Young Writers Society

Chapter 1

The resounding howls of wolves echoed through the forest as I hit the dirt, sending my opponent flying over me. He spun around as he landed, his teeth bared in a snarl. I growled back as I crouched. My heart was pumping faster than I could count, adrenaline making my senses inhumanly keen. Neither of us had weapons of any sort- just our hands and our wits.

Around us, the chorusing howls of werewolves and their kind grew louder, egging us on. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to kill another cub.

The boy charged and I stepped aside. This time, however, he anticipated the dodge, and he grabbed me as I sidestepped, throwing me into the ground. Winded, I tried to roll to my feet. He was faster. He pinned me down and raised a fist, ready to beat my skull into pulp.

I didn’t have time to worry about ethics. He was trying to kill me- I would survive.

I kneed him in the stomach. He grunted and winced, loosening his grip ever so slightly, giving me the chance I needed to roll out from under him.

We were on even ground again. He was stronger, but I was faster. I lunged forward, feinting to the left. Naturally he moved to block. I took advantage of that and darted to the right, pivoting behind him. Before he could react I wrapped one hand around his chest and the other around his head.

The wolves’ cries rose in volume, yowling to the full moon overhead.

No. I couldn’t kill. Not another.

He began to break free from my hold.

No, I told myself. I would survive!

With one smooth movement, I jerked my hands away from one another. There was a sickening snap as I broke his neck. Limply, he fell to the ground. Lifeless.

Their yowls became deafeningly loud as I raised my arms and howled in victory.

I had survived.

Out of the crowd stepped an elf with dark brown hair. In his hand he held a bone ritual knife that legend said was made out of a dragon fang. I ducked my head as appropriate as a wolf of lower rank than our alpha. Behind him was a large, burly man- my adoptive father, Lupus. Next to him strode a horse-sized wolf. Her lower fangs were maybe 15 inches long, serrated on the inside. Her fur was deep mahogany, her eyes glistening gold. That was my mother, Grimm.

Wordlessly the elf handed me the knife and stepped back. The pack was suddenly silent- the only sounds were that of quiet shuffling and the murmur of wind through the trees. I took the blade and placed it on my palm, slicing it open. Closing my hand I passed the dagger to Lupus who followed suit, then extended his bloody fingers towards me.

I took his hand and our blood mixed. Eoin, the elf, took our hands and raised them. “I name thee Agrona,” he proclaimed. “The Harbinger of Death, victor of the 42nd Ru’leth!”

The canines around me burst into howls as he finished.

I was a wolf.

_____________________

Being infected with lycanthropy either from a bite or has multiple outcomes, caused by a rather large set of variables and complicated interactions between them. The short version is this: those that fight hard and long enough die from the effort and those that finally give in become wolves. Very few have survived and remained human- certainly no one within a couple hundred years. Even if one did survive, it didn’t come easy. Fighting the wolf came with much sickness and pain.

The longest it took for an outcome was perhaps a month. Two months later and I’d showed no symptoms of become a werewolf whatsoever. I guess that concerned my parents, because when they returned one night from what I’d assumed was hunting they’d actually been talking to Eoin. I could tell by his scent on them. Automatically I assumed they’d been talking about me- it was the most logical conclusion to draw from the current circumstances.

What I didn’t expect was them to try to kill me. I wonder why that came as a surprise, for in hindsight it was fairly obvious. It was Grimm’s low growl that first alerted me to danger. I turned to my parents who were moving to either side of me. Flanking me.

I didn’t have to ask. I knew a hunting wolf when I saw one. The flanking, their body positions, the way they moved, the tone in my mother’s snarl were all indicative of danger.

“I’m sorry,” Lupus muttered. “But what must be done must be done.”

And he leapt, his forms changing from that of a man to a wolf.

My heartbeat resonating in my ears…the rush of adrenaline…color washed from the world…a single instinct: protect, survive- kill.

And all went black.

The next thing I knew I was behind a ramshackle hovel in an unfamiliar town. Judging by the scents of humans it was fairly active and there were residents, but the silence and darkness betrayed nothing of their presence. The hunting song of the Pack could be heard in the distance, Grimm’s and Lupus’ voices easily discernible in the cacophony of howls.

I ran. There was nothing else I could do. Sprinting through the shacks I ducked into the most abandoned looking building I could find in the hopes of seeking refuge. It was an inn, an often used one if the cleanliness of the place meant anything.

Vaulting over the bar, I raced through the back door and into a storage room. I fumbled around when my bare toe slammed into something metal. Cussing in wolf, I knelt to feel whatever it was. A ring. A ring linked to another ring by a lock. It was a trapdoor, a locked trapdoor. If I could get into it, I might be able to evade the Pack. Reaching into a pocket I pulled out a slim wire. Even though lock picking wasn’t commonly taught among wolves, I’d learned when scavenging scraps from locked caches.

After what seemed like an eternity I finally unlocked it and the metal hunk clattered to the ground. I hurriedly ducked inside the tunnel and found myself climbing down a ladder.

The tunnel was full of shadows. A bit of torchlight reflected off the walls, but its as dimmed by the smoke from the fire. A steady drip-drip told me water fell from the ceiling somewhere as the noise echoed through the cavern. It was a bit intimidating, but I was more afraid of what was behind me than ahead. Without hesitation, I bolted down the passageway.

I lost track of the twists and turns, so naturally one more sharp turn didn’t surprise me. What I found there did.

I ran straight into what appeared to be a tavern. Humans of all shapes, sizes, ages, and genders were working at almost any activity possible. Drinking, brawling, gambling, bartering, cheating, stealing, boasting, bluffing, observing, and even arm wrestling. I had no idea how I hadn’t detected the din prior to stumbling into the pandemonium, but it promptly silenced as I did.

For several seconds it was so quiet you could hear a needle drop on the stone as I faced the room full of surprised commoners. Eventually a man stood up. He didn't look like anything special- brown hair, blue eyes, tan skin. He wore the standard tunic and breeches with no visible weapons. There was a sort of aura about him though, an attitude that suggested he was at the very least the beta if not the alpha.

He said something to me in common. I stared at him blankly, not comprehending the alien speech. I knew the wolf tongue and I knew Scanran, not whatever language this was. He repeated the words. Again I remained silent. Finally he switched to wolf, the second most common language of the area. That I understood.

“Who are you?”

“Who’s asking?” I retorted.

“You aren’t really in a position to be asking the questions,” he pointed out. “You’re in my territory, not the other way ‘round.” He did have a point there.

“Agrona.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Talking to you.”

His look said it all.

“Running,” I quickly corrected.

“From who?”

“The Pack. Who else? Those howls aren’t coming from nowhere, you know.”

“Why would they be chasing down one of their own wolf-children?” A wolf-child was someone like me- born human, raised by the Pack.

“Because they couldn’t turn me to a wolf,” I answered.

“How did you get in?”

“I picked the lock.”

“You, a mere child, picked our best lock?” The man was incredulous.

“Yes.”

“You wouldn't happen to be in need of a job?”