shoe, putting him off stride and just missing his leg. Only superior balance and agility prevented a fall.

As he ran from the opportunistic carnivore, Ash threw back his head and laughed out loud.

So stupid. He had brought nothing to defend himself with, not even his knife. It was absurd that a moment of near death or injury could actually cheer him up, yet it had. The last few minutes, Ash walked, having managed to recover his composure. Then he sighed and dislodged his knife from the blue-ringed paper-bark tree. He pulled a whetting stone out of his pocket, sat back down, and began to clean and sharpen it.

Seeta padded softly over, and nuzzled him with maternal concern.
“My cub,”
she thought
, “Forget the things of man.”

“I wish I could, Mother, but I can’t. I am a man.”

Seeta gazed at him with her soft yellow eyes.
“You are wolf.”
Ash could see that, in her mind, he was still a cub, and a cub should stay with its family. Seeta knew he planned to leave. She couldn’t comprehend his distress.

“Mother,”
Ash thought patiently. “
I am a man. And as a man, I need a woman. I must mate.”

Ash felt understanding come to Seeta like a shaft of light. He sensed her as she gave in, her mind echoing centuries of wolf knowledge. If the need to mate was upon her cub, there was nothing that could hold him.

“I’m sorry.”

“
Me, too,”
Ash stroked her fur, and fondled her ears. Seeta wagged her tail and licked his hand.

“When must you go?”

“Soon, Mother. Before next mating season, I’ll be gone.”

The familiar sound of a speeder was heard, buzzing nearby.

Instantly the wolves padded under the cover of trees and Ash joined them. The sound passed, and they came out once more. Lately more people had been seen up in the mountains. Ash had heard shots, and he and the wolves had been wary, keeping well out of sight. If Ash was discovered, he would likely be killed for being an off-worlder. Although they were in a protected area, the wolves could be slaughtered for the bounty their coats would bring. Ferals didn’t respect parkland reserves. If hunters had been coming up this far into the mountains simply to get wolf skins, they must be desperate for credit.

Long Fang stood near Ash.
“Tell me, two-legs. Do you know of an animal that needs to be eaten?”
His thought was courteous and formal. Long Fang knew from long experience that Ash would never tell him about healthy fare.

Ash tried not to laugh. Long Fang was serious. It was the wording of his request that was so amusing.
“I will search, Long Fang.”
Reaching Ash located something. It was an old twill, or was it sick? Either way, it definitely fit into the category of an animal that needed to be eaten.

“Yes, Long Fang,”
Ash confirmed, with due formality.
“I have found a twill that is sick with age. It is up over the mountain.”
He hesitated then added,
“Did you wish to race?”

“Hah. I thought you would save this challenge until after I had eaten.”

In good spirits, the family set off through the forest on the hunt and Ash found he felt cheerful once more. Bored with Ash’s slower pace the wolves bounded ahead. Silently zigzagging across the terrain, noses to the ground, taking in every scent, they attempted to locate the twill on their own.

The woods felt like home to Ash, not the home of his birth with green leaves and blue skies but his Opan home. The Opan forest was dressed in a variety of blues and violets, some soft and light, some deep and dark. The smell of composting leaves filled his nostrils as he walked. It was the scent of clean earth and growing things. Sunlight filtered through breaks in the leaves, moving shafts of light as a soft silent breeze pushed tree branches in a gentle swaying dance. Ash walked noiselessly, as he had been trained to do from his earliest memories with the wolves. He was so intent on his friends, enjoying his walk and in a light mental rapport with the drowsy old twill, that he was not prepared for danger. Consequently, Ash wasn’t aware of the man until he was right behind him.

The scent of human sweat, urine and cigarette smoke on unwashed clothes warned him. Wolf-like instincts stopped him in time and adrenaline spiked through his veins. Breaking contact with the twill, Ash became motionless. The stranger hadn’t heard him, which was no surprise. Long Fang had taught him well the lesson of maintaining total silence.

The forest was quiet except for the background hum of insects and one solitary windchime hen announcing her territory with a repeating melody in high-pitched tones.

Ash stared.
What was the man doing?

The picture became all too clear. A red-haired man held his arms at shoulder height, the cant of his body distinct, his weapon trained. The hunter was hidden in a dense thicket; downwind of his quarry. Ash stood behind him in a small blue grass meadow.

His quarry was Teella! Reaching out with his mind Ash screamed.
“Run! Run down the hill! It’s a hunter. He has a gun!”

Ash saw Seeta and Teella bounding away, but they were too close. The hunter’s rifle was sighted. He had seen Teella and was taking careful aim, tracking her moving form. With no consideration for his own safety, Ash sprang, landing on the hunter’s back, spoiling his aim. The gun went off ineffectively, the sound muffled through a thicket of bushes and dense trees.

Ash grabbed the weapon and threw it out of reach. He had a firm hold on the slightly shorter man. Like a predator with his prey, his strong, young body moved with agility and purpose. The captured hunter had his back pressed against the front of Ash’s torso; the man struck out, helpless and confused. He was constrained before he knew what was happening. With wolf-like speed, Ash had the terrified man held in a head lock, both arms wrapped around his throat, cutting off his air and the flow of his rapid pulse. Ash pulled the man into the small clearing. Having never caught a man before, Ash took a moment to consider his next move.

“Stop right where you are,” a voice commanded from the other side of the clearing.

Ash swung toward the sound, holding his captive in front of him as a shield. Ash saw another red-haired man with a dark untrimmed beard, aiming a weapon with professional ease. Ash held perfectly still. The weapon was an older style of projectile.

“Let him go.”

Ash could weep with rage at his stupidity. Why had he thrown the weapon away? He should have known there would be at least two men. If he had been smarter, faster, he wouldn’t be in this position. He calmed his temper with the consolation that at least Teella was safe. Ash continued to hold his captive in a headlock; he was holding the hunter immobile and motionless by the strength of his arms with an even pressure on the man’s neck and the top of his head. If the man moved, Ash simply increased the pressure. If the man held still, the pressure lessened. It was a simple and effective lesson. The captured man had already learned to remain very, very still.

“Let him go,” the other man repeated.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Ash said, “If I let him go you’ll shoot me.”

“If you don’t let him go, I’ll shoot you.”

Ash began to slowly walk backwards with his captive. If he could get into the thick of the woods he could release his prisoner and perhaps make a run for it. He took a few more steps backwards, until he was moving out of the small clearing. The pace was steady and within moments he and his prisoner arrived beneath a tree.