Lycan Fallout: Rise Of The Werewolf (24 page)

Xavier turned and displayed his crimson-coated teeth. “Mine, unless you want to join him,” he snarled. Herrin bounded off Sn bt si. From that point on, Xavier jumped forward in the pecking order. It was still the less desirable scraps he feasted on, but no longer did the pangs of hunger dominate his entire being. It was a year after he had taken out Triblos that Xavier had been able to get Herrin into an advantageous spot. Herrin still outweighed Xavier by at least fifty pounds but he now wanted nothing to do with the more aggressive youth.

It was a moon-less night, and Herrin had gone to the stream in an attempt to catch some fish. This was considered below a Lycan’s station, but hunger possesses its own power. Xavier had followed Herrin, always keeping the wind to his front so as not to give himself away. Xavier crept to the shore and hid under the brush as he watched Herrin wade into the water. Herrin looked about, when he was confident no one was looking, he started studying the water for signs of watery travelers.

Xavier hated him more for this, even when he was crippled with the void in his stomach he would not come to the stream for anything other than release. Herrin pounced, the second time coming up with a small fish, which he ate greedily. Xavier knew Herrin had been doing this for a while, his movements were too practiced and his success rate too great. Xavier crawled out from his cover, darkness, and the angle that he approached, keeping him concealed. Herrin kept constantly looking around for any signs that he was being watched. Xavier began to lope on the shore of the stream gaining speed, when he was certain he had enough momentum, he leapt. Herrin looked up, aware that something was not right. He noticed the smaller Lycan in flight towards him and turned to avoid the collision. Xavier was flying past when he snapped down, grabbing hold of Herrin’s left ear. He ripped the large appendage clean off as he landed on the other side of the stream. Cries of pain mewled forth from Herrin’s mouth as he turned to face the threat.

“You should have just killed me,” Xavier said as he paced the side of the stream.

“I should have killed the bitch that littered you.” Herrin said, puffing his chest out in an attempt to gain size and intimidate the younger, smaller Lycan.

“What do you think the tribe will say when I tell them that you are fishing?” Xavier asked menacingly.

Herrin growled. “I will finish what Triblos should have,” Herrin said as he launched himself at Xavier. “I will feast on your bones tonight!”

Xavier ducked back under the brush, confident that Herrin would not be able to follow as quickly. He had almost misjudged Herrin’s desire to hide his secret. The larger animal came away with a significant tuft of fur from Xavier’s hindquarters, prompting him to redouble his efforts. Herrin was snapping branches as he chased after his darting prey.

“You’d better taste better than you look,” Herrin said from behind him.

Xavier was running out of traversable real estate. The thickets were doing what they do, thickening, Herrin had fallen back a few paces but was now quickly gaining as Xavier was slowing down. Xavier could feel the hot breath of Herrin on his rear quarters. He was waiting for the needle-sharp pierce of pain as he was about to be bitten. He had turned his head slightly to see how close Herrin had come, and when he turned back around, he almost impaled himself on the branch of an oak tree
. He pushed off to the right, his shoulder taking the brunt as he slammed into the trunk of the tree. A loud yelp came from Herrin who had not been quick enough to realize the danger.

Herrin had also pushed off to his right,
but the branch caught him underneath his left front paw and punctured deep between his third and fourth rib. A barb at the end of the branch was scraping against the lining of his left lung as he panted in pain, each breath sending the sharp wood, just a little deeper, like rubbing a pin along the outside of a balloon. When his lung finally collapsed, he sagged on the supportive branch.

“I hate you,” Herrin said with his final words.

“There is no hate in Lycan only fear and death, and tonight you will suffer both,” Xavier said as he tore into Herrin.

Five years later he was allowed on the hunts a full ten years before most. Even in his youth he was nearly the size of the elders and almost as smart. The winters where the pack lived were severe; it was not uncommon for temperatures to reach forty below, but no one groused. First off, because it wasn’t in their nature; and secondly, they didn’t know another way. That was the way it had always been.

Two separate events would shape Xavier. He was in his twentieth season, leading a hunting expedition; something that was normally reserved for someone much older. There was a village fifty miles to the south, normally the hunters would wait until a group of men separated from the larger village, going out on their own hunts, usually for seals and fish. At some point, man would separate from the group and the Lycan would take him down. If they were lucky, they may be able to get two without getting discovered.

For three days, Xavier and his pack lurked around the shadows of the community waiting for someone to depart. By the fourth night, he became too impatient to wait any longer
; he warily walked onto the snow-lined streets.

“This is not how it is done, Xavier,” Guerros, his second-in-command, said.

“Should we wait another Moon Day while our clan starves, Guerros? I don’t like hiding from these inferior creatures. We are their masters, not the other way around.”

“Man is dangerous,” Guerros said.

Xavier pinned him up against a structure. “I AM DANGEROUS!” he commanded.

Guerros deferred. Xavier’s mouth began to water as he smelled the sizzling of rending fat in one of the wooden huts. He smashed the door open with his head, an Inuit boy of about seven stared back at him, dropping his fried blubber onto the floor. Xavier tore him in two with one bite. The boy’s mother came out from behind her counter, filet knife in hand
. She had not been expecting to see an animal nearly thrice her size. Xavier grunted as he charged, the blade striking off the top of his shoulder. He crushed her spine as he pushed her into a wooden post.

Guerros was next in,
and any issue he had with this type of hunt were lost as soon as the blood lust struck his nose. He tore through the house and found a girl of middling years hiding under her bed. She screamed as he slammed the structure out of the way. That was quickly cut short as he bit through her skull. The small band grabbed their kills and raced home. The feast had been of near mythical proportions as, two other hunting parties had also succeeded; the clan would eat well.

Yutu the Claw, came home to a community in mourning. He was the l S He cut shoreader of his village
; it was his house that Xavier and his hunting party had sacked. He had cried even as he prepared to follow after the savage animals that had done this. Almost all of the men that were of age joined him for the hunt. Xavier had made great time getting home, but the weather was not on his side, with no wind or fresh snow to cover his tracks, he gave the hunters a perfect trail to follow. With dreaded determination Yutu urged the dog sled teams on.

When the Inuit’s began to notice more tracks than the four sets they had been ruthlessly pursuing, they knew they were getting close. They put up the sleds
, tied the dogs down and advanced slowly on foot. Within an hour they heard the noises of a great many guttural beasts. They swung to the left to ensure their scents would not be picked up. They crawled up a small incline that overlooked the encampment. None of them had been prepared to witness what they saw. They had believed they were chasing large timber wolves. A blind man at night would have a difficult time not knowing the two animals were different. Human carcasses littered the ground and clothes were strewn about. Heated conversations and arguments erupted over various morsels of meat.

Xavier looked up when he heard the first of many metallic sounds. Men were priming their weapons, not that he knew the sound at that time, it just sounded foreign and dangerous. He saw the wisps of smoke a split second before he heard the loud percussion of bullets being expended. And still he did not know the danger
; at least until he saw the head of the elder next to him mushroom out as it absorbed a bullet. The exit wound splashed onto the side of his face as Zugrut fell to the ground in an awkward, splayed out position. His pack was bounding around, unsure of what to do next. Xavier knew where the threat was coming from and was attempting to circle around when a bullet caught him in the hindquarters. He had never before in his life felt the extreme pain like that which was coursing up his side. It tore at him every time he moved, but to stay motionless meant death. He headed towards the stream. The loud sounds that hurt his ears continued on for many more minutes.

He could not move,
so he let the water clean and numb the wound. When he was finally able to venture out, the men and their weapons were gone. Fully two-thirds of his clan had been destroyed; the rest scattered as they ran to save themselves. Xavier sniffed at the wounds the weapons caused, the smell of burnt flesh sticking in his nose as he did so. He looked up towards the small ridge and limped towards it. He sniffed around when one scent in particular caught his attention. It was a familiar scent, smelling much like the boy he had eaten. He had brought this death upon his people. For the first time in his life he howled in pain, not an external, but rather an internal one that could not be assuaged.

Hunters were fair game when they went out into the wilds
. The unspoken rule Xavier had broken was attacking a family at home, and his clan had paid dearly for his transgression. It took Xavier a full week to heal from the leaden bullet. When he was ready, he followed the diminishing scent of The Destroyer. For two weeks he prowled around the edges of the human habitation waiting for a chance. He watched as the people had their strange custom of burying their dead; which he found amusing since most of the dead were in and out of his belly by this time.

It was the fifteenth night when people finally stopped showing up at the hunter’s house. Xavier hated what he was to do now – and as of yet had never do S haoplne it. His body lanced with pain as he forced it into change. His entire body began to shrink, feet, hands, snout, everything.

“At least that has stayed the same,” he said with a snarl as he looked down. It was long moments before he felt he could move; and even then he looked to have the drunken gait of a sailor on shore leave.

“I feel weak,” he mumbled. He had observed enough of the human customs to do what needed to be done to gain entry. He knocked heavily on the door, rattling it within its frame.

“Come in,” A voice drifted out.

Xavier pushed against the door. It moved slightly, but did not budge.

“It’s unlocked.”

Xavier growled, his hand came in contact with the doorknob. He fumbled with it until it turned
and the door swung open.

The hunter’s eyes grew wide for a moment in surprise then returned to their saddened state. “I had heard rumors of shape-shifters. I always thought it was tales to tease the children.” A smile creased the hunter’s face. “I was wondering when you would come. Next time you may want to consider bringing clothes with you
. Not too many people, even the hardy Inuit walk around in the snow without clothes.”

Xavier looked down at his body, where he was used to seeing dense fur he saw
only a light sprinkling of hair.

“And your ears, they are much too large to be considered human.” Yutu said
, tipping a bottle of something into a glass. The smell of it was very astringent to Xavier’s nose. “Care for a drink?” he asked, showing Xavier the bottle.

Xavier spoke the human words, something he had been taught in his younger years. At first it sounded like he was dragging them through weed-choked mud. Finally he lost his
throat clapping tones and moved to more of the soft lilt of human speech. “Are you not afraid of me?” Xavier asked.

“Petrified,” the man replied. “But I am also ready to be reunited with my family.”

Xavier thought the human was crazy. How did he plan on doing that? “After I eat you, should I shit in the same place I deposited your son? Is this the reunification that you speak?”

Yutu’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I figured a savage animal such as you would not understand a higher power. But then again, why would you? You have no soul…there will be no ascension for you. When death finds you that will be the end. Blackness.”
He slammed down the drink he had poured for himself and quickly refilled the glass. “You sure?” he asked again, showing the bottle.

Xavier took a step closer.