The White Wolf

written by Nathaniel Rex

edited by Val Thompson, Brandon Cochran, and Kaleb Knowles

Sen sees it in the sky long before he sees it on the ground. A great string of dark clouds is gathered in a swirling, tumultuous vortex in the northern skies. They are unnatural, he feels — the work of powerful, untamed magical forces. The others notice as well, and all Varrin musters is a, “Well…shit.”

It’s another couple of hours before they leave the foothills and enter the plains. Snow is already beginning to trickle down out of the vortex by the time they hit the edge. The thick, wet flakes stick to their cloaks and horses, and a deep chill begins to penetrate the air. Sen’s breath mists in great clouds, and he draws his cloak in more tightly. The others are in states of doing the same when it starts.

A whine, low and keening, begins to build from the northwest. It sounds very distant, but an uneasy shiver runs down Sen’s spine nonetheless. The horses whinny nervously. He whispers reassuring words in the Old Tongue to calm his, noticing that Felicity and Stroud are sitting a bit straighter in their saddles.

“What was that?” Felicity asks, her eyes never leaving the northern horizon.

“If I had to wager a guess? Probably the White Wolf,” Sen replies. “We would do well to quicken our pace.”

“It was a monster — a powerful one — and that I am certain of,” Stroud pushes his horse to a canter, and the rest of the party follows. Varrin sidles up to Sen, voice low.

“So this…White Wolf. What is it?” he asks, his voice a perfect mask of indifferent curiosity.

“A legend, mostly. Long ago, when the land was covered in snow and ice, it is said a barbarian warlord who was as vile as a monster held dominion over these plains. He was so corrupt, as the story goes, that he even feasted on the corpses of his slain enemies, and relished in the act. His people loathed him, but none could equal his strength or cunning.”

Sen pauses. The others are all listening now with rapt attention. He briefly wonders if, during his long slumber, the legend of the White Wolf had been forgotten. His father and mother used to scare him with such stories as a child, but that was a long, long time ago. With a quick breath, he opens his mouth and continues.

“It is said that he eventually died of old age, but that his spirit lived on, persisting as a monster. A great beast, half-man and half-wolf, that would forever entrap and slaughter the peoples of the Turnok Plains. Many have tried to slay the White Wolf and dispel this unnatural winter, but none have ever succeeded.”

“Are we to believe any humans still live in these plains despite this beast?” Felicity asks, sounding doubtful. Sen can’t help but mirror her feelings, even if he says differently.

“Apparently the people of Turnok had discovered a way to hold the White Wolf back, which allowed them to live in a sort of peace within the storm. At least, that’s what my father seemed to believe. I don’t know if they’ve been able to sustain such peace, but it’s worth it to believe.”

He pauses, looking to the dark horizon and the malevolent blizzard that no doubt awaits them.

“I have to enter the plains, regardless. I might as well do so with a bit of hope.”

The others are silent, though he catches Felicity giving him an odd look. He tries not to dwell on it for too long. They continue the journey into the plains in silence, preserving their energy for what is next to come.

The next time Sen hears the White Wolf howl, he sees Felicity and Stroud both physically recoil. It is much closer this time. And so, incidentally, is the blizzard that the stories spoke so frequently of. Angry winds whip any bits of exposed flesh with long, biting lashes of cold. Snow billows past at breakneck pace, slowing their horses down to a crawl as they fight against the raging elements. He is very glad they had some leftover Ignition Ale, since it seems to be keeping the horses at least warm despite the weather. But this pace will kill them, he is certain. There is no possible way to make the nearest village (if it still stands) before the White Wolf will be upon them.

Sen calls out amidst the storm, voice penetrating the angry howl of the wind like a jackknife.

“Hold!”

The others bring their horses to a halt, all looking very frozen and very irritated at being told to stop. Felicity is the first to lash out.

“What are we stopping for?! You were the one who wanted us to find these ghost towns,” she growls.

“We cannot afford to continue traveling so slowly across the plains! We’ll freeze to death before we ever reach Turnok,” he says, rolling up his right sleeve to reveal his Divine Legacy. She eyes it wearily, suddenly looking less confrontational.

He doesn’t like that it has that effect on her, and is tempted to put it away…but it makes the magic come more easily, and he can’t afford to be doing things the hard way right now.

“Vel as’tensahen!” he shouts, raising his arm into the air. The Legacy glows a bright blue for a moment, and then a translucent sphere of energy expands outwards from his hand. It passes through the party as if they weren’t there, stopping about thirty paces away. A dome of magical force now surrounds them, blocking out the snow and the wind and even, much to Sen’s surprise, reducing the chill in the air.

Outside the barrier the blizzard still rages, its constant roaring muted for the time being. Sen can feel an acute tug at the back of his mind and in his body. He can keep this up, but not forever.

“We need to get moving,” he calls, leading his horse by the reins and beginning to push forward through the storm. Stroud raises an hand to stop him, before pointing straight ahead.

“It might be too late for that,” he says simply, drawing his daggers.

Standing a short ways outside the barrier, taller than a man and covered head to toe in stark white fur, is a great, snarling beast.

The White Wolf.

Sen’s heart thuds against the cage of his chest uneasily. He finds his sword is in his hands even as he eyes remain glued to the White Wolf. It is a terrible creature, with bright orb-like eyes devoid of life and a mouth lined with fangs longer than daggers — fangs that are malformed, jagged imitations of normal teeth. It stands twice as tall as any man and is built like an apex predator, all muscles and sinews and raw animalistic power. Its forelimbs end in a frightening combination of strangely human-shaped hands and five wicked, cruelly twisted claws.

The others have dismounted and drawn their weapons as well, standing at the ready. The White Wolf’s unsettling gaze passes over the party, landing eventually on Sen and not leaving. He grits his teeth, but stands straighter instead of cowering away. A low growl begins to build as the Wolf lowers itself to all fours, thick black saliva beginning to drip from its open maw. Sen’s fist clenches, and he mentally prepares to cast a spell as soon as he sees the beast make even the slightest movement.

Much to his surprise, it is Felicity that acts first.

She darts forward at the beast with her usual speed and aggression, dual axes biting into its hide deep enough to leave visible gashes. It attempts to swipe back, but she nimbly avoids its attacks and continues to land blows left and right. The Wolf leaps back, opens its maw wide, and screams. An instant sense of dread and deep-seated fear strikes Sen all at once, freezing him in place. He sees the the others all similarly frozen, including Felicity. The White Wolf lunges forwards, claws outstretched…

Crack! BOOM!

A bolt of lightning snakes forth from Sen’s outstretched palm in an instant, flinging the great beast several yards away with a pained yelp. He feels his blood boiling, sees the red tint his vision, knows that’s the only reason he can act at the moment. He immediately rushes to Felicity’s side. Her body is as stiff as a board, eyes wide, knuckles clenched around her axes so tightly they’ve turned white.

“Felicity!” he shouts urgently, placing a hand on her shoulder. The contact seems to snap her out of it somewhat, her eyes blinking rapidly.

“Wh- what was that?” she asks, irritated. “Some kind of magic?”

“I don’t know. Go snap Varrin and Stroud out of it and let me handle the Wolf for now!” he commands. She looks at him curiously again, but turns to help the others without another word. Sen turns back to the White Wolf in time to see it shake off its fur and stand to its full height again. A great patch of fur in the center of its chest has been singed black and red with blood.

Its eyes affix him with a hatred-filled stare, and he stares right back. The beast makes to roar again, and Sen curses. He doesn’t have time to-

TWACK! A crossbow bolt embeds itself cleanly through the Wolf’s throat and out the back of its skull. It’s howl turns into an agonized screech, the beast recoiling and clawing at its mouth. Sen hears the telltale clicking of Varrin’s crossbow mechanisms.

“That oughta shut it up for a bit. Sen, what’s the plan?” Varrin calls, firing a few more well-placed shots into the Wolf’s thick hide. The ones that find their mark make the beast flinch further into the storm.

Sen thinks quickly. He knows the chances of them slaying the Wolf are slim to none. Many men he used to know had tried, and none had ever come home. Perhaps I can be different — perhaps I can be the one to slay this fiend, he thinks, almost feverishly. His mind clears a bit when he feels a hand on his arm. It’s Felicity.

“Mount up! Make for the village of Turnok, if it still stands, and seek shelter there,” he finds his voice and shouts to the others.

The others nod their heads. Only Sen doesn’t mount his horse, instead passing the reins to Stroud before facing the White Wolf again. The creature is tending to its wounds at a safe distance away when it catches Sen’s eyes. A frighteningly intelligent gleam now rests within their opalescent void, and as Sen watches in horror, the beast turns and vanishes into the storm.

“Keep your eyes and ears open!” He shouts, running alongside the horses as they begin to move. His barrier allows them to hold pace, but the constant use of magic begins to take its toll. A pit has begun to form in the ethereal pool of mana he draws from, and he knows he’ll run dry eventually.

A tense silence falls within the circle, broken only by the sounds of the blizzard and the heavy breathing of the horses. Sen’s eyes are constantly in motion, watching every corner of the area for any sign of the White Wolf. The others keep a strict vigil as well, and before long, Sen can feel they’re close. Wind and ice no longer pelt the barrier so recklessly, and the storm’s cries have been muted.

His eyes carefully sweep the surrounding landscape for any sign of the Wolf, any break in the otherwise ever-swirling vortex of snow…but he finds nothing. Perhaps this is the creature’s weakness? The air is charged with magic, enough that it could be a spell to keep the monster at bay. Sen, feeling his energy drained, decides to take a risk. I’ll be ready if that beast shows itself again.

“Turnok can’t be far. Keep pushing forward!” He calls, relinquishing his hold on the magic and letting the barrier fall. The hairs on his arm stand up immediately, and a shock runs down his spine.

He cannot react fast enough. A shrill whistle fills his ears and suddenly his side explodes in pain. Sen cries out, collapsing to the ground as huge black spots dance before his eyes. The others are shouting and the horses whinny, but their words are lost to Sen. His mind is glazed over with pain and fear. He needs to stand up, to get back to his feet and then…what? It doesn’t matter.

Sen feels his strength leaving him as he pushes himself up on his forearm. The White Wolf is locked in combat with Felicity and Stroud, the former wreathed in an aura of flames that melts the snow around her with every strike. Crossbow bolts are sticking this way and that out of the Wolf’s hide, but Varrin is nowhere…?

The pain in his side increases tenfold, and a scream of pain bubbles up only to die horribly as a wet gurgle. His vision swims, and he begins to drift away…until a hot, cinnamon-tasting liquid is forced into his mouth. Sen sputters and coughs, but most of it seems to force its way down his throat regardless. Fire ignites in his throat, his stomach, and surges into his limbs like a tidal wave. He can feel again, is conscious, and the first thing he sees is Varrin’s wry grin peering down at him from above. A strange fate, he thinks, to feel shorter than a dwarf.

“You won’t be kicking the bucket on us that easily, prince. Come on, up and at ‘em,” Varrin loops Sen’s arm around his neck and helps the taller man to his feet. Sen is shocked to feel that his side, which he knew instinctively had been torn to ribbons, is entirely in-tact.

“I restocked on some supplies while we were in Underhome. Potions and alcohol, mostly,” Varrin says before Sen has a chance to ask. “Thank me later. Can you walk?”

Sen nods. “I can do better than that. Where are-?”

As he speaks, Felicity cries out in pain and his head snaps to her location. She’s clutching at her left arm, blood pouring freely into the snow around her. Stroud is doing his best to keep the Wolf distracted on his own, but it’s clear he’s the one on the defensive.

Varrin grabs his crossbow and begins firing, but the bolts simply bounce off of the beast’s hide. He swears.

“It keeps getting stronger the more we fight it!” Felicity shouts back. “We need to run!”

But they all know that’s not an option. Turnok is nowhere to be seen, regardless of how close they might be, and if they try to make another run for it the Wolf will simply pick them off, one by one. Sen knows what has to be done. Now is no time to be afraid of what the others might think; now is the time for action.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the chill air pass through his lungs and into his body — mixing, mingling, and converging with his blood. His catalyst. The blood does not stir; it is dormant, slumbering, but he knows it will awaken when he calls.

“Ashana ve letah du’duren.”

A phrase in the Old Tongue; A hex. It is more ancient than the mountains, more powerful than even the lightning he conjured earlier. His blood stirs, briefly, yet it remains asleep. But now the spark is lit, and the fire is beginning to catch. Sen repeats the words again and the blood stirs, this time with an eager rush. It hears the call, feels the bindings of soul weakening, and after many years of inaction it is ready.

When he repeats the phrase the third and final time, he watches Stroud takes a hit that sends him flying into a snow drift. The White Wolf leaps forward, claws outstretched and maw open in a silent roar. Its soulless eyes find his one more time, as if to gloat. Now Sen’s blood is roaring in his ears, crying out with enough force to level a mountain. Wordlessly, he raises a palm to the sky.

In the split second before impact, Sen sees a real fear alight in the Wolf’s eyes. It could smell what he was, smell the blood of the dragons within him. Now, it will get a taste. And then the sky is torn asunder with a mighty BOOM, and a blinding lance of crimson strikes the White Wolf through its black heart. The beast is dead before it hits the ground, eyes lifeless, body coming to an abrupt halt and then laying still in the falling snow.

Nathaniel Rex is an emerging writer and streamer based in the St. Louis area. His focus is in the science-fiction and fantasy genres, but he’s slowly getting a taste for poetry as well. He hopes to one day be an inspiration for other young writers, and to pass on all that he has learned to them. You can find him on Twitch and most social media under his pseudonym ‘The Pen Golem.’