Ever Stray

“Ever Stray”
December 6, 2004

Dias stared sorrowfully at the remains of the small cemetery he used to keep. The names on the graves, about a dozen in all, would have sounded odd to any who read them, but only he knew they even existed. “Toboe, Kiba, Tsubasa…” he whispered quietly, his voice full of reverence. “Forgive me, all of you, for I was your leader. Only I am at fault for your deaths and the weeds that overrun this place.” He sighed, his nearly shoulder-length, pale blonde hair falling in front of his face. Which was fine; it hid his pain. All former friends, now gone. Paradise lost.

“Dias? …What happened to them? Who were they?”

Dias turned to face the young woman he had only recently met. New to this world of angels, demons and few humans, she was like a child, and so kind, Dias felt it his task to be her pillar of strength in a strange place. He put his hands in the pockets of his pure white breeches, the silver chain around his neck a glinting star in the moonlight. “This was my pack, Shana. They were killed an eternity ago, trapped in their human forms and locked within a burning building by those who made the wolf a species of one. I tried to save them, but was wounded.” He raised his loose, white sleeve to show her the scar along his left forearm.

Shana seemed deeply hurt by his story. Out of upset habit, she adjusted the pendants she wore: one Celtic cross, one Christian cross with the word ‘sunlight’ carved on it, a gold ankh, a serpent devouring its own tail and a Chinese dragon. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly, looking down at her boots.

The wolf that appeared human shook his head and left the graves, walking up to Shana with a fluid grace in his steps. “You are a sweet girl,” he told her as he placed a dark-gloved hand under her chin. “However, time has passed since then, and you of all people know death is not final, and life is not linear.” He smiled, staring into her blue eyes with his own pale ones. “Now, let us leave this place. I want to show you something before you must go.”

Dias walked past Shana, and when she turned to follow he was quite different: a large black wolf with ragged fur and deep blue eyes. This was nothing unusual to Shana, she had first met him when he was like this, but his fur had been a light color then, almost blonde, and seemed always to reflect the opposite of his clothes. Serene white robes gave way to a death black coat. Wagging his tail, he padded down a path through the trees. Shana was close behind.

When the forest faltered, then gave way to a clearing, Dias became human again and smiled, looking very wise, at the way Shana took in the view. There, on the edge of a cliff, stood a peaceful chapel, tall and of white stone. A circular stained glass window near the peak of its front bore, ironically, the image of a wolf that howled at silver-blue flames. Other, arch-shaped windows lined the walls with their own images of angels and roses. Dias led Shana to the wooden doors, which, though large, opened easily at his touch.

“This chapel used to be a safe haven for wolves,” he told her, “back when we were still great in number and hunted by many. As you can see, it has stood empty for…” He trailed off. “Perhaps not as empty as I thought.” Instinctively, he stopped in the middle of the gray carpet path that led between the rows of pews to the altar and held out his arm to stop Shana.

“What?” she asked, unconsciously stepping to stand further behind him.

“There.”

In the front row with an arm draped across the bench sat a man clad in a large black cloak with raven tresses to his shoulder blades and tall dark boots. He stood lazily, a steadying hand on the thin sword at his hip, and turned, resting his gaze on Dias. His right eye was a piercing blue-ish green, the left an icy sort of gold.

“Been a while, hasn’t it, Wolf?”

Dias tensed and lowered his eyes. “You! How dare you enter this place!”

The man laughed. “I guess you’re still sore over those wolves I murdered, though I am flattered you remember me.”

“How could I forget?” Dias snarled. “You slaughtered my friends! You almost cost me my left front paw, you somehow trapped me as a wolf and put a chain around my neck, you forced me to watch…” He closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he composed himself.

“Who are you?” Shana asked while Dias managed to keep himself calm.

“Adrian,” the man replied. “Though I have been called He Who Disowned His Brothers. I have killed wolves for years, girl. Call it… my ambition.”

“Shana,” Dias said gently, “if you are grateful for all I have done for you, please step back and let me do this. Whatever happens, I will avenge my friends!”

The black wolf leapt at Adrian’s throat, fangs gleaming, a vicious snarl in his throat, and vengeance in his aching heart. A second wolf, this one gray, met his attack with its paws extended, which sent Dias to crash violently to the floor. The gray wolf stood ready as the black one regained his feet, pinned back his ears, and snarled.

Shana took several steps back. “Adrian… is a wolf too?! But then, why?” She cut off as the two beasts met again, a flurry of fur, fangs and claws. Large fans of crimson stained the chapel floors, growls of malice and hurt echoing up through the rafters to the belfry to resound in ghostly song.

Shana winced, but found the courage to look up again when a loud, high-pitched yelp rang clear, followed by soft, labored whines. It was the black wolf, Dias, lying on the floor in front of the altar; the moonlit image of the wolf in flames cascading over him as his breaths came with difficulty. He was covered in gashes, including several at his throat, all flooding the floor red. He attempted to stand, twice, but stumbled and fell. Dias was still.

Shana fell to her knees and sobbed. An icy grip enclosed itself around her heart as tears fell down her face, each burning like fire as it slid into her lap. Adrian, human again, roughly gripped what remained of the noble wolf and tossed it up to the altar then turned and stood over Shana. She saw he had one wound: a long cut across his left forearm.

“Fate,” Adrian said to her, “is known for its frigid charity. Today, it has smiled upon me. Perhaps our paths will cross again. Pray they do not.” He walked past her and left, his cloak brushing her as he did.

And oh how Shana cried…

[Special Thanks: My College Prep. English II teacher, Matt Briley. Your support of my fantasy when it appears so rare in class keeps me going when it isn't so easy.]