Into the Darkness
Prologue
I guess you could say that I'm not really what my parents wanted me to be. They were always hoping that my older brother Iwan would take over the family business as a sheep farmer in Aberdovey, but that never stopped them from making sure that I was ready in case things didn't work out.
When they didn't, and Iwan went to fight in Kosovo, I guess you could understand the devastation that my parents went through, especially when Iwan came back in a coffin, draped with the Union Flag. I couldn't say for sure that it was where the troubles started for me, but having the weight of expectation thrust upon you don't really do a teenager any good, to be honest.
I left home at seventeen, to seek my fortune. A blazing row with my father over my unwillingness to learn farming had driven a wedge between us over one of my mum's cottage pies. Rather than finish my meal, I packed my things and left, with dad's boot up my arse for my trouble.
With little money and no real direction, I got myself a job working for the post office. A postman is an honourable profession, but as hindsight would have it, it's not really the best of choices for a sufferer of Cynophobia – a chronic fear of dogs. I've never liked dogs at all, but money is money and without that, I wouldn't be able to have a roof over my head, so I had to make do.
This stop gap career has kept me going for about ten years now. I just try to be as quiet as possible around the houses that I know have dogs and most people are quite understanding about it all. My ex-girlfriend was really good about it, although her parents never really liked me, possibly because I could never see their two dogs in the same room as me, which was a shame.
I've been reading a few books on facing your fears – I do that most days when I'm at work, but it still doesn't do me any favours, but a few of the early birds, who go to work at about the same time as me will stop and chat on occasion and have given me a few pointers.
That's when I noticed that there was something wrong with me. Charlie, one of my friends who also lived on my round called me to the door one morning and tried to get me to face my fear. His little terrier, Rex came scampering along the hall and he told me, with a firm grip on my shirt that I should be firm but fair with Rex, telling him to get down and if he did not obey, Charlie was going to pull him away. After all, he claimed, Rex won't bite.
I stood there and eventually agreed. Charlie opened the door and Rex jumped up at me, as I was advised he would do. Charlie prompted me to tell him to get down, so I did.
"REX! GET DOWN!" I barked at the dog, which not only got down, but ran from my sight and cowered. Charlie was stunned, but regained enough composure to take the post and let me get on with my round. I called him later to try and even things up, but Charlie told me that Rex hadn't come out from under the dining table all day and was petrified. I'm no expert, but I've never heard of a dog being that scared of anyone. I carried on my round, somewhat perplexed by the events of that morning.
Monmouth. A place for people who want to leave Wales, but can't quite bring themselves to take that final step. You can take a day trip into England and come back when it suits you. I'd been living there for a few years, with my postal routes had taken me well around the area, which has started to feel like home. Despite splitting up with Karen over the gaping void between our personalities, I had resolved to move onwards, even though this mostly meant that my life remained the same.
I was on my long morning post round on a Tuesday. I'd come to Blaenau Crescent, which in itself is just a normal road in the town. I walked calmly up the path to the door, listening to Radio 4. Living with my parents never gave me much chance to listen to music, save for the occasional recital from the male voice choir, but there weren't any radio stations that broadcast that around Monmouth.
As I deposited the few bills into the letterbox, I heard an excited yipping. Not wanting to stick around for any dogs, I decided to just turn and walk away. I stopped to tie my boot lace up and then I saw the excited little critter. Not really a dog, now that I think about it – more like a rodent of some sort. It ran up some junk behind the back gate and jumped the gate, deciding to chase me. I stood and started to walk off, trying to concentrate more on the news headlines than this embodiment of my fear. Then it decided that I wasn't what it liked on the garden path and I could have sworn I heard something say "kill!" It latched itself onto the back of my leg and I jumped, as the pain of a sharp nip passed up my leg.
The little bugger just wouldn't let go and I decided to try to make a getaway before the Doberman that lives at number 14 woke up and decided to make his feelings clearly known to me and most of the neighbourhood. Rather than fumble with the gate, I jumped over the brick wall and slipped, as if my boot had caught momentarily on something sticky. I fell, as I twisted to get my leg free of both this obstruction and the erstwhile canine fiend that was still griping tightly to my trouser leg.
As I fell, everything went blue and it felt like there were hundreds of strands of spider silk against my back, slowly breaking. The dog just seemed to get stuck and was torn free of my trouser leg. Rather than feeling afraid of the dog that was no longer on my leg, I felt angry that it had dared to try and bite me, but I couldn't explain why. Somehow, it seemed like I fell for a lot longer than a 3-foot garden wall would usually take and when I landed, I hit my head on the pavement and blacked out.
When I came to, there was a beautiful woman standing over me, her expression not quite an angry one, but somewhat amused to see me lying there. To my left, was a large black wolf, which I was very nervous around, though she never made any threatening gesture in my direction.
"Gareth Dempsey, you are ours." The woman declared in a commanding, sure tone. All I could bring myself to respond to her with was a rather weak sounding "oh." Starting to sit up, I could have sworn that I heard the black wolf talk to me – the voice was different to the woman who stood over me. This voice sounded slightly broken, as if speaking through lips that weren't really designed for speech. This voice had a growl to it.
"Welcome to the Hisil, child of the crescent moon." She said to me. I watched the wolf's muzzle spell out the words, dumbfounded and quickly pinched myself and listened to the many questions buzzing around my head:
"That's a fucking big dog less than 2 feet from my face!"
"Did that wolf just speak to me?"
"Two hot women talking to me, like I'm normal? I must be dead, or dreaming."
"Two?! Did I just think that?"
In the end, I just settled for "What's a Hisil?" Rather unceremoniously, I was hauled to eye level with the woman by the scruff of my neck.
"Not a Hisil, the Hisil – The world of the spirits that lives in parallel with the world of the Herd. There cannot be one without the other. It is our job to preserve the balance between the two."
"I thought my job was to deliver letters and parcels." The woman was not happy about this and bundled me over toward a parked car. She pushed me in front of the wing mirror and I saw that my face had changed – more hair, which was a lot more messed up than I usually allow myself and I looked bigger and more muscular.
"So our perceptions of each other change in this Hisil, then?" I adjusted my hair a little in the mirror, not exactly horrified by what I was seeing, my uniform had become tattered and torn as if I had somehow grown too big for it all of a sudden. Not only now sporting a beard, the tears along the seams of the shirt and trousers seemed to have a lot of body hair poking through.
"This is not a change in your perception – your really do look like that. We all have the power to change from human to wolf and a few stages in between, as we are both." She stood back and allowed me to continue looking at my new visage for a while longer.
"So, how do I make myself change then? I don't remember much about when I changed to this form…"
"First you must think like a wolf. Imagine running on all fours across open country, hunting down a wild animal for your food. Second, you must feel what it is like to focus single minded on the prey, with only the idea of it or you. Finally, you must be that wolf." The dark wolf stepped back from me and cast her gaze over me. "Show us what you can be."
I kept telling myself a simple mantra "Think, feel, be." And imagined the need to eat. With that, came a small rabbit bouncing over the countryside. Then, I felt the hunger in my belly, the blast of cold air and the hair all over my body was suddenly moved in ripples across my skin. I looked down at myself and was shocked to see that I was now adorned with a chocolate brown coat of fur and white paws. I staggered about a little, trying to come to terms with having twice as many legs as I was accustomed to.
"Very good, Gareth. You will make a fine Hunter in Darkness. But before that, we will need to return to your home." With that, the wolf started running up the road and in one leap, the woman changed into a very dark wolf and started running next to her companion. I continued to struggle to keep pace with them, though gradually picked up the idea of running with four legs, instead of two.
About half an hour later, we arrived at the front door of my home and the woman reverted back to her human form. Walking down the entry, towards the back door, the wolf walked past the back door and looked at a patch of lawn in the garden. A few seconds later, the feeling of spider silk tugging at me passed overhead and the light of a new day was upon me.
I raised a quick query, as we walked back to the door. "Um… I think I left my keys with the rest of the stuff towards the end of the round…" Calmly, the woman put her hand in her pocket and produced a key chain. She put the key into the back door and proceeded to unlock the door.
"How long have you had a key for my house?" I was naturally a little concerned about this.
"I managed to get a copy of your key pretty soon after you moved to Monmouth. We've been watching you for some time now, let's just put it like that." She walked into the kitchen and held the door open politely for me to enter, still in my guise as a dark brown wolf with white paws. Looking around to see if any of my neighbours had noticed a strange woman open my back door, I went into the kitchen and walked through into the dining room, or as it had become more recently, my rudimentary study.
"Where is your companion?" I asked, noting that the large black wolf had not accompanied us here.
"Hikaon-Ur, the Black Wolf is what we call a totem spirit of our tribe. She has watched over you and decided that she wanted a closer look upon your first change. You seem to have struck a chord with her, at the very least. She does not cross the Gauntlet very often. Trust me on this one but, you will be very grateful if ever she chooses to cross in your presence."
I followed her upstairs, somewhat alarmed that I was being led around my own home by someone who I thought had never been in the place up until this morning. She opened my bedroom door and sat herself down on the bed, facing me.
"You're going to need some clothes. Yours were mostly destroyed by your change to your Urhan form."
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to explain this to me in words I can understand. What's Urhan form?
"Urhan is what you could call your 'near man' form. It's a little closer to the wolf within, but still predominantly humane in appearance. Now, you're going to have to change back to a man – your Hishu form, if you please."
I stood there and allowed my mantra to come back to the front of my brain. Think. Feel. Be. Knowing that this change should not be so difficult, as I had been me for almost three decades now, I felt a rush of adrenaline and cool air, as I stood up onto my hind legs and stretched out my arms, bringing them back in front of me and seeing my all too familiar figure again. Butt naked, in front of this werewolf, who had introduced herself less than an hour before.
Covering what little modesty I still possessed, I ran over to my wardrobe. To the sniggering of the woman sitting on my bed, I grabbed a pair of black jeans, my faded blue dead smiley T-Shirt and a sturdy pair of boots. She smiled at my discomfort, while I dressed.
"Relax. You're not my type. Besides, even if you were, we don't want to take it any further. Our blood is too potent for that sort of thing. Ask Michael, when you meet him."
"And Michael is..?" I sat down on the bed next to her and began tying my boot laces.
"Michael is his nickname – his real name is John Jackson. He will be the one who initiates you into the world as you will see it from now on. I have but one more task to do for you – The Rite of Dedication." She took out a penknife and asked for my hand, which I grudgingly offered to her. A quick slice and she had quite a reservoir of blood in the palm of my hand, which she then used to paint circular symbols on my clothes and boots, while chanting some incantation that I had never heard before. When she had finished chanting, she waved her hand over my chest and the blood stains seemed to disappear into the fabric.
"There, you may now change form with these items, without damaging them. You may also cross the gauntlet without these possessions becoming harmed, as they are effectively you. When you learn more about yourself and grow stronger, you might also learn this rite. With your new understanding of the balance, you may be able to take more items."
Struggling to take all of this in, I looked at her slightly gone out. It had taken a while for my human side to catch up with events, but the machinery within my brain was turning and I was forming the statement 'but I'm just a postman…'
"You look hungry. I could do with a snack myself." She looked at me, still trying to come to terms again "Relax, Gareth. I'm not going to do anything really weird now. We can just go and raid the fridge, that's all." Feeling a little more encouraged by all of this, I got up, walked down into the kitchen and started rooting around for something to sate my hunger.
"There's not really anything that good in here – I'm not really in the mood for eggs and there's no milk, so that's buggered." I muttered away more or less to myself, as the girl opened the fridge and took out a large pack of steak that I'd never noticed before.
"Oh no, it's half past seven in the morning and you want to start cooking steak?" She calmly unwrapped the packaging from around the steak and offered it to me.
"No thanks, I prefer mine a little more well done than that." I turned away and carried on rooting through the cupboards to try and find something to eat.
"You're going to have to eat something a lot less appetising than a hunk of raw prime steak. Just eat it, you'll feel a lot better when you've got it over and done with." She laughed a little nasal chuckle "One day, if ever we meet again, you might just thank me for it."
The meat tasted strange to me, as I'd never eaten like this before. My appetite dictated that I shouldn't stop, so I carried on and devoured the steak hungrily. I wiped my mouth clear of the blood and washed it down with the remnants of a bottle in the fridge.
"Trust me, it tastes better just after the kill – chilled never quite makes up for it." There was a knock on the door as I finished cleaning up the mess from my snack and the woman went and opened the door. There was a reasonably well built guy, wearing torn camouflage trousers, muddy but sturdy looking shoes and a great coat that looked like it was straight out of World War II. He wiped his feet and stepped across the threshold
"Ah, you must be Gareth. Nightwatch here has told me a lot about you. When he mentioned the name Nightwatch, he indicated the woman, who flashed me a small smile. "I hope you've got your running legs on – we've got 50 miles to travel and not that long to travel it in."
I drained the bottle and dropped the empty carton by the sink for washing up and turned to my new acquaintance. I shook his hand as firmly as I could and looked him square in the eye. "You have me on the defensive – you know my name and yet I know not yours. I only know Nightwatch's as you informed me."
"Well, as we're all friends here, I can tell you that my name is John Jackson. Nightwatch is just Sarah's honorific – the name that best displays the achievements and abilities of each Uratha. Irrakka like Sarah find their skills are best when it comes to lurking in the shadows, scouting out all sorts of things and being stealthy. She has watched over you for many years now."
Sarah laid her hand on my shoulder, as I tried to take in yet more information about my new life. "Perhaps you'll have an honorific of your own when next we meet. Now, you've got to make your way to Worcester."
"Why Worcester? Isn't there any need for me around here?" I seemed crestfallen by the fact that I was going to leave my home once again.
"Worcester is where the Elders have decided your skills will be used to their best potential. John is going to teach you the basics and by the time you get to Worcester, you should be able to fit in with the pack."
"What about my stuff? Worcester is quite a way to commute without a car." This question brought a sturdy laugh from both of the Uratha standing before me.
"Two of my pack-mates are Iron Masters. They will arrange transport and will get you sorted with a new place, job transfer and all the basics covered. Very few people go through the first change and mysteriously disappear; otherwise you'd hear more about it. Don't worry, they will find you, when it's ready." I shook hands with her and walked out of the door, ready to be taught by this mysterious, but somehow slightly familiar looking man. He shouldered his backpack and started striding off down the road – I fell into step with him.
"Tough day, eh Gareth? Relax, life just took a turn for the better – you've met me. It's my job to teach you the basics of being an Uratha and from there, we can set you up with your pack. That shouldn't be too difficult."
"So you're going to teach me everything about…" I dropped my voice down low, as I'd heard from a few people on my rounds that had overheard me talking to the radio. "Werewolves and the like?"
"Not everything. I'm going to teach you the basics about who we are, what we do, some etiquette about how to behave around bigger Uratha than you and so forth. So, let's start from the beginning – there are five tribes that you're likely to meet over the next few weeks and months. The 'Bone Shadows', who are shamanistic. They specialise in exploring the world of shadow and particularly in the spirits that live there." I found it quite difficult to keep up with his gabbling manner at this point, although the expansive hand gestures were an aide, so long as he didn't knock me into the road.
"They sound like a barrel of laughs." I smirked as we walked down the road.
"They are fine – you need to remember that with your auspice, which is the phase of the moon you were born to the Uratha under, you are probably going to be seeing a lot of them. We had to fight them off for you, so you clearly have many facets, my lad." He paused, sniffed the air and directed me down an alley in the housing estate, which I followed, unquestioning.
"Don't go talking about this around normal people though – they aren't all in the know about us – those that are in the know don't always react favourably either. I'm sure you've heard of certain horror films about Werewolves, haven't you?" I nodded my understanding.
"Right, you and I are 'Hunters in Darkness'. As our tribe name might suggest, we are hunters, assassins, ninjas, scouts and the like. Sarah has the advantage of being very single minded on this front – both her tribe and her auspice reflect similar goals, so she can focus on them without many other worries. There are 'Blood Talons', who are the traditional ones that you hear about in works of fiction. These guys really are the incarnation of the Big Bad Wolf, who will blow down the three little pigs' houses, eat them alive and still be hungry for more. Then again, they are more than that. They are our best warriors. With their ferocity comes great skill and prowess on the fields of war."
"So in short, don't piss them off?" Our travels started to take us up a country track, where John climbed over the gate and observed, as I climbed one step up and jumped over deftly.
"You've done that before, haven't you?" He started plodding across the field.
"Living on a farm has a few perks, I'm sure. So, what are these other two tribes then?"
"Iron Masters and Storm Lords, Gareth. The Iron Masters spend their days closer to the human herd than most other werewolves, but it is necessary for them to – they try to integrate and keep up appearances, rather than allowing us to be discovered, which would be devastating for us and would almost certainly mean an imbalance in the world. I suppose what they don't know can't hurt them. The Storm Lords are the traditional leaders – they believe that they should lead all werewolves by birthright alone. Skill should have a lot to play in it, but even those that don't really possess much try to lead their packs."
"So we've got dictators and human sympathisers?"
"Both of these expressions are too extreme for most of the tribe members, but it serves as a very loose generalisation. Now, on to the auspices, because the moon affects us like some people believe star signs do."
"So it's got something to do with which month they were born under?" Walking across unfamiliar routes was beginning to cause unnecessary wear and tear on my brain.
"Close, but no cigar, my young friend. As a sweeping generalisation, the more of Luna's light that bathes you when you first change, the more rage your soul will have. You might have noticed that over the past few weeks, or even months, it's been difficult for you to talk to people – they seem a little nervous around you and you are quicker to lose your rag at anything." I considered this and a few scenarios leapt into my mind. I nodded, solemnly.
"Well, you're one of the luckier ones. The more of Luna's light that shines upon you, the more of a window through to your soul is created – and with that, the rage that burns within us all. Such is the way of the warrior." I stopped in my tracks, completely lost.
"I think you just lost me there, John." I scratched my unshaven chin and tried to work out why I had been chosen as a warrior, considering my lack of physical prowess.
"Look, every single werewolf on this planet is here for one reason. We fight to maintain the balance between the light and the shadow. Places can be too good to be true, after all."
I started walking again to catch up with the traveller. "So what have I got to fight? Evil spirits, vampires, other werewolves?"
"Who's to know? You might find that you're closer to the truth than you wanted to be with that little quip. Human imagination is given far too much credit in modern society. The Cahalith have told tales that aid the sceptical minds, especially when dressed up as a cutting edge piece of fiction."
"I don't know what to believe anymore." I shook my head, finally reaching a point of too much information and trying to comprehend it all.
"Well, the first thing to do is believe me. I'm here, I'm being honest with you and I'm helping you." He turned and smiled at me, walking backwards and holding his hands wide apart, as if a personal messiah.
"How do I know I can trust you?" I raised an eyebrow, suspiciously.
"Well, you've done alright so far, haven't you? We've shown you things about yourself that you didn't know when you went to work this morning. We've also shown you that we are capable of this as well. As far as I can tell, you trust me a little, since I'm one of the people who looks like he's going to give you some answers."
"As far as I can tell, it doesn't look like I've got much of a choice!" My voice got louder and I bunched my fists, getting agitated by the goings on.
A smile flashed across the face of John. "Yeah, that's the aggression I was on about. Why not put it to good use?" Slowly, the anger drained away from me and my fists uncurled themselves. Shaking from the adrenaline, I looked him square in the eye and walked up closer to him.
"You realise how scared I am about all of this stuff you're telling me?!"
"Of course I do – we all got scared when the first change happened. Try to think about what I said and if you've got any questions, ask. I'll tell you what I know." He offered his hand to me, which I regarded for some time, before finally shaking.
Our journey restarted and we moved across open countryside, crossing fields, roads and the occasional garden. Over the course of the next few hours, little was said about werewolf society and the few facts that I had garnered were allowed to settle into my mind. Citing that hunting in broad daylight was too dangerous to conduct at this stage, Michael led me across the plains and into the English countryside.
Days rolled by and I started to become more sure of myself and what I had been all along, although this did pose some interesting questions, which Michael did take the time to answer, much to his credit.
"So, did my parents know that I was a werewolf?" John leant up against a tree, picking a clod of dirt from his boot tread and curled his lower lip.
"I doubt that they did, otherwise they'd have probably done something to help you get to know what you are. I've still got stuff to teach you yet, but that can wait a little while – you've had a long day and I don't feel like wasting my breath.
I started to live a double life – on one side of the coin, I was a postman, now based in Rushwick. This little village to the west of the city was just what I was looking for, as it was quiet, with plentiful fields extending away to the north, south and west and the city in the east. The flip side of the coin being that I was a werewolf meant that city life was now something that I shied away from even more, heeding the advice of Michael that cities can be a dangerous place, though once I was part of a pack, I'd soon be more confident about travel in there.
Working the early morning shifts, I either spent late nights out or the most of the day under Michael's tutelage and I soon got to know the local area and a particularly fine spot for hunting larger prey than just rabbits. I learned quite quickly that Badger is an acquired taste and not one that I eagerly indulge in any more.
"I can't believe that you're keeping this place tidy, Gareth." John declared as he put the box of lager cans on the coffee table, slumped on the sofa and started to drain a can.
"Sometimes I can't quite fathom it either. Why do I let messy buggers like you in anyway?" I grabbed a can and sat on the chair across from him, taking a pull from the can.
"Now, we've to take another step in your learning curve. You've been moved away from your former life and now it's time to get you a little more settled in the new one." He belched loudly and sat up, dropping his empty on the table. "I've given you enough time to learn about the tribes and even meet a few of them. Now it's time to learn about how we're all governed by Mother Luna and how she brought forth the wolf in us." I sat there, putting my can down on the floor, as a clear head was certainly required to take on important information.
"Each phase of the moon has an auspice and generally, most werewolves act according to this mind-set. Starting with the new moon, we have the Irakka. The werewolves born under this auspice are ones that use the shadows to their greatest benefit – scouts and assassins are among their number. Don't be fooled though, as that's not their only job. Irakka can use their abilities to make sure that the werewolves in their pack do what they should be doing, both by their tribe and by their auspice." John pulled up his sleeve and showed off a nasty bite mark on his upper bicep and shoulder. "This was from one Irakka when I refused to take a bone-headed Rahu across the gauntlet." I sat there wide eyed at the size of the marks that had been torn through John's shoulder.
"We are children of the crescent moon. Both you and I are Ithaeur, the spiritual werewolves. Our path lies along that of the gauntlet and the balance between the two worlds. We lead the rites and commune with the spirits of the world, using the insight gained to help us every way possible. Strength does not just come from the claws and the bite – we have other means to win the fights that we engage in." I smiled at this, knowing that Mother Luna had blessed me well to this end.
"There are those of us who stand half in both the darkness and the light from Mother Luna. The Elodoth have a keen insight into the balance of the world. If there is a dispute between pack members, the first port of call is that of the Elodoth, as their skills lie within mediation and seeing both sides of the story. They are highly skilled at bartering and all sorts of negotiation, so you would do well not to try and argue with them."
"I thought that this was the case for all of the Uratha I met." I smirked at John, over my can.
"Yes, but while a Rahu in a bad mood might reach over to you and land a strong blow across your chin, the scars you receive from losing a heated debate to an Elodoth are probably the hardest to bear. They see a lot, more even than we do. But they have their uses, as they work well with the spirits also." I nodded at this, remembering the times I had spent with John in the Hisil over the past few months, hunting down and then talking to certain spirits. If what he said was true, I really could have used the help of an Elodoth.
"When the gibbous moon rides the sky, Mother Luna turns her attention to the Cahalith. Story tellers, bards and musicians all claim membership among this number. Don't be quick to judge though, as they are emotional characters, generally speaking. Watch out if you're about to insult them, as they can be prone to violent mood swings."
"Sounds like most of the women I've ever met then. I stood up and picked up a few empty cans, not wanting any dregs of lager to soak into the carpet.
"Only much worse. I've not met the same women you have, but I get the feeling that these women couldn't try to beat you to death with a washing machine, for example." I stopped halfway to a can and stared at John, dumbfounded. "Yeah, an old acquaintance of mine hit a younger Uratha, when he asked him if he knew how to use one, since he didn't smell like he did."
"Finally, we come to the Rahu. Your typical fierce beast of a man, who probably made his living doing something incredibly physical, before the first change. Short on temper, but when it comes to a fight, they can be the most reserved, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike at their opponents. If you ever fight with other werewolves and you suspect a Rahu is among them, you would do well not to show all of your tricks too soon."
"So, if these are all of the people on my side, what about the ones who aren't" I threw some empty cans into the bin in the kitchen and John followed me. Clapping a friendly arm around my shoulder, he declared "If we sat here talking about them, I'd be dead before we'd even gotten half way. Face it, there aren't many people on your side, but you'll soon be ready to have a pack of your own. These friends of yours will be your best connection to what we fight for and also your greatest allies during this fight. Now you may find other like-minded folk, but there will be none that you can trust more than your own pack. Do you understand?" I nodded, solemnly.
"Good. I'll be out of town for a few days. I've had a call from my pack and once we've dealt with our business, I can teach you some more." He slipped on his baseball cap and strode out of the house. Once he had left, his words started to sink in and, for the first time in my life, I felt truly alone.
A few months passed and John Jackson's visits to my pad in Rushwick became more infrequent. He was pleased to see that I'd managed to set up my own little niche in the village and that I was settling in to a routine. Then, one morning, I heard a car pull up outside and signal it's horn. Checking at the window, I recognised John sitting behind the wheel. I locked up and headed over to the car.
"I've got one last thing to do, Gareth. We're going to Worcester, to meet your new pack." I duly got in and sat quietly, as he drove us there. It was strange, but I couldn't help but wonder if this was the last time that I would see John Jackson, the man who had given up over 10 months of his life to acclimatise me into the land of werewolves and the strange new life that I had been chosen for. Sub consciously, I slipped my hand inside my jacket pocket and clutched the case containing my brother's posthumous medal from the Kosovo conflict.
We pulled up outside a pub on the main drag, called The Red Dragon. As I got out of the car, John leaded across to me and said "Hey, if you need to speak to me, you've still got my number and if that fails, speak to someone on the other side of the gauntlet – they'll be able to find me!"
"Thanks John, I guess I'll speak to you in a few days then." He laughed dryly, as I shook his hand warmly and then turned my back, walking into the tavern.
"It's time to go and face up to who I am." I declared to myself, opening the door and stepping into The Red Dragon.