Hungry Heart - Book #4 - Ch. 8 (Patreon)

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Chapter Eight – The Power of the Moon

The scent of blood overpowered his senses. Everything around him was crimson red, and through the scarlet veil, he could only perceive shadows. His senses were failing him, an obstacle to prevent his fangs and claws from reaching his enemies. Inside his chest, his heart beat wildly, and guttural sounds escaped his throat, a warning for those around to run away and hide from the vengeance swelling like a tide inside him.

Under his feet, the pale glint of the moon gave him power. But the moment he stepped out of bounds, he felt that power waning, so he kept inside, as even the senseless beast he was could understand the cost of moving too far.

He was trapped in a prison, but one of a different kind. The power that unleashed the strength and hatred inside his soul also held him captive, so his roars turned into whines. The enemies, the ghosts surrounding him, didn’t seem keen on coming to him so he could finish them off.

“Cowards,” he bellowed, and the sound of his own voice caught him by surprise.

It was strange to voice his thoughts through means other than grunts and roars. Varg felt something being thrown at his feet. He jumped at first, not knowing whether it was some trick of the enemy or not. As he let his muzzle drop, he observed that it was just dirt and mud. Nothing else but that, but it was thrown in heaps, covering the white disk on which Varg stood, bent on robbing him of the same power that was giving him strength. He tried to push it away, clean the face of his goddess, but his paws were clumsy and he had no means to oppose that dirty trick, except for snapping his jaws and growling.

And they were so many. The phantasms were closing in around him, and he opened his muzzle. His fangs met nothing but air, but he continued nonetheless. When they finally met flesh, the horrifying cry of pain that followed gave him new strength. With his prey in his maw, he withdrew to the center of his moon prison. He was holding on to an arm, and that arm belonged to someone who was continuing to growl and grunt in pain. The blood poured from the bite onto the white surface, caking in the mud already thrown by the shadowy enemies and smeared it.

Varg looked down, in his search to draw more power from his moon goddess, and in the streak of mud and blood across the once pristine face, he saw himself.

A beast, biting on an arm, his eyes gone in his head, his heart empty. The power of that revelation made him release the arm he was biting. He ran in circles, whined, and stared into the image revealed to him by the smear of red on white. Was that him? The face of the moon had to show him his true self. And if that was him, what did it make him?

His mind struggled, trying to comprehend, but to no avail. Then, he felt something hard and heavy hitting his back, making all four of his legs waver under the strength of the blow. He barely had time to understand that he was being attacked when more of the same followed. He fell onto the moon reflection, covering it with his body, and as blood began oozing from many wounds, the white turned red.

His eyes were closing. The pain was nothing. What hurt more was to feel his goddess turning her back on him, and he could no longer see her.

***

“Now we know everything about your adventures, but how about we get out of this pit?” Claw suggested as soon as Toru finished his very hurried story about Atlaz, Hesaia, the potion she had to make, and a nameless witch with the power of stealing the moon.

“If it only were this easy,” Toru said. “I mean, couldn’t we just use the way you took to get here, to me?”

Claw shook his head. “We could dig, but the way we came is covered with earth.” The bearshifter slammed his fist into the wall of dirt behind them.

Toru understood. Some other kind of magic was at work. That moment, he decided that he didn’t like magic that much. It served all sorts of nefarious deeds and evil witches, making it all difficult for everyone else. “The thicket of thorns is thick and I cannot move through it. Humans are no match for it, and it rejects shapeshifters. We cannot go through.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like kitties and puppies,” Claw said with a grin.

“I would bite you for what you just said, but after getting pinched and stung by a thousand needles, I think I’m wiser than that,” Toru said with importance. Yes, all this adventuring was truly making him wiser and stronger. Varg would be so proud of him. The thought of the wolfshifter being trapped somewhere underground reminded him that they truly needed to find a way out of the thicket so that they could finally rush to the help of their friend. “So, you are free to try, and if you can get through it, Duril and I will just climb on your back. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Glad to see you have so much confidence in me. The boy is growing, isn’t he?” Claw asked Duril with a knowing smirk.

“Toru is wise, indeed,” Duril offered courteously, always on his side, but clever to get along with the others who wanted to tease him, as well. “Let’s see this thicket of thorns you’re talking about, and if Claw can move through it so that we all get to Varg.”

Claw helped Duril and Toru out of the pit first, and then hiked himself up with their help. Once on the surface, they all looked around. Toru grimaced and shivered shortly just remembering all those thorns cutting through his hide. “I descended here using that branch,” he pointed, “but it is broken now.”

Claw seemed to consider his strategy, but much to Toru’s surprise, he headed toward the thorn bushes without a second thought. “They’re very sharp,” he warned.

It looked like he didn’t have to say it because Claw jumped back and yelped. “What kind of dirty trick is this? I’m famous for eating fruits from the thorniest bushes without feeling as little as a prick,” Claw said and nursed his hand to his chest. “Do you say that it rejects shapeshifters? It looks to me like this thing attacks them without the slightest provocation.”

Toru knew he was wise enough now to keep from laughing in Claw’s face. It was not easy to keep his mouth shut, but he did it, anyway.

“I should shift and see if these thorns have the same audacity to prick at my thick hide,” Claw said.

Toru didn’t say that he had tried that, too. After all, Claw knew better and he was an old bear. Maybe his hide was thick enough.

In his bear shape, Claw made a second attempts at going through the thicket, but he withdrew after only a few moments, howling in pain. Both Toru and Duril hurried to him. Duril began to pull thorns out of the bear’s skin, and Toru followed his example.

Claw shifted back into his human. “Maybe digging our way out is not that bad an idea, after all. This thing is dipped in powerful dark magic or so it seems. We’ve been through such astonishing adventures, and a little thorny bush proves so redoubtable. Duril, you should write about this in your book, but make sure that you put us in a nice light. Such a shameful defeat I haven’t endured in a very long time.”

“Before we start digging,” Duril started, “aren’t we forgetting something?”

“What?” Claw asked.

Toru was curious, too. “Should we try flying over it?” he suggested.

Claw laughed and pulled playfully at his ear. “Did you sprout wings overnight and now you’re hiding them from us, kitty?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Duril said, speaking in a determined manner. “I should try going through it, too.”

“But Hesaia said that she ended up bloody when she tried,” Toru reminded him. “Your skin is thinner than our hides. And humans, just like shapeshifters, cannot go through.”

“I’m not exactly human,” Duril said. “And I’m not a shapeshifter, either. Let me just try.”

Toru stared, along with Claw, at the kitchen knife Duril pulled out of his bag. He shrugged. “Duril should try, too.”

***

He could very well be wrong in his assumptions that he would be the one to defeat the mighty magic thicket of thorns, where his more powerful companions had failed. However, during their adventures, Duril had learned one thing about himself and his friends. As long as they tried their best, they could come up with the silliest ideas and it wouldn’t bother anyone.

Therefore, armed with his trustworthy kitchen knife, the same he used for cutting the cabbage for the stew which Toru abhorred with a fiery passion, he put his hand low on the first stem, where he noticed that the thorns were fewer and far between. They still pricked his skin, but he didn’t feel the same searing pain Toru and Claw had talked about. For him, they seemed to be just like any other thorny bush. He only needed to be careful.

As the blade of his knife moved close to the stem, a voice stopped him. You’re a talker to the trees. Why do you want to hurt us?

Startled for a moment, Duril pulled back.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Toru asked and hurried to him.

“No. It just looks like I can talk to these bushes, just as I talk to trees.”

“You do?” Claw asked. “That is fantastic. We are so fortunate to have you with us, Duril. What do they say?”

“They just asked me why I want to hurt them. I will explain to them our quest right away.”

He moved closer still and leaned over the thicket. Using the power of his mind, picturing in it the symbols on his hand, he sent his message. I do not mean to hurt you, but my friends and I need to get to the other side. Is there a way for us to do so?

We must stand true here, to protect the bush of life.

You mean, the bush that Toru tore from the ground and sent flying over you?

The thicket remained silent for a while. We do not understand.

Why were you guarding this bush? Against who? Duril knew that trees were never ones to be hurried along. He had to understand what their mission had been until Toru had found a way to rob them of the thing they had been meant to protect.

From messengers of death. One lurks in the marshes nearby. If it were to grab this bush and destroy it, its pestilence would take over. Nothing alive would be able to grow in these lands again.

Duril pondered and then started asking. The mistress of the marshes, is that the messenger of death you’re talking about?

We do not know what it’s called. Do you mean to tell us that the bush of life is no more?

It will serve the purpose of destroying this messenger of death. This mistress keeps wolves prisoners and wants to grab hold of their young.

Another silence followed. We have nothing to guard anymore.

That is true, Duril confirmed. I believe that you served your purpose.

A bit too well, but he wasn’t the type to say such things.

The thicket shook from the roots to the tip of each branch. Duril pulled back. Under their very eyes, the bushes shed their thorns, dried up and pulled into themselves until they were nothing but dark small mounds on the ground.

Duril started as Claw patted him hard on the back. “Excellent work, Duril! Where we would be without you?”

“Probably digging a whole under our feet,” Toru offered.

They all laughed.

“Come on now, there’s no time to waste,” Toru said. “We must reach the cave where Hesaia is probably making that potion right now. Then, we’ll find that ugly witch and shove the potion down her throat.”

“Sounds like smooth sailing from now on,” Claw said and grinned happily. “Let us go, good people. And I don’t mind if you, Duril, climb on my back so that we can get to that cave as fast as we can, short of flying, while Toru leads the way.”

***

When they reached the cave, all the youngsters were assembled outside, and by their voices, there was an argument going on. Toru wondered what it was about, so he shifted into his human and stepped into the tight circle they were gathered as. In the middle stood Atlaz and Hesaia. They appeared to be the protagonists of that heated argument.

“We failed already in doing what she wanted,” Atlaz said.

“We delivered her the lost alpha. You cannot say that,” Hesaia replied. “And she showed that she was devious in asking us to do so. Once Varg offered himself up, she forgot everything about the fight that was supposed to take place between you and he. Look up, Atlaz. She stole the moon.”

Atlaz seemed to waver. Toru understood some things. The young leader didn’t want to appear weak in front of the other youngsters. Maybe he agreed with Hesaia, but it didn’t sit well with him to submit to her solutions just like that.

“We don’t know if she did so. We don’t know anything,” he pointed out.

“That is true,” Hesaia agreed. “But, look, Atlaz, I have the fruits. I know how to make that potion.”

“And do what with it, exactly? Do you think she wouldn’t know that we’re trying to fool her? We’ll fall just like our parents. I cannot allow that to happen.”

Toru stepped closer to them, and the two only then noticed him. “You don’t have to do anything. Let Hesaia make the potion, alpha.”

Atlaz stood straight at the mention of his position in the pack.

“I will be the one to take the potion to the witch. Along with my friends.”

The pups opened their tight circle and turned to look at Duril and Claw. They exclaimed in various voices. They had to be astonished by the looks of a bearshifter and a half-orc, the likes of which they hadn’t seen in their lives.

Toru turned toward Atlaz again, talking directly to him, and showing that he wasn’t dismissive of his role as the alpha of the pack. “I am a tigershifter. My friend, Claw, is a bearshifter. The only thing you have to do is to entice her with the promise of more powerful shifters.”

Atlaz seemed to consider, by the way his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Toru fought his first impulse of telling the young wolf that it wouldn’t happen like that. “You’ll pretend you didn’t know of our intentions. You’ll say that you thought that she needed more shapeshifters and didn’t think that we would try to hurt her. You’ll be free of any guilt.”

Atlaz nodded. He seemed relieved, too. The coat of a leader was too heavy for him, and he was too young. Toru understood as much. He, himself, was sometimes thankful for having his friends by his side so that he didn’t have to make hard choices all alone.

“Hesaia,” Atlaz said loudly, “go make that potion. We will take the shapeshifters to her.”

***

Whispers and shadows moved around him. Varg moved his hands and touched his face. He was human again. The memories of what had just happened earlier rushed to his mind. His entire body tensed, ready for battle, but only then did he realize that he was weak and it took considerable effort to move to a sitting position.

The surroundings cleared around him. He blinked a few times, and Osion came into view. “Awake, Varg?”

“What happened?” Varg looked beyond Osion, at the pack gathered behind him. They appeared to be still trapped in the same place underground. “Who was attacking us?”

Osion patted his shoulder. “The mistress turned you into a savage beast and you swung at us with all your might.”

Varg frowned. He noticed the still oozing wounds on the legs and arms of the wolves, those that had yet to be bandaged. They must have run out of things to use for that, though. “I did?” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Why am I so weak?”

“We gave as good as you gave us,” Osion explained. The alpha himself had a long gash of a wound along his arm.

Only then, it hit Varg what was bothering him. “You’re wolves. Why can’t you heal yourselves?”

Osion hung his head low and moved out of the way, allowing Varg to see something on the ground. The white disk from his memories was covered in mud and blood. “The moon,” he whispered. “What have you done?”

“The only thing we could to stop her from taking over completely,” Osion explained, but his voice trembled.

Varg felt anger growing inside him once more, but it was laced with pain. “You fool! Wolves everywhere--”

“We know,” Nesta intervened. “We know it very well. But would you have our goddess become dark with malice and tainted by evil? We did what we could.”

“Not good enough,” Varg growled. His body didn’t support him in his fury and he collapsed on one side, catching one arm underneath. The pain was terribly hard to bear.

“We couldn’t let her destroy the moon and make it her own,” Osion argued.

“So you just destroyed it yourself.” Varg was well aware he was not just, but he didn’t have it in him to admit it. Because of what was happening here, wolves all over Eawirith would turn into nothing but mere humans, their power, their legacy, destroyed forever. And without the moon, how would the face of the world turn?

“A choice we made with heavy hearts. May our children forgive us for robbing them of everything we should have left them as their rightful inheritance,” Nesta said.

Everywhere he looked, Varg saw nothing but bent heads. “It’s not only about your children,” he said.

“We know that, as well,” Osion said. “Now we are weak and every wolf in our world might begin to feel it, too. But weak as they are, weak as you are, don’t you want to go to war with us, for one last time, against this witch without a name?”

Varg nodded. What a thought, to fight as they were, drained of their strength, their blood. But he was with them. As mad as he was at them, he understood that he had to be a lot madder at the evil creature behind it all.

As if summoned by their hatred, the air froze and the swish of dark garments made itself heard. All the wolves turned, and Osion helped Varg to his feet. They were about to meet their true enemy.

“What is this?” the shadowy figure shouted. “What have you done, you useless mutts?”

“You took our power, so we took it back,” Osion said firmly. “No, we didn’t kill each other, as you thought we would.”

The mistress of the marshes hovered on top of the destroyed moon. “You used your own blood?” she asked, her voice unsure. She moved about, as if she was trying to wipe it clean. “You disgusting, filthy, unworthy creatures!”

“We couldn’t let you use our own power against us,” Osion said. “Even the wolf you brought among us, one you thought would be a stranger to us, he’s by our side. And now, we’re going to destroy you.”

Those were some big words for a pack of mere humans, robbed of any greatness. But Varg joined in their shouts of battle, and when they rushed toward the mistress with their last breaths, he followed them, as well.

The mistress of the marshes soared into the air and they fell in a heap beneath her feet. “Do you dare to challenge me?” she squealed.

“You made the mistake of making the bars keeping us from you drop. Now, we will have our revenge.”

There was some powerful magic the mistress was wielding, but yet, she was scared. Even in his weakened form, Varg could tell it. He had noticed it before, how she was scared of Osion in particular. Was it some sort of ingrained terror, caused by the one who had taken her power from her once?

Whatever it was, she was not as powerful as she tried to make them believe. “She’s just a witch without a name,” he cried out.

The mistress’ form shivered above them. “How can you say that? I’m the moon, your goddess--”

“You’re nothing,” Varg threw at her. “Brothers,” he called out loudly, “help me reach the impostor and drag her to the mud she belongs to.”

The wolves gathered together and helped Varg climb on their shoulders, pushing him up with all the might they still had in their wretched flesh and bones. He reached up, higher and higher, stretching one arm to catch the bottom of those flying garments.

Just as he was about to grab it, the apparition disappeared, leaving him to catch nothing but thin air.

***

“How do you call for her?” Toru asked. “What do you do?”

Atlaz stood there, on top of a small cliff overlooking the marshes. “We wait. She feels us.”

“That might take too long,” Toru grumbled. “Hey, mistress of the marshes, hey!” he began calling out.

The entire pack of young wolves turned toward him to shush him, but he turned toward them and growled, so the youngest whined and hid themselves behind Atlaz and Hesaia.

He had Hesaia’s potion secured in his pocket and he could barely wait to make that thing swallow it, mud bottle and all. It would fulfill its role, for sure, either way.

He was about to lose his patience and start shouting again when, from the fog sweeping the vast marshes, something took shape.

Claw came closer to stand by his side. “Do you believe we look like tasty little morsels for this witch?”

“Indeed you do,” Duril confirmed in his stead. “Please, the two of you, be careful.”

“What is it, alpha?” the apparition hissed. “Who are these strangers? Oh, they smell of shifters… but they’re not wolves. Where did you find them?”

“They came to us willingly,” Atlaz said. “They were in awe of you when we told them who governs us in these parts.”

Toru thought he could hear Atlaz grinding his teeth as he spoke their well-crafted lie. The young wolf was not a very good liar, but they had to depend on him, as well as on the mistress’ greed for their souls.

“They were?” The creature, made of fog and dark garments moved closer. “Should I show you to my kingdom underground?”

“Yes, show us,” Toru said. “We want to know where a powerful mistress like you lives.”

He could tell she was sniffing him and something was not quite to her liking. Maybe she could tell he was hiding that potion in his pocket. If she did, he would have to act quickly. But that meant she wouldn’t take them to Varg, and they would have to find him afterward.

Therefore, he didn’t even breathe as she inspected him.

“You are so very powerful that we had to see you ourselves,” Claw intervened, rushing to the rescue.

“You’re both shapeshifters,” the mistress commented, “but what is this?”

She was obviously pointing at Duril. Toru was about to tell her a thing or two, but Duril immediately began talking. “I am their servant. They needed someone to carry their belongings.”

“A trustworthy squire,” Claw added and patted Duril on the shoulder. “And a good cook.”

That was about the only truth in all that web of lies.

“I have no need for him,” the mistress said, waving her garments around. “And he stinks of orc. Orcs are disgusting.”

She was one to talk, being the mistress of the marshes and all. Toru had to sink his nails deep into his palms to keep himself from talking out of turn. That creature would swallow that potion, whether she wanted or not. Actually, Toru preferred if she didn’t, so that he could just force her into non-existence like the stain upon the world that she was.

On his patience relied whether she would take them to Varg or not, so he chose patience without a second thought. Later, he would tell Duril that none of that was true, and that orcs weren’t that disgusting, especially him who was not disgusting at all.

“You two will come with me,” the mistress hissed in her unpleasant voice and opened her arms wide.

Toru felt his body falling forward and sensed Claw by his side, as they fell through the earth.

***

Varg and the rest of the wolves sat on the ground, each one alone with his thoughts. Their last act of bravery, and they had failed. What remained for them to do? Wait for their final moments to come? That didn’t feel right. They were still wolves, power of the moon on their side or not.

They all tilted their head back at the sound of air swishing. Was the mistress back, to laugh at their powerless state? That only meant that they would have another chance to strike her down, as weak as they felt. Everything they still had in them would be used for that, till the last drop of their blood.

The mistress descended at a safe distance from them and opened her arms widely. Varg couldn’t believe his eyes. From her dark embrace, Toru and Claw stepped onto the ground of the underground prison, as if they were visitors on a pleasure trip. His eyes met Claw’s briefly, and by how the bear shook his head only for a moment, he understood that it was for the better to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t dare to look at Toru since he feared that the spark of recognition they would share would be difficult to hide from the all-seeing eyes of the creature that held them prisoners.

“I have no need for your puny selves,” the mistress began. “I have here much more powerful shifters to do my bidding.”

“What bidding? That wasn’t what we talked about,” Toru said.

“You are all so stupid,” the creature hissed, pleased with herself. “You just walked into a trap!”

Varg watched as Toru turned on his heel to face the nameless witch. “No, you just walked into a trap. Or hovered about into a trap.”

“What do you say?” the mistress asked in a shrilly voice.

Osion moved closer to Varg. “She brought new prisoners. Do you think she’s going to try to kill us now?”

Varg moved back so that he could whisper. “These are not prisoners, my friend. These are our rescuers.”

Osion didn’t have time to express either his surprise at Varg’s words or his disbelief. Toru put one hand into his pocket and threw something into the mistress’ face, if what she had could be called that.

The dark creature cried out and that something Toru had just thrown bounced on the floor. Everyone looked at the scene with bated breath.

“You will have to eat this potion right now,” Toru said and grabbed the fallen object.

“Eat?” Osion whispered. “Not drink?”

Varg stood still, not knowing whether to erupt in uncontrollable laughter or just continue watching. The latter seemed the most appropriate thing to do.

“The potion,” Nesta whispered by her husband’s side. “Osion, do you think that’s—but it cannot be, right?”

Osion straightened himself. “It must be,” he said in surprised revelation.

The time for them to exchange their shocked comments was over, because Toru was now chasing the mistress with the potion between his teeth, turned into his tiger, and running up the walls with ease, while she tried to dodge him.

Claw walked toward him and sat by his side.

“Nice to see you,” he said.

Varg shook his head, still not believing his eyes. “Are you really here?”

“In flesh and blood. Now, let’s see how our kitty’s going to terminate this creature.”

“How can we help?” Varg asked.

“I don’t think we should intervene. Toru was very particular about being the one to stuff the potion down the mistress’ throat.”

Osion and Nesta, as well as the rest of the wolves, leaned forward to listen to them.

Their curiosity was brought to a halt when Toru fell on all paws on the caked-in surface of the moon. The mistress howled and descended upon his head from the ceiling.

And then, Toru dropped the potion in his mouth right on the covered moon. Everyone gasped and held their breath again.

The container broke and the potion inside spread, its bright blue pouring into thin rivulets, cutting through the mud and blood covering the white disk below.

Varg stood to his feet, and all the wolves followed his example. The liquid shone brighter and brighter, and then the mud broke into smithereens, flying through the air in all directions.

They had to shield their eyes, as white powerful light emerged from below Toru’s feet. The mistress of the marshes howled like a wounded animal.

A voice, pleasant and ethereal, filled the air. “You shouldn’t have tried to cage the moon, nameless. My children will leave now.”

The earth shook under their feet, and they held onto each other, Claw clutching him in his arms. Varg opened his eyes and saw the most amazing sight he had ever laid his eyes on. His moon goddess opened her arms wide and as she looked up, the dirt ceiling disappeared.

TBC

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