Destiny of the Last Wolf Read online

  "Long live the king," says one of the attendants, getting down on his knees. The others join him, in an act that recognizes Constantine as the new king of the Britons.

  "Mordred is dead," Constantine continues, holding Excalibur before him, "but his sons still breathe. Until they are dead, Camlann will have been but a footnote in this struggle. This sword might yet serve us as we seek to end the insurrection once and for all. Arthur under-estimated the power of Mordred and his family, as his death shows." He watches the men gathered around him for a moment. "Is any man here against my intentions?"

  There is silence.

  "Good," says Constantine. "We must travel to Damnonia, but first we must free the man from the cage beneath Arthur's castle. He is a dangerous man, but a man who can help us. The sword will help keep him in check."

  Later, when Constantine and his men have left Avalon, the body of Arthur remains on the shore. There is nothing now for the king of the Britons to do; his role in his nation's history is over, and his body is dead. But in his mind, at the moment of his passing, there was an understanding that Constantine would not be true to his word. This is how Arthur died: knowing that much of his work would be undone by his successor, and that Excalibur would not be returned to its home for many hundreds, even thousands, of years.

  Jess

  Today.

  "Did we really have to leave her behind?" I ask as Duncan and I walk through the forest. It's still dark, but morning will arrive soon and Duncan wants us to reach our destination as soon as possible. "I mean, she looked so sad, and I really think she was on our side."

  "Doesn't matter," he says. "There are any number of ways she might have been used against us. Someone might have been tracking us using a signal from her, or they might have been watching us through her eyes."

  "I know, but -"

  "Not buts," he says, stopping and turning to me. There's a hint of anger in his eyes. "This isn't a game, Jess! If this sword falls into the wrong hands, the whole world is in danger. The blade has enough power to enable the person carrying it to spread a vast empire across the surface of the planet. Last time it happened, it was in the hands of a man who had noble intentions, and he still fucked it up. This time, someone far less noble is after it, and we can't let that individual succeed. So I'm sorry that Darla, or Karla, or whatever she wants us to call her, is a bit upset. But that's a price I'm willing to pay to save the world."

  "Save the world?" I ask, a little surprised at his choice of words.

  "You know what I mean," he replies, seeming a little grumpy. "It's too important. I'm worried that..." His voice trails off.

  "Worried that what?" I ask. "Who do you think is behind all of this?"

  "I've got some ideas," he says, as we start walking again. "Lots of ideas. Some of them are far too horrible to even talk about, but all of them can be stopped if we just put the sword where it needs to be." He holds the blade up for a moment. "Part of me thinks this is what it was about all along. The sword wants to go home."

  "The sword wants to go home?" I ask, smiling. "What, is it alive or something?"

  "Maybe," he says with a straight face. "Not alive as in having thoughts and feelings, but alive as in having a will of its own. Perhaps it's done its work. It's tired. It doesn't want to be used to kill again. Its destiny has been completed, a long time ago, and now it wants to go home and die."

  "What a very noble sword," I say, finding it hard to take Duncan's theory seriously. "And where does a sword go to die?"

  "There," Duncan says, as we emerge from the forest onto the side of a hill. Dawn is breaking across a vast valley, at the bottom of which is a large lake. "That's where the sword came from," he continues, "and that's where we're taking it." He holds the sword up for me to see my own reflection in its blade. "Even old swords have a sense of what's right and what's wrong."

  "Okay," I say. "So we're gonna go and toss it in a lake and hope no-one finds it."

  "No!" Duncan says, sounding a little offended. "We're going to peacefully and respectfully return it to its rightful owner, and trust that she is able to keep it safe in its retirement."

  I stare at the lake for a moment. "Fine," I say. "I'm not going to ask any more. Just lead the way."

  We make our way carefully down the hillside. The lake is still a fair way off, but as the sun rises during the course of the morning, we gradually get closer and closer until finally I can see the water shimmering in the distance through the trees.

  "So when we're done with this," Duncan says as we walk, "are you still sticking to your insane plan to go and live as a wolf in the wild?"

  "It's not an insane plan," I say, "and yes, I'm sticking to it."

  "Madness," he mutters. "You have the chance to live as two different creatures, and you choose to just turn yourself into an ordinary wolf. There are loads of wolves. Why not be a special one?"

  "I'll still be able to become human if I want to," I point out. "I just want to spend some time as a wolf. A long time. I'd rather be exploring the wilderness than going on stupid quests and nearly getting killed all the time."

  Duncan suddenly stops walking. "Not again," he says under his breath.

  "What?" I ask.

  "We're not alone," he says, looking around at the trees.

  I can't see anyone, but I know Duncan's usually right about these things. At first, I assume he means that Darla - sorry, Karla - has followed us, but then I hear rustling from nearby and, when I turn, I see two figures who definitely, definitely shouldn't be here.

  "Surprise," Matt DiMera says, looking a little embarrassed. He's standing next to Olivia Thatcher, and they're both supposed to have died a long time ago.

  "Well now this is strange," Duncan says, smiling. He turns to me. "Do you realize something, Jess? We're outnumbered. There are more dead people in this forest than living people."

  "We're not dead," Olivia says. "We've been keeping low, staying out of sight so that we can help you now. You need us."

  "Apparently so," Duncan says. "Is there anyone else around? Got any more people who we thought were dead, but who turn out to be alive?"

  "There's me, Duncan," says a female voice from behind us. Duncan and I turn to find a woman standing close by, smiling. She looks quite a lot like me, and it takes a moment before I realize that this must be the infamous Anna. All I know about Anna is that she used to hang around with Duncan a few years ago, but something happened to her and Duncan has been very keen not to talk about it.

  "Well that's interesting," Duncan says. "Now you're just being cruel."

  "Cruel?" Anna asks, looking confused. "I thought you'd be glad to see me. We've all come to help you."

  "That's all we want," says another voice nearby. I turn and see, to my shock, that Meredith Martin is standing there. The last time I saw her, she was with the two black-eyed children on the beach at Herne, and I'm pretty sure she died a few days later.

  "We thought you'd be more grateful," says another voice. I turn and see Lewis, who died in the library more than a year ago.

  "Okay," I say, turning to Duncan. "This is getting really weird. Any idea what's happening?"

  Duncan is transfixed by Anna, unable to stop looking at her. "Some kind of..." he starts to say, but she steps over to him and puts a hand on his face.

  "I've missed you so much," Anna tells him. "I wanted us to be reunited for so long. I waited and waited, knowing that the time wasn't right, but I knew that one day you'd reach this point and that only now would I be able to do anything. That's why I've come back. To help you. You need people around you, people you can trust, people who can help you." She smiles. "I'd do anything for you, Duncan. You know that, right?"

  "I do," he replies.

  "We're an army," Olivia says, interrupting. "Now we're all together, we can make a stand. Anyone who wants the sword will have to go through us. Anyone. Even the forces of darkness. We'll keep you safe while you find a place to hide it."

  "That's why we're here," says a
male voice from behind us.

  "Not again," I say, sighing as I turn to see that General Chaucer is here.

  "Now that is strange," Duncan says. After all, General Chaucer was Duncan's sworn enemy until he was finally killed during the battle at the Scottish estate. It seems like whoever is after us, they've resorted to bringing up as many ghosts as possible to try to stop us from going forward.

  "There was a time," General Chaucer says, "when you and I were sworn enemies. But now I feel we could work together, Duncan. I'm here now to offer my help. Perhaps we can overcome our differences."

  There are more ghosts coming from behind the trees. Some of them I don't recognize, probably because they're from Duncan's mind, but some of them are familiar. There's Frank Marshall, the man who captured and tortured Duncan; there's Robert, the guy who was killed by Black Annis; there's even my old gym teacher from school, who died in a car crash about ten years ago. In other words, almost all the dead people from my past, and from Duncan's past, are now gathered in a circle around us.

  "I won't work with you," Duncan says to Chaucer, "and I don't take apologies from ghosts."

  "I don't recall apologizing," Chaucer replies. "Besides, you need me. You need all of us. Excalibur will be attacked, and you will need us to defend you."

  "Which is why it's very convenient that you've all shown up," Duncan says, turning to look at the others. "Just when we need you! Well, thanks a million, but we'll be fine without you."

  "It really is me," Matt DiMera says, stepping towards me. "I know it's hard to believe, but we're here to help."

  "Think about it, Jess," Duncan says. "All these people have somehow miraculously come back to life, just when we need them most. Someone somewhere thinks we're very gullible. Come on, we need to get out of here."

  We walk on, heading towards the lake, but with the ghosts following silently. It's the creepiest thing, knowing that all these dead people are right behind us.

  "Can't we make them go away?" I whisper to Duncan.

  "I doubt it," he whispers back. "The only reason for all of this, as far as I can tell, is to try to delay us, to stop us from reaching the lake. We have to keep going and just ignore them."

  I glance back and see that they're all still there.

  "What happens when we get rid of Excalibur?" I whisper to Duncan. "Will they all just disappear?"

  "Probably," Duncan replies. "Whoever's controlling them, I doubt he'll bother to keep them going once their usefulness is over and done with."

  "Let's get this done, then," I say. I want to get rid of these ghosts as fast as possible, so that their eyes are no longer drilling into the back of my head.

  "Wait!" Duncan says, turning to face the ghosts. "Who's missing?"

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  The ghosts just stand there, staring at us.

  "Where's Thomas Lumic?" Duncan asks. It's almost as if he's talking to himself rather than to me, judging by the way his gaze is fixed on the dead as they stand before us. "My greatest enemy. The man I hated more than any other. Why are so many people here, but not Thomas Lumic?" He turns to me. "We need to get going," he says, his voice filled with a level of tension that I didn't notice before. "We need to get this sword back where it belongs, right now." He turns and switches to his wolf form, holding the sword between his teeth as he runs. I glance back at the ghosts one more time before switching as well and following.

  1,770 years ago

  Hurrying into the church, the two young men glance around nervously. They know that they could be attacked at any moment, that they have many enemies who would like to see them killed. In their position, the only safe option would be to make for the coast and try to get away to another land, but they are determined to avenge their father's death and continue the work that he started. They seek to overthrow the king and put the House of Mordred on the throne. It's a huge task, and they have few allies, but they refuse to give up. They would rather die than fail.

  "We're safe here," says Aldas, the older of the two brothers. "Even Constantine would not send his forces into a church."

  "Safe for now," replies Memnon, "but we can't live in a church for the rest of our lives. Constantine's men will find us eventually, and they'll find a way to flush us out so that they can kill us."

  "Then we'd better stay one step ahead," says Aldas, suddenly turning as he hears a noise somewhere else in the church. "We're not alone," he says.

  From behind the altar, a figure appears. An old man, wearing the clothes of a simple abbot, walks carefully towards the brothers. He has a peaceful manner, something that the brothers appreciate after spending so many years at war. They haven't been able to relax, not even for a moment, since before their father was killed in the battle against Arthur.

  "Welcome," the old man says, stopping in front of them. "You are most welcome in this place."

  "We won't stay long," Memnon says. "We just need a place to rest."

  "But we thank you for your hospitality," Aldas adds. "We hope to bother you for just a few hours."

  "You are welcome to pray with me," the old man says. "Please, enjoy the peace we have, while I fetch some food and water for you." He turns and shuffles away slowly.

  "Seems nice enough," Aldas whispers to his brother.

  "Don't let your guard down too soon," Memnon replies. "The Devil himself is capable of such a disguise."

  Despite their misgivings, and their concern for their personal safety, Aldas and Memnon stay in the church for a few hours. The old abbot feeds them, and prays with them, and doesn't bother them by asking too many questions about where they come from. As night draws closer, however, Aldas and Memnon realize that they will soon have to get moving again. Constantine's men are everywhere and sooner or later trouble will strike. The brothers know that they must get away as fast as possible.

  "You are most welcome to stay the night," the old man says as Aldas and Memnon prepare to leave.

  "Thank you," Aldas says, "but we really must be going. We have to be at the coast soon. We have a long journey ahead of us, and no time to waste."

  "Are you going by sea?" the old man asks.

  "We are," Aldas replies.

  "That's enough," Memnon says. "I'm sure the abbot doesn't want to know our entire itinerary."

  "I must bless you," the old man says. "A journey by sea is fraught with danger, and a blessing will greatly aid your progress. Please, kneel."

  "It's really not necessary," Memnon says.

  "I would welcome a blessing," says Aldas, dropping to his knees. "I'm sure my brother would also be most grateful."

  "We don't have time for this," Memnon insists.

  "Just a short blessing," Aldas replies. "If you stop arguing, it can be done in a minute or two."

  Memnon sighs and gets down onto his knees. He has no time for this type of ritual, and believes it to be nothing more than superstition. Nevertheless, he understands the futility of arguing about such things with his brother, and he feels that they will get moving faster if he just capitulates and agrees to the foolishness.

  "Dear Lord," the old man says, looking up towards the ceiling, "grant these two men safe passage as they prepare for a most dangerous journey. Afford them your fullest protection, and ensure that they are able to survive in such a terrible place. Grant unto them the sweetest of deaths."

  "Deaths?" Memnon asks.

  "Yes," says the old man, looking at him. "Deaths." In a flash, before Memnon can react, the old man pulls a sword from beneath his cloak and strikes out; almost the entire left side of Memnon's head is sliced off in one swift movement, and the old man quickly turns the blade and swings it at Aldas. By the time Memnon's dead body has hit the stone floor, Aldas has the blade firmly wedged in his skull. Staring up at his killer, Aldas tries to understand what is happening, but it is beyond him to work out the truth; all he can do is stare into the eyes of the old man and assume that Constantine's men have got to him.

  Once Aldas and Memnon are dead,
the old man pulls off his religious clothing. He jabs the tip of Excalibur into the dead men's bodies a few more times, just to make absolutely certain that they truly are dead, and then he turns to walk out of the church.

  "A nice trick, Constantine," says a man standing in the doorway.

  Constantine stops. He hadn't expected to be joined by anyone else tonight. As king, he is used to being visited only by those to whom he has granted access. "It's no trick," he replies. "These murderous fools deserved to die. They sought to overthrow my throne and rule themselves, in the name of their cursed father."

  "Still," the man continues, smiling, "it's quite something to pretend to be a holy man, and to kill two people in a house of the Lord."

  "I'm no superstitious," Constantine says, stepping over to the doorway, "and neither are you. This was merely a job that needed to be done, and I didn't trust anyone to complete it properly other than myself." He turns back to look at the dead bodies. "Everything has worked out perfectly, it seems. With Aldas and Memnon dead, the House of Mordred will fall easily. There is no-one left to provide leadership. The war is effectively over."

  "The war raged for many years," the man says. "Do you really believe you can end it so quickly?"

  "As a matter of fact," Constantine says, "I do. And I believe the proof is right here, in the form of those two bodies." He raises the sword. "Do you require a further demonstration of Excalibur's power?"

  "No thanks," says the man, turning and walking away. "See you around, Constantine," he calls back over his shoulder.

  "What is your name?" Constantine shouts, but all he hears is laughter. "One day," he mutters, "I shall force your name out of you, right before I slit your throat." He takes a deep breath, trying to quench his anger. Finally, confident that his work is done, he leaves the church. He is getting old, and he doesn't have time to waste gloating over past victories. There is still so much to be done if he is to take his place as England's greatest king.