sort of an opening of the prequel....

This was a series of images that wouldn't leave me alone--a cleric of Aine, wounded beyond anything other than magical help and without healing spells of her own, passing on some letters to a wolf. Once I realized who she was and what the situation was (duty, especially in the service of the Priory, can be pretty rough, especially when you have spies married to spies) I really had to write it down.

Poor Marcus. I'm coming out with both guns blazing on this one. An entire Marcus storyline just crystallized for me, and this is the seed, this is the motive force and the moment that all the other moments follow from. Something Marcus does later is going to cause everything to go straight to hell. And you'd better believe that once he figures it out, he's never going to forgive himself for it.

I need a working title at least for the prequel. Perhaps something will occur to me later.

(Oh, yes. For those who are playing the home game: the king of France in 1054 was Henry I, and he married a woman named Anne of Kiev. What I'm setting up here may or may not be somewhat obvious, but I think there are a few twists waiting in here.)



April 12th, 1054

The woman leaned against the tree, her one hand pressed to her belly and the other braced against the trunk, coughing. She licked lips gone cracked and dry from exhaustion and pain, resting her forehead briefly against the tree. Where are you? she wondered to herself. Marcus, where are you? You said you'd be here.

She gave in to the dizziness and sank down to the ground, moaning. The movement caused fresh blood to well between the fingers of the hand that was pressed to her abdomen, and a moan escaped her as something inside her wound tore again. "Oh, Goddess...I. Cannot. Marcus. Where are you?"

Her vision darkened and she closed her eyes. A rustle in front of her alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone, and she forced open her eyes again. A hope beyond hope sprang into her, warming her briefly.

Until she saw what stood before her. A wolf, a brindled wolf touched with silver down its shoulders and back, as if a pair of wings might have once lain there. She stared at the wolf, and abruptly all hope ran out of her. "Cloud Shoulders. Marcus isn't coming, is he?"

The wolf cocked his great head at her and whined quietly. "I don't blame you. Or him. He didn't know I'd be wounded trying to escape. But there's little time left, and..." She coughed and stifled a scream as the wound in her belly gaped open again. "Goddess. Cloud. I have something for Marcus. Will you take it to him?"

The wolf chuffed at her, coming forward till his nose was almost even with hers. Then he nudged the side of her face, pressing his head against hers in an unmistakable gesture of comfort. "Oh, Cloud. We've known each other a long time, haven't we? Here. Take this to Marcus." She pulled out from her torn and bloody bodice a thin leather packet, tying it harness-style so it fit snugly against on the wolf's chest, right behind his front legs. "This has everything in it that I learned. It's spelled to burn if anyone but Marcus reads it, so don't go opening it, all right?" She chuckled weakly and the wolf backed away from her, whining again.

The woman shook her head at the wolf. "What's in the packet is more important than me. Take it to the Tower, Cloud Shoulders." She raised a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. "When the time is right, when he's ready to hear it...tell Marcus that I never stopped loving him. Tell him that Henry never touched me after it was confirmed I was with child. I was always faithful as I could be, in my own way. But before I was Marcus' own, I was always the tool of my goddess."

Tears ran down the woman's face as she choked. "I have one last thing. One last message. Here." She fumbled at the back of her neck, then lifted away the thin chain from around her neck, a pendant hidden by her bodice coming into view. She refastened the chain and held it out. "Please. As a favor. Take him this."

The wolf came closer, and she hung the necklace around his neck. Against the dark and brindled fur, the platinum and purple enamel of the pendant gleamed darkly. A rose full-blown twined around a sword, the thorns on the vine seeming almost to pierce the metal of the blade. Balanced on the pommel of the sword was a fleur-de-lis.

The woman looked into the wolf's dark eyes. "One last favor, Cloud Shoulders. I beg mercy from you. Please, old friend, by any love you still bear me."

The wolf stood still, only the ruffle of his fur in the breeze betraying that he was flesh and blood and not carved out of granite. Then he lowered his head and chuffed briefly. The woman closed her eyes, took a breath, and tilted her head back, exposing her throat.

*******

The black-haired man sat at a rough wooden table, his head in his hands. He was dressed in the plain brown woolens of his profession, boots tanned deerhide, his hands rough and scarred with work.

He heard the tick of claws on the wooden floor and turned. "Cloud. You've come back. Where's Anne?"

The wolf tilted his head at the tall man. She sent a message. He came up to the druid and turned, presenting the ties of the thongs that kept the packet tied to him. This is the first part.

Marcus untied the packet, putting it on the table. "And the second part?"

He could sense the wolf's reluctance to speak. Finally, the answer came. Around my neck.

"What--" Marcus' hands searched through the fur of the wolf's ruff, finding the clasp of the chain and undoing it. He caught the necklace without thinking about it and then stared down at the pendant in his hand. He caught his breath as he recognized the symbol. "No."

It was his wife's cleric symbol.

He closed his hand around the necklace, holding it so tightly that the edges of the pendant and the chain dug into his palm and his fingers. The small pain gave him something to focus on. And then something he'd noted without really noticing when he had first seen Cloud Shoulders floated to the surface of his mind. He looked down at the wolf.

Cloud's muzzle was flecked with blood. The wolf backed away a step as he saw Marcus' eyes darken. The question came from the druid, quiet but full of carefully leashed rage. "You?"

He flattened his ears, dropping his tail slightly. She was gut-wounded and could no longer walk. She was dying. She begged mercy from me, the mercy of the pack. By her request, Marcus.

"Get out of my sight, Cloud. Now."

Knowing the druid as he did, the wolf turned and moved towards the door with a fluid walk that could turn into a flat-out run at any moment. At the doorway, he paused, looking back at Marcus with his yellow eyes. She was expecting you, Marcus. She was expecting you to meet her and heal her. When she saw me, she knew you'd sent me in your stead. She asked of me the only remedy I could offer. The wolf spun and disappeared, claws ticking at a rate that meant he was loping down the hall towards the outdoors.

Marcus' scream of grief and rage could be heard for miles through the forest. He snatched up a rough clay cup from the table and threw it against the wall, where it exploded with a satisfying shatter and a shower of fragments. Then his form blurred into another shape, a broad-shouldered wolf with black fur and green eyes. Marcus shot down the hallway and out into the forest that lay beyond the Tower's front door, into the night.

And that night, howls could be heard skirling down from the heights of the hills that protected the Valley of the Tower. A single wolf, singing his sorrow to the waxing moon.