I crept along the ground in my fox form, knowing I would be less visible
that way and could escape easily if they did manage to spot me. Hunting werewolves was very similar to
hunting natural wolves: one stayed downwind of them, kept out of sight, and made
as little noise as possible. This group
was very aware of their surroundings, but very ignorant of magic as far as I
could tell. After watching them for
almost a week, I was ready to make my strike and test their resolve and
resilience. I needed to eliminate the
candidate that would be the biggest threat to the one Queen Órblath wished to
see ruling the wolves.
Collecting samples of fur had been almost too easy with this group. They were careless when they hunted, tearing
through the forest unconcerned about who heard or saw them. I simply needed to determine which fur
belonged to which wolves. I did not want
to attack the brothers. The elder
followed the younger to protect him, even though the elder disliked the
candidate they followed. I knew what it
meant to sacrifice for one’s siblings, and I would not punish this pair for the
younger brother’s youthful enthusiasm for a man who wasn’t what he hoped.
When the group finally settled in to eat the meal their hosts had
provided, I made sure I was completely concealed from view and shifted to my
usual form. My white-tipped fox ears
still twitched atop my head, straining to hear any sound that indicated
discovery, as my fingers quickly plucked the little bags that held the fur I’d
collected during the past week.
Glancing up to check on my prey, I found them still blissfully unaware of
my presence. My púca heritage served me
well when stealth was required, even if it was the cause of much of my
damnation in other ways.
Spreading a green cloth before me, I laid out the fur along one
edge. My eyes darted back and forth
between my work and the werewolves I hunted.
The first hint of discovery would prompt my hasty retreat. I still had time to do as Queen Órblath had
dictated and earn my freedom.
With everything laid out, I took one last careful survey of my
surroundings before holding my hands out over the cloth and murmuring the words
of the mirroring spell. “Oh huhon awdu
awyh bewz, zbakovon fug fe azh.” As
whole, so be part, mirror that from which thou art.
The soft breeze against my palms let me know that the spell was working
as it should. When the air was still
once more I checked to make sure I hadn’t been discovered.
The men remained ignorant of my watchful gaze and none of them had even
reacted to my magic. It amazed me how
little they noticed such things. As
magical creatures, I had always assumed that human shifters could sense magic
as well as the lesser Fae. The past
several weeks had taught me different.
Looking down at the cloth, I found the bits of fur settled into a rough
semicircle, mirroring the rough circle the werewolves formed as they sprawled
about the yard eating their meal. I
quickly plucked up the fur belonging to the brothers, tucking it away for safe
keeping. With them safe for the moment,
I studied the rest of my samples, matching them with their owners as I glanced
between cloth and yard. The candidate’s
fur was also tucked away, for later use if I needed, and then I selected my
next victim.
Guilt burned through me as I quickly stowed the rest in case I needed it
later. Papa taught me better than to
harm others. Was my freedom truly worth
the deaths I was being forced to hasten?
Would I ever be able to balance my karma after all this?
Knowing that my window of opportunity would vanish when the group moved
indoors once more, I forced my thoughts back to the task at hand. I knew the words by rote after more than a
dozen attempts, and the gestures were simple enough for a babe to
accomplish. My ceremonial knife hung
unsheathed from my belt for easy access and the fur rested on my left
palm. It was time to do what I must.
“Goddess forgive me,” I prayed, hoping that she would in the end. There was much I needed forgiveness for.
“Gan ga hamapwyz, goj ga
sanguinem, gaz ga voj, goj ga lyhen,” I began, feeling the cold power begin to
grow in the air around me.
Silent tears left tracks down my cheeks
as I continued to speak the words that would hasten the poor wolf’s death.
I slid my knife across my right
wrist at the appropriate time, and a few lines later allowed my own blood to
drip from right wrist to left palm, slowly coating the fur that still rested
there.
The rush of power made me cringe
and shudder as the magic pulsed around me, waiting for the final words. When I finished murmuring them the power
broke, rushing across the space separating me from the werewolf I’d just
sentenced to death.
His howl of pain made me jump and
I could hear my own voice on the wind, repeating the spell over and over again.
I shifted into fox form and ran
from what I had done. I couldn’t run
from the self-loathing that came with doing Queen Órblath’s bidding and
bloodying my hands in her name. My
hatred for her was decades old, but it still grew each time I was forced to
take a life in order to fulfill the bargain I made to earn my freedom.
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