The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

Hockan was suddenly roaring in protest, Hockan who had been silent all this while. “Stop them, Margon. Felix, stop them!”

Louder and louder came the chant. “Modranicht.”

Margon appeared dazed and Felix too stood motionless.

The great compact and irresistible mass of the Forest Gentry absorbed the futile blows of the frantic female Morphenkinder and the desperate white wolf, Hockan, as they sped their helpless prisoners towards the bonfire. Even Berenice, Frank’s wife, ran at them, trying to claw her way into them; but they absorbed her blows and remained intact. The crush of Forest Gentry was suddenly beyond any count, and the chant of “Modranicht” drowned out all other sounds.

And into the fire the Forest Gentry threw the two wailing, roaring females, Fiona and Helena.

A great howl went up from Hockan.

The females roared.

The chanting stopped.

Reuben had never heard such anguish from beast or human as the wails of Hockan and Berenice and the other females.

He stood stock-still watching all in horror. A low gasp broke from Sergei. This had all happened in seconds.

Out of the inferno came horrific screams, but the Forest Gentry held fast. The flames ate the figures of the Forest Gentry but could not burn and could not devour them as the Forest Gentry shimmered and shivered and resubstantiated themselves. The great dark timber scaffolding of the fire shifted and crackled, and the fire belched and leapt against the sky.

The other females were down on their knees wailing. Hockan had gone quiet. Frank and Sergei stood silent staring as did Margon. Felix stood transfixed, his great hairy arms and paws crossed over the top of his head.

A soft despairing sound came from Margon.

The ghastly cries from the bonfires ceased.

Reuben looked down at Phil. Phil lay on his back. Sergei and Thibault were beside him, licking at his wounds as fiercely as they could. Lisa knelt at a distance, her hands clasped in prayer in front of her face.

Elthram suddenly appeared on his knees beside Phil, between Sergei and Thibault. “Hands, hands,” said Elthram, and other Forest Gentry crowded around Phil, all laying their hands on him. Elthram appeared to be pressing with great strength on the gushing wound in Phil’s side and the deep vicious wound in Phil’s shoulder.

Reuben struggled to get close to Phil, but Sergei said, “Be patient. Let them do their work.”

Thibault and Margon crouched on the other side of Phil from his injuries; and carefully turning Phil’s head, Margon lowered his fangs to bite gingerly into Phil’s neck, then drew back, his long pink tongue lapping at the tiny wound he’d made.

Felix, on his knees, had Phil’s right hand in his great hairy paws, and he sank his teeth gently into that hand. Phil convulsed as he felt the pain.

But Phil’s eyes appeared blind. He was staring up into the night sky as though he were seeing something, something very particular, that no one else could see, and then softly he said, “Reuben? You’re here, aren’t you, son?”

“Yes, Dad, I’m here,” said Reuben. He knelt behind Phil’s head, the only place he could find room, and spoke softly in Phil’s ear. “I’m with you here, Dad. They’re giving you the Chrism to heal you. Each one is giving you the Chrism.”

Elthram rose to his feet and the other Gentry backed away like melting shadows. “The bleeding is stopped,” said Elthram.

Berenice and Frank now licked Phil’s wounds, and Felix and Margon withdrew, as if this new infusion of the Chrism would have some added potency.

The remaining females of the other pack were sobbing in deep, hoarse wolfish sobs. Hockan stood staring into the fire which burned on and on, inevitably dissolving the remains of those it had devoured.

“Modranicht,” said Phil softly, eyes still wide and seemingly blind, his eyebrows knit, his mouth quivering slightly. He looked so pale, so moist. It was almost as if he were gleaming.

“The spirit remains well rooted to the body,” said Elthram to Reuben. “The Chrism will have its chance now.”

Reuben saw Lisa come around and stand over his dad crying softly into her hands. Henrietta and Peter had brought two of the discarded velvet cloaks to cover Phil and bundle him warmly. Lisa was murmuring in an old-fashioned and mournful way, “Oh, Philip, my Philip.”

Hockan’s low measured voice suddenly rose above Lisa’s crying.

“I call all to hear me,” he said. “I won’t be silent about what’s happened here.”

No one challenged him. The female wolves remained on their knees, weeping quietly.

“Beware what you’ve done here,” Hockan said, pointing to Margon and to Felix. His rough wolfish voice had given way to a deep yet more human timbre. “Never in all my time have I seen such a thing as this. Spirits roused to shed the blood of the living? This is evil! This is undeniable evil.” He turned to look at Reuben, and at Stuart. “Beware, young ones, your citadel is made of glass, your leaders are as blind as you are!”

“Go before you meet the same fate,” said Elthram, his face and form brightening. How perfectly terrifying he looked, his green eyes large and menacing as he stared at Hockan. The fire glinted on his dark skin, his black hair. “You and your companions brought malice and foul dealings to the forest. Your companions have paid the price.”

“Destroy me you very well might,” said Hockan steadily. His voice was still the voice of the beast, but also very much the voice of the man, with its distinct melodic power. “But you cannot destroy the truth.” He looked around, taking in each figure individually before he went on. “What I see here is evil, terrible evil.”

“Enough,” said Margon under his breath.

“Is it enough? It is not enough!” said Hockan. “Your ways, Felix, have always been evil. Your houses, your estates, your greedy attachment to your mortal blood kin, your preening before the eyes of the living. Your seduction of the living. It is evil.”

“Stop,” said Margon in the same low voice. “You brought the treachery here tonight, and you know this.”

“Ah, but it was your sinfulness that provoked it,” said Hockan calmly, and with obvious conviction. “Felix, you destroyed your mortal family with your filthy secrets. Your children turned against you and your Morphenkind brothers—selling you for profit—and you shed their blood to punish them. But who had roused the greed of the men of science who bought and paid for you and put you in cages? Who drew them to our secrets? Yet you shed the blood of stupid blundering mortals.”