||BOOK 1 of THE WALKWE|| Assassins' Creed with Werewolves || for content review purposes please, note that while Volya is 17 in the first book, he is 18 in the second book.
Ancient magic and werewolves ain't supposed to be center-stage for a pop-st...
"This spell," the Shaman said, when the silence grew so absolute that the oak leaves were standing at attention, "this spell has been lost for thousands of years. Those of you who have the Memory might have seen it in your visions. But not in a thousand years had it been called forth by a shaman."
His mother's hand slipped away from Volya's body, as she pushed to her feet.
"What does it mean?" she asked. The words snapped tight, like riggings on a ship caught in a squall. She wasn't just worried, she was panicking. Why wouldn't she? All three of her children were in deep doo-doo. Volya's mouth went dry. He wished he knew his people's custom better and had an idea of what was to befall them.
"This means, Taina," the Shaman replied with a tight smile, "that the Spirits gave us their judgment by imbuing Nadezhda with this power as a Shaman."
Okay, that was a good thing? It had to be a good thing!
"I accept the judgment of the Spirits," Kramola yelled.
His bitch-sister was on her feet already. She was three shades paler than the finest paper, swaying like a blade of grass and had a trickle of blood running onto her cheek like a blood tear. But she was on her feet when he could barely keep his head up without throwing up. Un-friggin-believable!
"Both my brother and I are going into Exile."
No. Eff that. How dares she turn Nadezhda's victory into defeat! In his imagination Volya jumped up, balling his hands into fists, while he actually crawled to his feet, clutching to his mama's clothing. It didn't matter. He was standing.
"That wasn't what the Spirits meant, sis."
He glowered at Kramola, trying to bend her with his gaze. His stare met a rigid face set in determination to bring him down no matter the cost. She hated him that much. If the crones decided to let her have it her way, he would never be able to stop looking over his shoulder. This was such a bullcrap!
He shook his mama's shoulder. "Please, tell her. Tell her!" And ended up clinging to her for dear life, because it was that or drop like a sack of potatoes.
The world spun faster and fast, trees, stones and women flying in circles through his vision. He must have seen about a dozen images of his mama pinching her lips, considering.
The rest of the women didn't stay quiet. The din that rose threatened to explode his head.
He started slipping down but his mama's arm grabbed him around the waist or maybe just under the shoulder blades... he didn't care. So long as he was held upright.
"He is meant to lead us, his sisters, to Yasuwa's bones! Both of us!" Nadezhda yelled over everyone. "His Memory goes back to Yasuwa's death."
Volya widened his eyes at Nadezhda in horror, but she ignored him. Her eyes drooped, her mouth drooped, her shoulders drooped. She looked more in need of sitting down than he did, and he had a concussion.
In contrast, Kramola wiped blood off, smearing it all over her face. Her nostrils flared like that of a dog who caught the scent of a snow-white unicorn with golden hooves.
"Yasuwa's bones? He knows where Yasuwa's bones lie?" If Volya was uncharitable, he'd call Kramola's scream shrill—and he was that mean. She sounded worse than all the bagpipes in the world. But her screeching impacted the gathering like it was a call of trumpets. Hundreds of throats echoed Kramola's outburst. The Huntresses pumped their fists in the air. One or two of them hopped...
"Not exactly," Volya muttered, but he doubted anyone had heard him in the furor, maybe not even his mother.
The truth was that after he had recounted his latest dream to Nadezhda and Damir, Damir grabbed his phone, searching frantically. He looked like a guy squirming on his couch because he knew the answer to the million-dollar-question on Jeopardy, while the contestants wrung their arms in surrender.
Nadezhda, however, slapped Damir's phone away before he could show anything to Volya.
"Keep your guesses to yourself," she instructed. "Memory must be pure from influence, lest it's nudged onto a false course."
Volya didn't disagree with Nadezhda's sentiment, but it also meant that he had no clue where Yasuwa was heading, and if their pilgrimage had ended with his death.
In all likelihood it did, because his visions stuck to tragic events like white to rice, but still... There was a possibility that they had found a happy valley, where they spawned baby-centaurs and prospered. The Walkwe did okay for themselves after all, and the world hadn't forgotten either the werewolves or the centaurs.
In fact, My Little Centaur idyll would be preferable to Yasuwa's death, because Nadezhda had warned him about it.
The finding and the subsequent desecration slash consumption of Yasuwa bones, she had said, heralded the werewolves' triumph over the descendants of the Yamnaya. Basically, they had a prophecy. Find the bones of the big bad centaur Yasuwa—and the downfall of human civilization would follow.
This showdown was exactly what Kramola and her cronies were clamoring for. They couldn't garner enough support, but if she got her hands on Yasuwa's bones—
Nadezhda's bait was irresistible. Kramola would tolerate him for this prospect, maybe even hug him to her chest. Maybe they could even become friends once she got to know him better. It was a great plan, except for risking an apocalypse.
"You shouldn't have done it," Volya chided Nadezhda.
She drifted over and propped him on another side, so he was now squeezed between his mother and sister. "It was a dumb move," she agreed. "Really, really dumb."
A warm feeling spread through Volya's chest before his knees gave out. As far as his heart was concerned, his sister had just done the smartest thing in the world.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
