The Wolf Gift (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 1)

"Just as I passed it to you," murmured Reuben.

"Ah, but you,re very young," said Thibault. "Marrok was old."

"And so my life opens up in flaming colors," said Stuart exuberantly. "And with the blare of trumpets!"

Margon laughed indulgently with a knowing glance at Felix.

"But truly, why do we seek to protect the victims of evil, to prevent them from being murdered or raped?" Reuben asked.

"Little wolf," said Margon, "you want a splendid answer, don,t you? A moral answer, as you say. I wish I had one for you. I fear it was a matter of evolution like everything else."

"This evolved in Morphenkinder?" asked Reuben.

"No," said Margon. He shook his head. "It evolved in the species from which the power came to us. And they were not Homo sapiens sapiens as we are. They were something entirely different, rather like Homo ergaster or Homo erectus. Do you know those terms?"

"Yes, I know them," said Stuart. "And that,s exactly what I suspected. It was an isolated species, thriving somewhere in an out-of-the-way pocket of the world, right? Like Homo floresiensis - the hobbit species in Indonesia - a humanoid offshoot different from everything else we know."

"What is the hobbit species?" asked Reuben.

"Little people, no more than three feet tall," said Laura, "skeletons just found a few years ago, evolved completely separately from Homo sapiens sapiens."

"Oh, I remember this," said Reuben, "yes."

"Tell us, tell us about this species," said Stuart insistently.

Felix appeared uneasy and was about to try to quiet him when Margon gestured that it was all right.

Margon apparently had hoped to avoid this part of the story. He was thoughtful, then agreed to go on.

"First we clear the board," he said gesturing to the table. "I need a moment in my thoughts."

Chapter Thirty-Nine

THE PLATTERS of the feast were relegated to the kitchen island counter, a spread that would sustain the house all evening long.

Once again, the entire company worked swiftly, quietly, replenishing the water, the wine, setting down carafes of hot coffee, and green tea.

The fresh-baked pies were brought into the dining room, apple, cherry, peach. The soft white French cheeses, plates of candies, fruits.

Margon took his place again at the head of the table. He appeared to have misgivings, but one glance at Stuart,s eager face and Reuben,s patient but inquisitive expression appeared to confirm for him that he had to go on.

"Yes," said Margon, "there was such a species, an isolated and dying species of primates who were not what we are and they did exist on an isolated island, yes, thousands of years ago off the African coast."

"And this power came from them?" asked Stuart.

"Yes," said Margon, "through a very foolish man - or a wise man depending on one,s point of view - who sought to breed with them, and to acquire the power they had - to change from cooperative ape man to ravening wolf man when threatened."

"And the man bred with them," Stuart said.

"No. That was not successful," said Margon. "He acquired the power by being severely and repeatedly bitten, but only after he,d been prepared by imbibing the fluids of the species - the urine, the blood - in whatever quantities he could acquire for two years. He had also invited playful bites from the tribe whenever he could. They had befriended him, and he was an outcast from his people - exiled from the only real city in the whole world."

His voice had darkened as he said those words.

A silence fell over them all. They were all looking at Margon, who stared at the water in his glass. The expression on his face was deeply perplexing to Reuben, and obviously maddened Stuart, but Reuben sensed there was more to this remembering, this retelling, than simple weariness or distaste. Something troubled Margon about the telling of the tale.

"But how long ago was this?" Stuart asked. "What do you mean, the only real city in the world?" He was wildly stimulated, and obviously thrilled, his smile broadening as he repeated the words.

"Stuart, please ...," Reuben pleaded. "Let Margon tell it in his own way."

After a long moment, Laura spoke up.

"You,re talking of yourself, aren,t you?" she said.

Margon nodded.

"Is it difficult to remember?" asked Reuben respectfully. He couldn,t fathom this man,s facial expressions. He appeared at once remote and then vital, at once totally absent from all around him and then again completely, openly engaged. But what was to be expected?

It was wondrous and shocking to contemplate, that this was an immortal man. And it was no more than Reuben had long suspected. Only the length of time shocked him. But the secret, that these beings were immortal? It felt like something revealed to him in his own blood by the Chrism. Something he couldn,t quite absorb yet could never forget. But even before the Chrism ever entered his veins, in his very first encounter with the photograph of the distinguished gentlemen in the library, he had sensed that an otherworldly knowledge bound the men together.

Stuart,s eyes were locked on Margon, scanning his face, his form, his hand that rested on the table - just feasting on all the little details of the man.

And what do they tell you? Reuben wondered. That so little has changed with us in thousands of years, that one so old can walk down the street in any city and go unnoticed really except for his unusual poise perhaps and the subtle, wise expression on his face? He was an imposing man, but why? He was commanding, but why? He was forthcoming and yet somehow utterly unyielding.

"Tell us what happened," said Stuart as gently as he could. "Why were you exiled? What did you do?"

"Refuse to worship the gods," said Margon, his words coming in a half murmur as he stared forward. "Refuse to sacrifice in the Temple to deities carved out of stone. Refuse to recite hymns to the monotonous beat of drums about the marriage of gods and goddesses who never existed and which never took place. Refuse to tell the people that if they did not worship, if they did not sacrifice, if they did not break their backs in the fields and digging the canals that watered them, that the gods would bring the cosmos to an end. Margon the Godless refused to tell lies."

He raised his voice just a little. "No, I do not have trouble remembering," he said. "But some deep emotional and visceral faith in the act of recounting it has long been lost."

"Why didn,t they just execute you?" Stuart asked.