Sons of the Wolf

Sons of the Wolf

  By

  K.L. Coones

  * * * *

  Published By

  Sons of the Wolf

  Copyright© 2011 by K.L. Coones

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Sons of the Wolf

  He wiped the trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and stepped soundlessly into the night. It had been just a simple farm house, a small family, but simplicity was no protection from the marauding wolf. It was snowing, and Absolom vaguely remembered the chill that came with snow.

  “A chill that can no longer touch me,” he thought ruefully. Indeed, he had traded one minor discomfort of mortality for something much more agonizing. Even as the warmth of a new feeding raged through his body, he could already feel cold returning. Nibbling at the edges of the rapture now within him was the coldness of death. It had become a timeless companion that no change of season could diminish.

  He moved on, and, to an observant onlooker, something about Absolom would not be quite right. Yes, his complexion was unusually pale, even for a Roman, and his eyes shown in the moonlight like flaming torches. No, those things were obvious to any eye; it took the perceptive to notice he walked upon the snow without leaving marks to mar the glittering surface.

  He had come to the base of the great mountain range separating the Roman homeland from the rest of the empire. Under the rule of a continuous line of inept emperors the empire had withered away to a dried husk of its former size and splendor. It was yet another curse heaped upon him, that he should watch from a distance as the world of his mortal life slowly crumbled around him. Once, many years ago, he had served Rome. He had believed in the State and the promises it made to its people. He had become an agent of it and ruled a faraway land in its name only to be betrayed by the State in order for it to save its own face and satisfy its own indulgences. Now the same fate was falling upon the Roman people. Through all its proclamations of safety, of prosperity or of glory for its people, the State really only cared about one thing, its own power and perpetuity. The political class of patricians had bled the empire dry as ruthlessly as Absolom would his next victim. The barbarians were here, and no wall could hold them back.

  Some would claim that the things he did in order to survive in those days were monstrous. As a mortal, Absolom had done what was necessary for survival, and now was no different. He had become an eternal embodiment of the State that had betrayed him. Only his survival mattered and the rights of a simple family in a small farmhouse were forfeit. Indeed, he had to look to his own survival, and morning would be coming soon. He had to find shelter, someplace he could be shielded from the light of the approaching day. There he could rest in his death-like sleep until the night once again wrapped its cloak about the land.

  Ahead, the line of pine trees broke at the foothills of the great peaks looming before him and, in the glow of the bright moon, his eyes could easily make out a small rocky trail leading up into the higher foothills. Atop one hill, at the end of the trail, sat a small domus, its fires burning spritely in the night, inviting him to seek refuge.

  Just as he was about to step out from the tree line, something happened that, had he been mortal, would have frozen his heart. The piercing howl of a wolf shattered the quiet snowscape around him like a hammer slamming into glass. He had heard many wolves howl in the night, but never one whose voice carried with it such anguish, such pain, and such rage. The sound seemed to echo about him, almost as if the forest had awakened to repeat the cry in kind. Something was different about this place, and he felt an emotion he thought lost to him forever as he gazed about at the otherwise serene snow blanketed landscape. He felt intrigued.

  Approaching the domus, it appeared to be part of a farm stead that had fallen to neglect. Livestock pens no longer held stock, and a small barn housed as much snow from the holes in the roof as it did smatterings of hay for the farm’s phantom animals. Normally, Absolom would avoid any direct contact with people except in order to feed; however, the compulsion to approach the domus remained. He would seek lodgings instead of searching out a crypt or cave. There appeared to be no one inside the small structure as Absolom quickly peered inside. He waited for a few more moments, listening for any sounds that may indicate someone within the dwelling. Hearing nothing, he raised his hand to push the wood door open.

  “I do not often receive visitors,” spoke a female voice behind him. Not startled, Absolom remained with his back to the woman and the dark drape still covering his head. It intrigued him further that he had heard no one approach. “If you are a thief you will find little of value here.” She sounded amused instead of fearful. Absolom slowly turned to face her, making sure his drape covered most of his pallid face. He half expected to see some apparition floating above the snow, but he saw only a woman holding a bucket. He estimated her age to be in the late thirties, and in the dim light her dark black hair appeared as a shroud around a chiseled face and crooked smile.

  “Forgive me, Domina,” he glanced about, looking for an escort. “Are you alone?” He waited for the wave of trepidation that such a question should illicit from a woman, but nothing came. The woman simply cocked her head to the side, like a dog might as it attempted to make sense of an unfamiliar situation. She wasn’t nervous, and she wasn’t afraid. Absolom could feel nothing from her. “Apologies, Domina. I meant, do you need any assistance?” He motioned to the bucket she held in her right hand. “I thought this might be a caupona in which I might rest.”

  “Hmm, yes,” she glanced around the empty stock yard with its ramshackle fence. “One would immediately think this such a place.” Her smile vanished, and, for a moment, her eyes flashed brightly in the moonlight. Those eyes glanced momentarily toward the barn. This time Absolom heard the soft footfalls of an animal in the snow and the faint panting of its breathing. “Well, let’s get inside, shall we? No sense freezing to death out here in the night air.” She pushed past Absolom, and, as she entered the domus, he noticed that she wasn’t shivering.

  “Thank you for your generosity, Domina.”

  “You are no slave of mine; address me as Lupina,” she responded as she poured the water into an iron pot on the floor next to the hearth. “Do you require food?” She lifted the pot onto an iron hook with ease and then pushed the pot inward to suspend over the fire.

  “No. I have…already eaten.”

  “Then, may I offer you something to drink?” He nodded to allay any further suspicions she might have of him. She set out four clay cups and filled them with a pale golden liquid.

  “Is this the only settlement in these foothills?”inquired Absolom without approaching the table.

  “There are a few fields attended by goat herders to the east; otherwise, we are rather solitary here,” she replied.

  “Indeed, I was fortunate to happen upon your domus.”

  “Please sit.” She motioned to the long bench next to the table. “My brothers join us.” The door opened, and
two men entered. Instinctively, Absolom melted into the shadows of a nearby doorway.

  “Fulvus for us so soon?” jested a tall man with red hair. He raised the cup to his face and sniffed. He turned his head to the side, sniffing the air yet a second time.

  “Yes, Lucius, we have a guest. I’m sorry, I do not know your name.” Absolom stepped out of the shadows and approached the table to pick up his cup.

  “Anticus. My name is Anticus.”

  “You have the look of a Patrician, Anticus, and you smell of blood,” sneered the other brother. Absolom turned to regard him but did not respond. It had been several hours since he had fed and the smell had grown faint, even to his own senses. How could this mortal be aware of it?

  “Arius, you should not