Rachel stood unmoving outside her Pack's field tent. From here, in the inner Bawn, she could see into the center of the Caern, a remarkably calming and tranquil part of Gaia. Within the Caern, she could see the old tree that served as a center of Morai Clotho's essence. In an act that almost cost him his life, Cory Soaring-Eagle had saved that tree from what Rachel could only guess were the manifestations of Atropos, or could they have been servants of Lachesis? She wasn't sure, and had been debating in her mind how much of a part Lachesis played in Atropos' degradation of Gaia.
The old tree had been sick, but now it was healthy again, and Rachel noticed a remarkable change in its appearance only days after Cory had saved the ancient tree. That tree, an eldritch source of life and renewal, had appeared haggard and desolate, but now it seemed to reach upward toward the light of the encroaching dawn with a renewed vigor. Now, hopefully, the spirits would return. Rachel made a mental note to gather her Pack's Crescent Moons in the upcoming days. They would venture into the Umbra to appease the spirits of Morai Clotho with gifts from the Bawn. Hopefully, the spirits would respond favorably to Rachel's attempts at appeasement, and she could then persuade them to remain in the area.
As the light of dawn began to shine through the woods, Rachel's thoughts were broken by a sound off to her right and across the Bawn. The new Pack, The Open Hand, was acting as the Guardians of the Caern this week, and the source of the noise was coming from near their tents. Sharing the Bawn with another Pack was taking some getting used to, as VAO always watched over the Caern. They were wise enough to accept help from the other Packs, however. The spirits had taught VAO that much.
Rachel, quickly taking note of the sound, turned her head slightly and peered through the woods. Her vision had become exceptionally focused since her change, and she could easily spot some of the Garou of the new Pack in their brightly colored clothing. It looked like they were trading shifts for guard duty. Rachel clutched her bow in a firm grip as her mind raced with thoughts of what she would do if this new Pack fell to the barbed fangs of Atropos. She could kill the two outside the tents before they knew what happened. Then she would quickly alert her Alpha, and VAO would tear through The Open Hand's tent within seconds.
Rachel's eyes remained trained on the tents, although she found her thoughts changing from worst-case scenarios to her Alpha. Judith has been the Alpha of VAO since the Pack's creation, and she has led the Pack without flaw since that time. Judith, of the Full Moon, was as great a leader as she was a soldier, and Rachel knew that her Alpha would become a great Elder among the Garou before the final battle. All Rachel had to do was to be at least half the Garou that Judith was and she would certainly live long enough to see her Alpha become an Elder.
Rachel also knew that Judith was standing right behind her. She couldn't see her Alpha, nor did she hear her approach, but she knew nonetheless. Rachel always knew when any of her Tribe was near. It was as if Black Furies could sense each other's will to survive, which they inherit from their strong ties to Morai Clotho.
"Your turn for watch?" Rachel said without turning.
"Yes, what is that noise?" Judith asked in the wolf-tongue, as she quietly pawed the ground and motioned towards The Open Hand's tent.
Rachel turned and looked down at her Alpha, who was resplendent in the dark black purity of her coat. Rachel half-smiled and motioned toward the noise. "Glass Walkers are trying to find a place to plug in their DVD player."
Judith's tongue lolled from her jaws in the wolf form of laughter. "Get some rest."
"No time, Judith. I'm going to start running earlier. A couple of the Garou from General Confusion want me to show them how to use a bow, and that's going to cut into my afternoon run. I'll be back for breakfast, though."
The last shadows of the night have retreated from the now-brilliant light of the morning sun, and Rachel found herself running down the streets of the small town called Marissa. She had already ran to the town from the Caern, and was now leaving the small community on her way back to the Caern--to her home.
Sweat poured down Rachel's face and her entire body burned with exhaustion. Even though it was a hot June morning, she ran in sweats, with the hood from the sweatshirt pulled over her head. Rachel knew that in the upcoming war, she was going to have to be able to survive in any type of conditions, from extreme heat to extreme cold. Rachel made a mental note that when next winter arrived, she would have to find a pair of shorts and a tank top to run in. She would also have to ditch her tennis shoes in order to get used to running barefoot. She could almost feel the road beneath the soles of her shoes now, and she doubted that they would last until winter anyway.
Rachel always runs alone. Partly because she enjoys the time to herself, and mainly because she doesn't want the other Garou to have any misconstrued ideas about why she pushes herself so hard. They may think she enjoys hurting herself or some shit like that. The ugly truth is that she pushes herself so hard because she has seen what is coming, and only the very strongest of mind, soul, and body have any real chance of surviving for long. Atropos caught her off guard once before, Rachel thought as she glanced at her hands. She put her Sept, her Caern, and her Pack in jeopardy by being careless, and getting caught. She failed them--all of them. She would never fail them again.
Since last winter, Rachel often finds herself in a different state of mind, especially when she pushes herself physically. Her thoughts focus on doing everything possible to sharpen her abilities. She craves to be faster, stronger, smarter. She knows the war will one day envelop all of Gaia's physical realm. The Caern will be attacked with unending rage and malice. She must be ready to defend Morai Clotho. She must defend Gaia. She must be strong. She must be more like Judith. She must not fail her Pack again. Atropos is everywhere. Everywhere.
Rachel has begun to find this state of mind comforting. She does not believe it's strange to feel this way. While it saddens her that so much will be destroyed, she takes comfort in the knowledge of her role as a protector and soldier of Gaia. Rachel does not share her feelings with anyone regarding this, but she finds no shame in her outlook. After all, how is someone supposed to act when she knows the world is going to end? She could just give up, but that would have made everything up to now nothing more than an act of futility. Her parents' deaths, the jeopardy everyone she knows has been placed in, the… things they did to her.
Fortunately, sometimes the human mind protectively blocks out events that are traumatic and damaging to the psyche. This is why some people who were molested as children do not recall such abuse until years later, when the mind lowers it's protective walls as the person matures. A similar situation occurred in Rachel's mind. She thought she remembered the worst of it, but occasionally a new memory would surface through the haze of the past fall and winter.
She remembered the screaming whispers, as she called them at the time. A horrible, unending sound that never needed to pause and draw for breath. She later learned that they were probably spiritual servants of Atropos, and the Crescent Moons referred to them as Banes. They feasted on her open wounds like sharks drawn to fresh chum. Even now, when a breeze would blow against her face, she could feel their spiritual presence in her scars, like slithering maggots trying to worm their way free.
The scars on Rachel's face felt like they were itching severely from the inside. And then, almost as if on cue, images began flooding back to her. They were old memories that she knew of, yet could not repress. Lost in her own mind, she began to instinctively run faster and breath harder. The black van, the men and women, doctors, tables, stirrups, needles, scalpels, clamps, and silver. She had seen all of this before. Why wouldn't it just go away? Why couldn't she make it stop?!?
And then the worst-case scenario occurred. In her nightmares she dreaded this. She woke up covered in a cold sweat and barely suppressing the urge to scream out in abject terror. Now the nightmare was real.
She heard a sound on the road behind her, and turned to look. In the distance was a solitary black van.
Bile rose up in her esophagus. Rachel swallowed hard and ran despite her rising nausea. Soon she was panting, and the van just kept getting closer. She was out of the town proper by now, and there was no where but open field to either side of her. As she heard the sound of the van's engine getting closer, her vision became hazy, and she could see the hair begin to grow out on her fingers and feel her bones stretch and elongate. As the van pulled up beside her, Rachel crouched and spun around, barely able to think rationally and preparing to fully assume her war form when the van stopped and the doors opened. This time they would have to kill her.
A little girl looked out from the passenger seat window as the van drove past.
Drawing great heaving gasps of air, Rachel summoned all of her inner will and forced herself not to change into her war form. She put one hand on the hot pavement as she tasted bile in the back of her throat. New images assaulted her. An impeccably sterile room. Scientists and doctors everywhere. Some with charts, some with equipment. The razor-sharp silver manacles and stirrups of the table kept her restrained. The bile had rushed up from her stomach already and she had vomited a strange yellow-green ichor. One of the doctors coldly commented that she would need another dose. They wheeled a machine over. Crammed an inch-thick clear plastic tube down her throat. A horrible humming noise--like the perverse laughter of a thousand rapists. She could see that same ichor flowing down the tube towards her--into her. And there was something in it. Something moving. Something alive.
The horrific images ceased abruptly as Rachel threw up the food she ate the night before. She quickly stood up and stepped back. Holding her stomach and focusing on getting back to the Caern, she only took a quick glance back to ensure that what had come out of her was not of a yellow-green color. She never noticed that something very small was moving, writhing, within the vomit.
Eventually, Rachel arrived at a small woods separate from the woods around the Caern. She found a tree whose spirit had spoken to her once before and sat down at it's base. Then she cried. There was no more anger in her, no more physical pain, no more nausea, no more terrible memories. Only one very scared young girl.
Rachel bathed in a nearby stream, hoping to get the smell of vomit off of her. She also hoped that the red rings under her eyes would go away by the time she got back to the Caern. She preferred to bathe by herself anyway. Only the women of her Pack had any idea that the criss-crossed pattern of scars on her arms actually covered her entire body. Her Pack didn't act like they minded, but Rachel hated the thought that anyone, even her Pack, would have to bear seeing the full extent of her mutilated and grotesque body.
It would only be a short run back to the Caern. Rachel felt the urge to change to her wolf form, but resisted. In the all-consuming war, she may find herself in a situation where she needs to run and cannot assume her wolf aspect. She had to be prepared for a worst-case scenario. She had to be.
Rachel walked back into the Bawn amidst the noise of all the Garou present. Some of the Garou here were starting to wake up and move about, while VAO was already sitting around their camp fire preparing to eat breakfast.
"You are back just in time." Judith said in the wolf-tongue as she saw Rachel approach. "The Pack is ready to eat. How was the run?"
"It was good."
References to products created by White Wolf or other companies are not challenges to their copyrights.
This story © 2002 Seth Horton
This page © 2002 anneke@scarywhitegirl.net