Arron Liken's Arc

Chapter 1 of 11

Arron Liken had walked for three days, and the forest gave him no answer. Somewhere in the world lived the mate his goddess had chosen for him, the one meant to join his werewolf and human halves. But no scent marked her trail. No pull tugged his chest. Every fork in the path was a coin toss, and each wrong turn carried him further from her. He stopped at a stream and stared at his own hands. Half a man. Half a wolf. Whole in neither shape until he found her. He could not keep guessing. Wandering had failed him. He needed a direction, and only one kind of person gave those. So he climbed the hill toward the seer's hut. The hut crouched at the top, small and weathered, hung with charms that clicked in the wind. Runes crawled across its beams. Before Arron could knock, the door swung open. Elizabeth stood in the frame, staff in hand, the crystal at its tip glowing like a caught coal. The oracle's white hair fell loose. Their purple eyes fixed on him without surprise. They had been waiting. "You smell of two things that won't sit still," Elizabeth said. "Man and wolf. And under both, an ache. You're hunting someone." "My mate," Arron said. "The goddess promised her to me. I can't find her. I don't even know which way to walk." Elizabeth studied him a long moment. Then they stepped aside. "Come in before the wind steals my charms." Inside smelled of smoke and dried herbs. A fern grew in the corner, its roots woven into strange knots, its fronds too green for the dim room. Elizabeth pressed the glowing staff into the soil beside it and knelt. "The goddess writes her paths in living things," they said. "This one dreams. It will show me your thread." The crystal flared. The fern's leaves trembled without any wind. Elizabeth closed their eyes and went still. Arron held his breath. His heart slammed against his ribs. For the first time in weeks, he let himself hope. The oracle's eyes snapped open. "North," they said. "Follow the river against its current. Past the black pines, there is a valley. She is there." Arron's knees nearly buckled. A direction. Real, and certain. "Thank you," he breathed. "I'll leave at once." Elizabeth caught his sleeve. Their face had lost its calm. "I saw more than her," they said. "You will not reach her alone. Something else hunts the same valley. It carries a blade forged to kill your kind." They lifted the staff from the soil. "A sword marked with wolves. It has killed werewolves before. If it finds you first, your goddess will have no mate left to complete." Arron stood in the doorway with his path in hand and a hunter now on it. He knew where to go. He also knew he might not arrive. He set his jaw and stepped out toward the river, north, against the current.