The one you seek har alredy departed

The one you seek har alredy departed,

whore, as one after another after another Fenrir warrior mounted her, and all before the eyes of countless metis cubs that crawled about the floors searching for food amongst the filth. She saw the Icehouse forge, fiery and hot, but a metal-skinned abomination wielded the blacksmith‘s hammer and churned out Baneswords, which it piled higher than the Hill of Lamentations, itself the scene of a garish orgy of prancing Black Spiral Dancers.

Against all these desecrations, Karin could summon no rage-only a woman’s tears. Every utterance and slight against her since the day of her birth was proven true, her every doubt made whole and real.

For a moment, thedemons drew away and the nightmares receded. She felt the ragged edge of the unfulfilled moOn bridge beneath her knees as she quivered. The dark clouds of the Umbra closed about her to take the placeof the demons and scenes of outrage.

“This evrry is closed to you. You are not e o e h here.

T m back,” spoke a woman’s voice, gentle yet insistent.

Karin vaguely recognized the voice, knew that she had heard it before and disregarded its warning. She could sense, too, that nothing she did would change the guardian’s mind; no warning would reach the Sept of Bygone Visions. Even so, she could not allow herself to turn back. She would not. Again, she tried to press forward; again, she failed utterly. But she would not give up. Barely could she remember why she needed to proceed, where she was trying to go.

As if sensing Karin’s uncertainty, as well as her undaunted determination, the voice spoke to her again: The one you seek har alredy departed, the woman said.

There is no need for your sufjkring. Turn back.

Karin heard truth in the words. The one you seek.. .

But there was more than one, she remembered more clearly now. Mari, and Brand, and the rest of his pack. . . .already departed. Karin cared little about her suffering; it was the price of leadership, and gladly would she have endured it if there were the slightest hope.

But recognizing truth in the woman’s voice, the last of hope dwindled. There is m need.. . .

“There was need, damn you,” Karin said, climbing to her feet, angry despite her lack of surprise.

She turned back along the bridge. How long Wavecrest had held the passage for her, she did not know. But the time had come for her to return to the Sept of the Anvil-Klaiven. For good or ill, the IceWind Pack would meet its ordained fate, and the weight of their destiny rested no longer solely on Karin’s head, but on those of the Furies as well.

Mari stepped, alone, through the Gauntlet and awaited the Fenrir. They joined her a few minutes later, coming to the other side as one. Now the only outsider among the group, Mari tried to disregard the isolation, the distinct loneliness. Her own pack with Albrecht and Evan was looser than most, but time among these Get made her keenly aware of the bond with her own friends, who were many miles away. Perhaps the sensation was more poignant in the Umbra, where the Garou’s spiritual nature held sway. Evan would understand. Albrecht, he would never admit it-and neither would Mari, not to him.

You just can’t stand to lose sight of my face, he would say, or something equally as inane. And Mari would be forced to kick his ass.

“You Furies’ hospitality leaves something to be desired,” said Brand, disgruntled, approaching her with his tree-like arms folded across his chest.

Mari shrugged. “Yeah, well ... Motel 6 it ain’t, but we’re out of there now.”

“And better off having left one of your sisters behind,’’ Jorn chimed in. “Little Miss Kelonoke Wild-Hair-Up-HerAss.”

“Whatever you say, Jorn Gnaws-Olive-Trees,” said Mari dryly, eliciting chuckles even from MarsRising and Brand. “You know,” she added, moving closer to Jorn and building up a head of steam, “you can say what you want about Kelonoke, but she’s taking a lot of heat for bringing you guys here. She’s the only one I heard defending you. So don’t bitch about her to me. And don’t try to tell me that you Get don’t have just as many close-minded, bigoted elders as we do, ’cause I’ve met some of them.”

The Fenrir were taken aback by Mari’s frank criticism of her own tribe, so much so that they failed to grow angry at her equally harsh assessment of their own. If anything, they regarded her with grudging approval and perhaps a bit more respect. Brand was almost smiling. Mari decided she liked the old gloomy him better.

“Your stay was worthwhile?” the alpha asked.

“Yeah. I got some maps, routes marked from the other packs. That kind of thing.” Mari glanced at the bracelet on her arm, the Garou teeth. She didn’t know what to say about it; she didn’t know what to think about the vision of which it was such a tangible reminder. She tried not to think about Diana Howl-Strong’s tattered body spreading across the pool.

“Good,” Brand said. “We will go as soon as you are ready.”

Mari watched him swagger back to his pack.

Strange. He was so much more animated now, so much,. .firer, not weighed down. The change had come over him after the storm, she recalled. What had happened to him? It didn’t make sense. She studied the other Feruir. They seemed relieved at their alpha’s transformation, at the way he shared their mirth-all except Aeric Bleeds-Only-Ice, who kept a wary eye on Brand.

Of the lot, he was the only one who noticed Mari’s observation of them, and his hostility toward her seemed tempered by other concerns.

Not wanting to hold up the show, Mari turned to the maps Kelonoke had provided. From Crete to the northern border of Macedonia looked to be about six hundred miles. If Mari summoned a spirit, one moon path should be able to cover much of that distance. From that point, she and the Get would need to decide how to proceed. The Umbra might well prove too dangerous. In the mundane world, the threats might be submerged enough to allow passage and reconnaissance. Was that what the other packs-all the packs that hadn’t returned-had assumed? she wondered.

She folded away the maps and sat cross-legged on the ground to prepare herself for the Rite of Summoning she must perform. These Penumbral surroundings lent themselves nicely to a quieting of the mind, she found. There was much of the Wyld here. She could just make out the orchard-its trees largely undamaged in this realm-and several grove spirits flitting in and out among the branches. Great, she thought. I’ll probably summon some olive Gaffing, and it’ll be able to take us as far as the next tree.

The landscape in the spirit world was actually more lush than the mundane. Whatever shortcomings the Furies and the Argassi had in their dealings with other tribes, they had been ideal stewards of this place. What would they think of New York? she wondered, feeling a twinge of guilt at her harsh words to Aegina. But there was more to the fight against the Wyrm than tending one’s own little patch of Gaia, she reminded herself. There had to be. That was what this whole expedition was about. She glanced up at the Red Star, the only light save Luna in the Umbral sky, and took it as proof that the Garou must fight a larger battle than those to which they had grown accustomed.

Letting those thoughts slip away, Mari found the quiet place within herself-the place where mystery rather than rage was master, where the invisible winds of the spirit world could flow through her until they and she were one. Her breaths grew slow and deep; the beating of her heart stretched out to embrace infinity. From deep within, she felt her lips moving, her tongue forming the spirit speech as it had been handed down to her by elders of the tribe, and to them by their elders before. Though her eyes were closed, she was aware of the Get nearby. Whatever they thought of her personally, they respected the ways of ritual, and following Brand’s example, each knelt and recited quietly his own prayers of thanks and petition to the spirits.

Mari’s soft chanting had not gone on very long when she sensed a familiar presence, an electric flow of motion, a tingle so light as to be barely noticeable but as distinctive as a signature. She opened her eyes and saw that she was not mistaken. “Esh‘m,”

Mari said, surprised. She raised her hands from her lap, and the golden band of light wound about her like the smile of an old friend. Often spirits had long memories only for grievances, but the Lune obviously remembered that she had given it freedom from the compass fetish, and now the creature was pleased to come to her.

“We must travel far,” Mari whispered to her, still tapping that quiet place within herself and partaking of the gifts of her moon, so that the Lune would understand her meaning. “Will you show us the way, Esh‘m!” Through its writhings and pulsations and means ineffable, the spirit indicated that it would.

Pleased, Mari checked her gear one more time, and then, when the moon path revealed itself to the Garou, they began the final leg of their journey.

Perhaps it was Mari’s imagination that the Get followed her slightly less grudgingly. Regardless, there was no time for gloating, as her thoughts turned to what lay ahead.

Esh‘m didn’t seem to care if Mari stayed close or not. In fact the Lune, no longer bound to a fetish, ranged far and wide from the moon path that it so obligingly revealed for the Garou’s use. The spirit alternated between ringing the path in tight corkscrew spirals and then shooting off into the Umbral mists to reappear minutes later. Mari sensed contentment, even playfulness, from the Lune. And why not, at home in its element? Not needed at the fore, Mari let the others outpace her as the group progressed. She reminded herself that she had nothing to prove to the Fenrir; she was here to work, not compete, with them, and a bit of deference in such an inconsequential matter might pay dividends down the road. Brand, all vigor and determination, if not so grim as before, gravitated naturally to the head of his pack. Though not a part of the banter among the Get, Mari could appreciate the camaraderie that such ribbing gave voice to. Jom and Fimbulwinter were often the culprits, with Mars-Rising taking part at times. Fangs First, most junior in the pack, often as not was the target of their jests, though Brand himself stepped in with a jibe on occasion when the youngster seemed particularly overmatched. *** Keeping half an eye on Esh‘m, Mari soaked in the dynamics of the Fenrir, and was surprised to find herself thinking that they weren’t completely unlikable when left to themselves. She was sure, however, that the instant she joined the mix more actively, the defenses would go back up, and the tribal us-versus-them mentality would take over. So she kept to herself. She had found on previous occasions that this sort of contemplative, almost meditative, attitude lent itself very well to travel in the Umbra, as if the spiritual world not only welcomed but elicited quiet, soulful thoughts that were so often crowded out of the hectic mundane world.

Her feet, out of habit, continued to move over the gleaming moon path as she advanced, more or less weightless, through the Umbra. The path twisted and turned, intersecting other paths at infrequent and irregular intervals, but Esh’m seemed sure of their route.

Eventually, as the other Get strove to keep pace with Brand, Mari found herself part of the rearguard along with Aeric Bleeds-Only-Ice. He had not joined in the banter of his packmates, nor did he seem inclined to surge forward to keep up with the others. Mari noticed again Aeric’s guarded glances toward the Fenrir alpha.

“Brand really seems to have caught his second wind,’’ she said casually.

Aeric regarded her with skepticism, as if weighing how much was wise to say to someone from beyond the pack. Apparently he decided that Mari already knew what he was about to say, and so he was betray ing no confidence. “Something is.. .not right,” he said, watching her closely for any reaction.

His words chilled Mari. She had assumed that whatever had changed with Brand was just him regainii some of his manner from b e f o r 4 o r e the death of his son.

“He’s been through a lot,” she said cautiously.

Despite his hesitance, Aeric was relieved to speak to someone about what was troubling him.

“At the villa,” he explained in doomsday tones, “he spoke of Arne.”

“That must have been difficult for him,” Mari said in agreement.

But Aeric was shaking his head. She didn’t understand his point. “He spoke as if Arne were still alive,” he said.

Mari looked ahead on the path to where Brand kept the lead. The alpha was driven, still determined that his pack should acquit itself well, yet the pallor of fatalism was lifted from him. He drove himself and the others hard, but not out of the desperation that had seemed to animate him before. Aeric’s words gave shape to what she had noticed before.

“I say none of this with malice,” Aeric added self-consciously. “It is true that I challenged him during the concolation, and I do not resent his defeating me. But the manner.. .” Aeric paused, tried to gather his thoughts.

Mari had heard about the challenge, though she hadn’t witnessed it. Some of the more militant Garou-must have been Red Talons, to outbloodlust a Get-had goaded Aeric into the challenge. As such was often the case, the details, except for the fact that Aeric had been soundly beaten, had varied wildly from account to account.

“I don’t know what the others saw,” Aeric said, “but a great shade arose from within Brand. A shade as cold and bottomless as the grave, and aslitter as unshed tears. ”

“I’ve felt it,” Mari whispered, again chilled. It was the doom that had hung over Brand, the desperate longing-and it was what now was absent.

She didn’t feel much better having her vague unease clarified by someone who knew Brand well enough to offer insight. I’drather have been flat wrong, she thought.

Aeric, too, seemed to gamer little comfort from sharing his worries. T h e others have seen it too,” he said. “But they won’t say anything.” Aeric’s shame made it clear that he, too, had been unwilling to say anything until now. “They want everything to be like it was before. They want Brand to be like he was before.”

“Maybe he is,” Mari said, not believing it, but able to tell that it was what Aeric wanted to be true.

It was what she wanted to be true. But in the pit of her stomach she felt otherwise.

“And while we were lost,” Aeric said, even more hesitantly, “in the storm, there was something, some.. .creature.”

Mari’s throat tightened. She remembered dark wings, the lashing tail slipping away into the mists.

“I didn’t see it clearly,” Aeric said. “I didn’t see anything clearly. Perhaps I was mistaken.. .confused by the storm.. ..”

Mari placed a hand on his arm, silently communicating that she believed him, that she shared his concerns. The storm. That was when the change in Brand had come about. Something had happened in the storm-or rather, if Aeric was Gh&*lV 1113 correct, something in the storm had gotten to Brand. But what? And was it a bad something?

The alpha’s suffering, his consuming grief, was so obviously lifted from him. She should be relieved instead of concerned. But she was concerned, as was Aeric. Gradually they drifted apart, as if by confiding their worries they were also somehow conspiring against Brand. Aeric kept to the rear while Mari, still thinking about what he’d said and what she herself had seen of the alpha, made up ground on the others.

The gap narrowed quickly when the leading Fenrir stopped. Mari and then Aeric drew even with them. The Get were perplexed by Esh‘m, who had ’ ceased her ranging and her advance altogether. Instead, she gyrated spastically, back and forth in front of the Garou.

“What is this?” Brand asked, when Mari was at his side.

To Mari, with her Theurge sensibilities, the Lune’s distress was clear enough, but the reason was not.

“What’s wrong, Esh‘m?” she tried to soothe the spirit.

“What is it?” Brand wanted to know.

The other Get began to chime in, but Mari shushed them. “Esh‘m?” she tried to reach the spirit, but the Lune’s rising panic, now apparent to all, was too intense to penetrate. A moment later, however, Mari understood the reason. “Look,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.

They all turned-and saw in the distance a mass of violently churning mists and jagged streaks of light, so similar to what had overwhelmed them before. Except.. .

“It’s bigger than the last one,” Fimbulwinter said in anxious awe.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Fangs First muttered under his breath.

It was bigger, Mari could tell. Taller, wider, darker, angrier-and moving quickly. “Esh’m,” she called out, forcing herself to remain calm. She had no desire to tangle again with.. .with whatever that storm was. They might simply have been lucky to be spat out before, lucky to have survived at all. It didn’t feel lucky at the time, but worse could be in store. Mari quickly centered herself, allowing her spirit to attune to the mystical gnosis, the spirit sense, that was her moonsign’s birthright. Esh’m, she thought, piercing the Lune’s agitation with undeniable will. You must lead us back the other way before it’s too late. Alongune of the otherpaths. Hurry and we can escape it.

The spirit’s desperation translated into almost immediate reaction. The Lune shot past the Garouwho were quickly in pursuit-back along the path they had traveled. The Get, who would have fearlessly charged an army of Black Spiral Dancers, were eager to avoid the storm. Behind them, the roiling clouds swept forward with the roar and mindless fury of an avalanche, a tidal wave. Mari hoped they had detected it early enough this time. That was all she could do: hope and flee-and wonder if she saw the silhouette of wings amidst the clouds.

Without hesitating in the least, Esh’m zipped onto the first intersecting moon path. Mari devoted all her energy to keeping up, fighting the strong urge to constantly look back over her shoulder. Some of the Get were not so single-minded.

“It’s catching up!” Fangs First warned, with a note of alarm in his voice.

“Just keep going!” Mari yelled at him. Her legs felt like they were moving in slow motion, as if in a dream, but she knew the distance was falling away behind her more rapidly than her actual steps could have accounted for in the mundane world. Still, the storm was growing louder, the thunder of its rage and the crackle of maddened Lunes drawing closer, closer.. ..

The moon path they traversed zigged and zagged crazily. Looking ahead-always ahead-Mari saw that it dove and climbed at impossibly steep angles, but the path always seemed level under their feet.

The Garou crossed two more paths before Esh‘m turned again, and again. The Umbral winds tugged at Mari, tried to drag her back into the tempest that, from the sound and feel of it, must surely be on top of them by now.

But ahead a shape began to take form. It was merely the gentle slope of a hillside, growing more real each second as the mists thinned and the moon path underfoot brought the Garou back to the shadow world of the Penumbra.

Save yourself! Mari urged Esh‘m. We can make it now! And thank you!

The spirit understood, and shot away, no longer needing to stay close to the path. Mari hoped the Lune, on her own, would be able to outrun the storm somehow. A few feet away, hungry whirlpools began to whip into existence, reminding Mari in no uncertain terms that she still had her own skin to worry about. She pressed forward, hurtling across the final yards, finally feeling her feet touch the spiriWd ~ S h ! & U tual reflection of the mundane world. She paused for an instant to see the Fenrir join her just as the fury of the storm broke upon them. The earth beneath their feet provided the grounding they needed to keep from being swept back into the Umbrabarely-and a second later, the Garou stepped across.

The quiet of the serene hillside was deafening.

Mari’s ears rang, absent the bluster and violence of the storm. The rocky soil beneath her feet felt disconcertingly substantial; gravity latched onto her with what seemed increased enthusiasm, making her arms, her legs, heavy. The Get felt the sudden change as well. Jorn let himself crumple to the ground; A deep-felt, nearly collective sigh escaped the Garou.

The relief was short-lived.

“Fangs First,” said Fimbulwinter. “Where is he?”

The realization struck all the other Garou at the same instant, choking off all oxygen to that peaceful hillside. Mari and Brand looked to one another, and without a word, their decision was made.

“Wait here,” Brand instructed his pack. He stepped closer to Mari and, one beside the other, they stepped back across.

It was as if the brief respite on the hillside had been a fleeting fantasy, never actually real. In the Penumbra, the storm still raged. Again, Mari felt that if she weren’t standing on the ground, if she were deeper *** *** in the Umbra, on a moon path, she would have been swept away. Was that what had become of Fangs First?

Brand stepped through almost simultaneously with her. Instinctively, they latched arms against the buffeting gusts, the swirling fog. A whirlwind, several whirlwinds, drew close and threatened to drag the two away into the heart of the storm.

“It’s no use!” Mari yelled. She barely heard her own words. Brand had no idea what she’d said until she yelled again directly in his ear. They were going to be lucky, she knew, to get back out of this themselves, much less find Fangs First. And without Esh’m, if they were swept away they’d likely never find each other again, nor make it back to the pack.

“There!” Brand shouted, pointing into the roiling mists and trying to pull away from Mari.

She looked where he pointed and saw Fangs First-for an instant. Then she saw more clearly; she recognized the deceitful play of the ribbons of light, the trap that the storm-crazed Lunes were setting-and among them, barely discernible amidst the raging storm, a shadow black as night.

TJot him!” Mari shouted. “The spirits! Not him!”

But Brand jerked away from her. “Arne!” he yelled, his voice hopeful, desperate.

“Arne is dead!” Mari tried to tell him, but the howling winds drowned out her voice. “It’s the spirits!” She grabbed at Brand, but he slapped her hands away. Suddenly, inexplicably, her rage leapt from deep within her to take control. Her body shifted in response, growing taller, massive. Claws and muscle were ready--aching-to slice open the Fenrir, he whose tribe had threatened and warred on her people for so long. Brand saw and shifted to match her Crinos. They faced off as the winds tore at them equally, each primed for violence. Mari’s heart pumped vengeance through her body. All was forgotten save striking down the enemy of her people.

Then a driving gust took hold of Brand, pulled him away from the solid ground. Mari roared as her prey was stolen from her-then realized what that meant. The sudden, irrational hatred buckled and then gave way. Mari was left with the sight of her ally being sucked into the storm. She lunged for Brand, grabbing, not attacking. But the Fenrir’s eyes still flashed violence. He slashed at her and tore a ragged gash across her shoulder. Mari roared again, this time in pain and anger. But she held on.

“Arne!” Brand bellowed, his face contorted with heartache, but there was no shape among the mischievous Lunes now-no Fangs First, no Arne. The alpha looked back to Mari, and from deep within him, a spark of recognition grew: Mari was not fighting him, she was trying to help. Reluctantly he turned his efforts to resisting the wind. He broke free of the mists that had enveloped him and the Lunes that flashed with rage and licked at him like angry tongues of flame. Deeper in the storm, ominous shadows retreated beyond view.

“Not him!” Mari shouted in his ear when Brand was again beside her. “No use!”

Brand looked again to where he thought he’d seen.. .someone. But the image was gone. Finally, he nodded. The loss that had been so plain on his face receded, as if a fading memory. Empty handed, the two Garou slipped again from the storm and returned to the pack. dh&Z&/y 9x3 The trek north through the hills of Macedonia was a somber journey, and understandably so. MarsRising and Jorn Gnaws-Steel volunteered-all but demanded-to step back across the Gauntlet and continue the search for Fangs First. Brand’s repeated refusals did little to deter them until the alpha grew visibly angry. At a certain point, they all realized that continued argument would constitute a direct challenge, but only then did the two younger Get back down. Mari didn’t enter the debate, not even when the furious Get tried to draw her in. ‘What in blazes did we bring her for?” Mars-Rising snarled. “Spirits and the Umbra, that’s supposed to be her responsibility.”

Mari held her tongue. This was a pack matter, and she knew better than to interfere except as a last resort. She busied herself dressing the gash on her shoulder. Besides, Brand had experienced the power of that storm. He knew.

“We did all we could hope to do,” the alpha said.

“The storm was too strong, too big, and time is too short. If he survives-like we all did before-he might make it out on his own.”

He might make it.. . . Brand seemed to be talking about Fangs First; the alpha didn’t seem to remember having seen-having thought he’d seen-his son Arne. But Mari remembered. The throbbing laceration on her shoulder was reminder enough. She remembered, too, her own willingness, even eagerness, to gut Brand, to stab her claws into his flesh and rip