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Rise of the Wolf Queen. Read Rise of the Wolf online

- The wolves are coming! a young boy rushed down the main street, his face mad with fear. - People! These are wolves!

Panic broke out in the village. Men hastily armed themselves, women and children hid in houses. In the light of the torches, human figures rushing about the village could be seen.

- Ah! Suddenly, a woman screamed. A short thin girl stood in the middle of the main square and pointed towards the forest. Everyone turned back...

A pack of wolves attacked the village. They walked, methodically killing everyone who came across them along the way. The wolves looked somehow unusual: they were much larger than usual, and their fur was of a strange color.

People defended themselves as best they could. But no one survived. However, not a single wolf remained either. The village of Townbridge was a terrible sight that night - all the streets were strewn with human corpses mixed with wolf ...

300 years later...

- Bridget! Bonnie yelled as she hung the harness on a large iron hook. - Bridget!

Bridget appeared at the stable door.

- Well, what do you want? she asked indignantly. - What are you screaming?

“Bridget, I have an idea!” Bonnie blurted out. “When will Miss Lownes be back?”

- I don’t know ... about an hour later, but what? Bridget shrugged.

We can go to the forest! Bonnie screamed. “Bridges, please agree!” I've wanted to do this for so long, and Miss Lownes won't let you, you know! She may never leave again, and there is no one here at all ... Well, Bridges!

“Well, I don’t mind at all,” Bridget said hesitantly, straightening a strand of copper-red hair. But who will look after the horses?

- Helen! Bonnie was ready to answer. She will agree! I'll run and persuade her, and you saddle the horses! I Lightning!

"Okay," Bridget nodded. Bonnie took off.

Both girls have been training at the Launs Women's Equestrian School since the beginning of the summer. Ms. Lownes was the director of this school and at the same time a coach. They had, or rather, had another coach - Liza, but she was sick at that moment. Indeed, the moment for the long-awaited horseback ride through the forest was wonderful. Miss Lownes went to town on business, several other girls went with her, and only three girls remained at the stable: Bridget, Bonnie and Miss Lownes's favorite, Helen.

Bridget had already saddled two horses when a beaming Bonnie returned.

- Order! she screamed. “Nerdy Helen agreed to look after the horses!” True, at first she also wanted to go with us - can you imagine? - but I reminded her that Miss Lownes had instructed her to keep order and she agreed. You know...

“Let's go,” Bridget interrupted the chatter of her friend, tying the straps of her helmet. Bonnie got on her horse, put on a helmet and they rode to the forest...

Launs Women's Equestrian School, 2:25 pm the same day.

Emma Lownes stopped her car, got out of it and headed towards the gate, over which hung a sign: "Launs Women's Equestrian School." She opened the gate, then got back into the car, drove inside, parked the car, got out, closed the gate. She did all this mechanically, thinking about how the day had passed in the stable, where three girls remained without her - Bridget, Bonnie and Helen. “Helen is a smart and skillful girl, she looked after everything well,” Emma reassured herself, walking towards the stable. Suddenly, Helen ran out to meet her in a terrible state: her hair was disheveled, her sweater was torn, horror was written on her face.

- Helen! What's happened? Emma asked her anxiously. The girl clung to her, trembling and sobbing, and raised her face, wet with tears, at Emma.

- Miss Lowes! There was a monster in the stable... it killed two horses!

Pushing the girl away from her, Emma rushed to the stable. The doors of one of the stalls were open. The woman peered into it and recoiled, her hands covering her mouth in horror. Two horses lay in a pool of their own blood...

Launs Women's Equestrian School. 20:30 the same day.

"Introductory case, says Connor Doyle. We came to the Lownes Women's Equestrian School at the request of the local police, concerned about the strange circumstances of the death of two horses. The only witness, Helen Bennet, a student at this school, claims to have seen some strange creature at the crime scene. End of recording," Connor flipped the recorder button and put it in his pocket. Lindsay walked over to him.

Have you seen dead horses yet? she asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Connor shook his head.

"Let's go," she shivered shiveringly. “The sight is not very pleasant.

They crossed the swarming courtyard and entered the stables. Connor walked towards the stalls, while Lindsay remained on the threshold. A few seconds later, a slightly pale Doyle approached her.

“Yeah, not too nice,” he said, touching the knot of his tie as if he wanted to loosen it. - Where is Anton?

- I'm here, - Anton approached them. - I examined the wounds on the throat of each horse. I can’t say anything definite yet, but it looks like they were inflicted by the claws of some animal. This creature has three claws on each paw... and they are very sharp.

"Understood," Doyle nodded. “Lindsay, find the headmaster of this school, Ms. Lownes. We need to talk to her.

Lindsay nodded and left the stable. Connor stood motionless for a second, then walked over to one of the people walking around the horse corpses.

– Yes... There are no deviations in the environment. All indicators are normal, - said Peter, showing the scoreboard of his device.

He went to the corner of the stall and stood there.

– What is it here? Connor asked as he followed him. Peter shrugged, and suddenly leaned forward sharply. When he straightened up, there was something red in his hands. Connor looked up. It was a tuft of wool.

- Miss Lowes? Lindsay walked up to a tall, thin young woman with pleasant features and blond hair scattered over her shoulders, dressed in a beige suit.

“Yes, it's me,” the woman nodded and held out her hand to Lindsay. — Emma Lowes.

Her handshake was quite firm. Lindsay looked at her sympathetically.

I understand that it's hard for you right now...

“My horses…” Emma Lownes said sadly. – I treat all my horses like children... It's so terrible.

“I understand,” Lindsay nodded. When I was nine years old, my cat was hit by a car. It was terrible! To this day, just thinking about it makes me sad.

Emma looked at her gratefully.

- I'm glad you understood me... Who, who could kill them so cruelly? Who did they hurt?

“We're trying to figure it out. I'd like to ask you a couple of questions, Lindsay said.

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Curtis Jobling

Rise of the Wolf

All rights reserved. No part of the electronic version of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, including posting on the Internet and corporate networks, for private and public use, without the written permission of the copyright owner.

Autumn, Cold Coast

parting word

Drew knew the predator was somewhere nearby.

He glanced around the barley field, across which spotted shadows ran and the ears swayed in time with the thunderclouds passing over them. Behind Drew, his father, along with his twin brother, continued to load the cart, lifting sacks of grain brought on heavily bent backs on top of the attached boards. The cart was already harnessed to a gray draft-shire, reaching out with its lips to the blades of grass growing under the hitching post. Drew stood on the roof of an old, rickety shed that contained tools and other belongings, rummaging through the golden meadow in search of some important, unknown sign.

“Get off the roof and help your brother,” his father called. We need to load the cart before it starts to rain.

“Either you come down, or I myself will climb up and throw you off,” the father warned, glancing at his son briefly.

Drew scanned the field once more with narrowed eyes, and then reluctantly jumped down to the muddy, rain-soaked farm yard.

"You're willing to think of anything to get away from hard work," his father muttered as he hefted another sack onto Trent's back.

With an effort, Drew lifted a rough canvas sack, placing it on the back of Trent, who had descended from the cart, while their father went to the barn to fill the bags with the remaining grain, which was to be transported to the market in the nearby town of Tuckborough.

Tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired and blue-eyed, Trent was an exact copy his father, Mac Ferran. Drew, on the other hand, was the exact opposite, short and thin, with a mop of thick brown hair that fell over his face with delicate features inherited from his mother. Although the twin brothers were sixteen years old and already on the verge of maturity, it was clear to anyone at a glance which of them "ate more porridge in childhood." At the same time, despite the outward dissimilarity, Drew and Trent were as close as brothers can be.

"Ignore him," Trent said, heaving his sack onto the cart. “He just wants to leave as soon as possible so he can get to the market.”

Trent dumped the bag he had brought onto the cart, while Drew dragged the next one to the cart. Trent had always trusted Drew implicitly when the two of them left the house - if his brother said something was wrong, nine times out of ten it was.

"And what's wrong with it, what do you think?" Trent asked.

Before answering, Drew took another look at the field that surrounded the Ferran farm.

- I can not say exactly. Wild cat? Or dogs? Or maybe a wolf? he suggested.

“Dark and so close to the farm?” You're crazy, Drew. wild dogs- maybe, but for a wolf?

Drew knew he wasn't crazy. Trent was certainly a strong, healthy, born rider, but knew too little about the wild. Drew, unlike his brother, turned out to be a born tracker and had the gift to subtly feel and understand this very nature and its inhabitants. When Drew first went to the fields with his father as a boy, he learned how to herd sheep with surprising ease. Drew understood animals perfectly, knew how to get along with them and find mutual language. He always unmistakably recognized the close presence of any animal, from the smallest field mouse to the huge - fortunately rare in these parts - bear, learning about it from the reaction of other animals or the barely noticeable traces left by them.

But today he had a strange feeling. Drew felt that there was someone nearby, and this someone was watching him on the sly, but it was impossible to understand who it was. Drew knew it might sound strange, but he could smell the predatory scent in the air. Drew's ability to feel the danger more than once provided invaluable assistance to his family, helping to save livestock from the threat. And today, despite the fact that the day turned out to be windy, Drew smelled a subtle smell of a stranger. This predator was large, he was hiding somewhere nearby, and Drew could not find a place for himself because he could not only track down this stranger, but even understand what kind of animal it was.

“Do you think it’s the one from yesterday, the beast?” Trent asked.

That's exactly what Drew envisioned. IN last days sheep behaved unusually during the night grazing.

They were not like themselves, and Drew himself was overcome by some vague, but bad forebodings. Usually the sheep willingly obeyed his commands, but in recent days they became more and more unruly. True, it was the full moon, and on such days not only animals behave strangely - Drew himself also experienced some kind of vague anxiety and anxiety. He had an unpleasant sensation, as if some predator was stalking him in his own yard.

At the end of the night's grazing yesterday, Drew had corralled most of the sheep, and then began to collect the rest that had gone farther from home. Finally, only one last ram remained, climbing to the very edge of a sheer cliff that hung high above the coast. The Ferran farm was located on a rocky promontory jutting out from the Cold Coast into the White Sea. Drew found a ram on the edge of a cliff - the animal was shaking with fear.

The ram trembled, beat the ground with its hooves, threw back its head with eyes bulging in horror. Drew raised his hands, which should have calmed the animal, but this time the effect was just the opposite. The ram shook his head, greedily swallowing open mouth salty air, and backed away. He took a step, then another, pebbles rustling down, and then, looking wildly at Drew, the ram fell down and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

Drew ran to where the animal stood, gripped the rocky edge of the cliff with his fingers white with exertion, and leaned over to look down. From a height of forty meters, he saw a ram - motionless, crashed to death on sharp coastal stones.

Drew got to his feet and looked around to make sure he was alone. IN moonlight the guy did not see anyone, but at the same time he had the feeling that the animal that had frightened the ram to death was still somewhere nearby. Drew rushed headlong into the house, not stopping for a second, and caught his breath only after he slammed the front door shut behind him. And now, on this rainy morning, Drew was experiencing the same nocturnal anxiety. Tonight you will have to stay as close to home as possible with the sheep and keep an eye on them.

– Drew! - called the father, pointing to the remaining sacks piled at the open barn gate. - Come on, pull them up. I want to get to Tuckborough before dark, boy.

Drew trudged lazily toward the barn, but catching his father's glare, he quickened his pace.

Drew's mother, Tilly, came out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Be gentle with him, Mac,” she said to her husband as she approached, and straightened a strand that had fallen on his forehead, soaked with sweat. - He probably has not yet departed from yesterday.

He looked at Drew, who was dragging the last two sacks to the cart, and shouted:

- If you tear the bags, I'll deduct from your salary, buddy!

Tilly bit her lip. Maternal instinct told her to rush to the boy's defense, but it was hardly reasonable. Mac's mood is already disgusting, and if she stands up for Drew, it will deteriorate even more.

Drew stopped, slung one of the bags over his shoulder, and looked back at his parents on the porch. His father shook his finger at him, and his mother shook her head sadly. Then she abruptly said a few words to her husband and, annoyed, disappeared into the house. Her father looked after her, shook his head in puzzlement, and followed his wife. Drew trudged to the cart.

- Did you fight again? Trent asked, stacking the last bags and tying them securely to the cart with thick rope.

Drew nodded, knowing that his parents had a fight. They constantly fought over him. Drew had long suspected that his father and mother were hiding something, but he could not understand what it was.

Undoubtedly, big changes were brewing in the life of the family - after all, Trent would leave very soon. native home to join the army. Not without scandals, but Trent still got his way - permission to become a military man, which he had dreamed of since childhood. Father with early years taught his sons how to use weapons, passing on to them his own experience acquired in ancient times. Under the old king, Mac Ferran had served in the Wolf Guard, and there was scarcely a corner of the continent of Lyssia that he had not visited. But much has changed since then, and if Trent succeeds in fulfilling his dream, he will serve the new king, Leopold the Lion, who is not at all similar in character to his father. After the death of the old king, a lot has changed in this part of Seven-Land - Leopold ruled very harshly, and difficult times have come for many residents of Lyssia.

Their father grumbled that the new Lion Guard had become a pale shadow of themselves and become nothing more than a gang of tax collectors covered in former glory. Be that as it may, Mac Ferran considered it his father's duty to teach his sons to stand up for themselves, so both brothers were good with the sword.

Though Drew might have been a skilled fighter, he had no desire to travel with his brother to Highcliff to join the Lion Guard. His home was a farm, and he did not at all want, like many young people, to "see the world." He knew that his mother really liked his tendency to be a homebody, and she was glad that her boy would always be there. Drew suspected that his father was disappointed in him, but they never had a conversation on this subject. In general, it seemed to Drew that his father had given up on him long ago - if a son deprived of ambition wants to spend his whole life on this farm, then so be it. Besides, McFerran often said that on the farm, one more pair of hands is never superfluous, so Drew will do something. From the lips of Mac Ferrand, such a remark could be considered something of a compliment.

A large gray shire was pulling on the harness, impatiently pounding the ground with its hooves - it was clear that he was eager to set off on his journey. Finally, he threw back his head and even took a couple of powerful steps forward, which shook the cart, causing Trent to roll from the bags down to the back of the wagon.

“Whoa, Amos, stop!” Drew called, slapping the edge of the cart. The horse calmed down and stepped back slightly, nodding its head as if asking for forgiveness.

"He wants to move," Drew said, glancing at the gathering rain clouds. And I must say I don't blame him for that.

Trent jumped off the cart and went into the house. Drew moved next to say goodbye.

The brothers found their parents in the kitchen, where they stood with their arms around each other.

“Well, okay,” said the father. - I think we can go. Trent, grab the basket from the table, it's our lunch.

Trent took the basket and went to front door, behind which a cart was waiting for them with their father. The brothers always accompanied their father to the market in turn. Tuckborough, about ten kilometers from the farm, was the nearest "civilization center" to them—not far at all if riding along the riverside road winding along the edge of the Dyrewood Forest. Another road passed over the bay along the top of the cliff. Of course, on a heavily loaded cart, the journey took much longer than on horseback. In the summer, a trip to Tuckborough with its shops, eateries and other attractions was always a highlight, bringing variety to the monotonous life on the farm. However, with the advent of autumn, this journey became much less pleasant. For some reason, torrential rain with a piercing wind fell on a market day, as if deliberately intended to spoil the mood of a person who hopes to have a mug of ale and, perhaps, even flirt with a pretty girl.

Mother was clearing the bowls left over from breakfast. Drew took a heavy raincoat off the hanger and carried it to his father, who was waiting by the door.

“We'll try to get back before dark, but that's just luck with the road and the weather,” said my father, fastening the brass buttons of his cloak to the chin. - Today, perhaps, try to pasture the sheep closer to home. After yesterday and everything, okay?

Drew nodded in agreement. Mother at this time said goodbye to Trent. A light rain began to fall.

“Try not to lose another sheep.” And look after your mother,” added the father, when Tilly moved a little away.

Then he patted his thigh, checking to see if his hunting knife was still there. Drew handed his father his powerful bow, and then went to get a quiver of arrows lying under the stairs. It must be said that Mac Ferrand seldom resorted to the help of a knife and bow during his trips, especially in last years. This was earlier, when the brothers were still very young, the coastal road was teeming with bandits - that's when bows and blades were considered necessary ammunition for every traveler. But later, local farmers and merchants jointly organized self-defense units that quickly dealt with the robbers. Some were killed on the spot, others were tried and then hanged in Tuckborough, the rest simply fled in search of safer places for their fishing. Now the main danger that could be encountered on the road was a wild boar, a large wild cat or a wolf. But the retired guardsman stuck to his old habit of always carrying a weapon.

McFerran stepped out the door, and Trent followed him out into the light, tedious rain, his scarf tightly wrapped around his neck and his hood pulled down to his eyebrows.

They climbed onto the cart, and Drew ran after them to give his father a forgotten quiver. Amos neighed happily, kicking his feet impatiently. Drew reached out with his open hand to pat the horse's snout, but the horse suddenly recoiled, arched its neck unnaturally, and snored nervously. Amos was clearly uneasy, and Drew wondered if the horse was feeling the same nervous, tense atmosphere as he was.

- But! shouted Mac Ferrand, snapping the reins in his hands.

The old horse moved slowly forward, dragging a heavily laden cart behind him. Drew continued to stand a little apart, watching the spinning big wheels cut ruts in wet clay. The drizzle gradually turned into a downpour, thunder rumbled in the sky, and the cart blurred, disappeared behind a veil of water.

A storm is coming

The hatchet hung in the air for a moment, the light of the lit lamp reflected on its blade. Flashing like lightning, the hatchet fell down and with a dry crack similar to a bolt of thunder broke the log put on the priest in two. Drew hung the hatchet on a hook nailed to the wall of the shed, collected the chopped logs from the floor and, removing the lamp suspended from the ceiling beam, walked back into the house through the cold rain.

After the departure of his father and Trent, the farm became quite dull. The storm did not subside, the glass in the windows rattled, the shutters banged, the rain lashed mercilessly, the wind howled menacingly. The whole yard turned into a huge mud swamp. Through the roar of the wind, Drew could hear the bleating of sheep from the paddock behind the barn where he himself had driven them tonight.

Drew secretly hoped that his misunderstandings with animals were over, and was very puzzled when he discovered that the curse hanging over his head had not disappeared. When he drove the sheep out to graze in the meadow, they still behaved capriciously and unpredictably. It was hard to believe that these were the same sheep that the week before, at the first call, willingly ran to Drew. Seven days ago, they were completely different, but with the appearance of an invisible predator, they became nervous and uncontrollable. At first, Drew tried to flatter the sheep, persuading them to go out to graze for an hour near the house, but, not having achieved his goal, he gradually began to lose control of himself and began to yell at the sheep, which he had never done before. The sheep, in turn, did not want to follow his commands - this also happened to them for the first time. All this time, Drew listened and watched warily, trying to find the slightest clue that could explain what was going on, but in vain. Now he had no doubt that this stranger - whoever he was - should be very much feared.

The day spent alone with his unhappy thoughts did not improve Drew's mood - it was gloomy as ever. The unknown danger that sowed panic among the sheep had its effect on Drew himself - he felt restless, anxious, and even refused dinner, which had never happened to him. Pushing open the door with his elbow, Drew entered the hallway with a handful of firewood, shook off his soaked raincoat from his shoulders, kicked off his shoes and, barefoot, shivering from the cold, hurried into the living room, where his mother was sitting in an armchair in front of the burning fireplace with knitting in her hands. Drew tossed a handful of kindling wood into the fireplace, placed a couple of logs on the dying coals, and then curled up at his mother's feet, palms outstretched to the fire.

- How do you feel, son? asked the mother, lowering the knitting needles and the skein of wool.

She leaned down, ran her hand gently through Drew's damp hair, and then placed her hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. Drew knew he had a high.

“Not bad, Ma,” he lied, fighting back the cramps in his stomach. Drew looked up at the mantelpiece, where an antique brass carriage clock hung under his father's Wolfshead Guardsword - Wolf's Head. It was almost half-past ten in the evening, by which time Father and Trent were usually home by now. Drew thought they were being delayed because of the weather.

Standing up and stretching, he managed a smile, the best thing he could do for his mother.

“Do you want some tea, ma?” Drew asked as he made his way to the kitchen. Hot tea is the only thing his stomach can hold on to right now.

“With pleasure,” his mother said after him. Filling the kettle with water, Drew put it on the big old stove. If his brother clearly followed in the footsteps of his father, then Drew was like his mother in everything, adopting her calm, peaceful disposition and easy character. He had always thought that his mother had lost a lot in her youth, having entered Highcliff as a dishwasher in the court service. If circumstances had turned out differently, with her sharp mind and resourcefulness, she could have become a very educated person.

Leaving the kettle on the fire, Drew returned to the living room and sat cross-legged on the rug by the fireplace.

– Will you have dinner? the mother asked solicitously.

“No, I don’t want to eat at all, Ma. I'm sorry,” he replied, remembering how much time she had spent at the stove preparing dinner. He wanted only one thing - to go to his bedroom and lie down on the bed, leaving his mother to supper alone.

Drew knew the kitchen table was set for everyone, including his father's, Trent's, and his own.

“No need to apologize, dear,” said the mother. “I understand how it is when you feel sick.

She looked at Drew carefully, as if reading his thoughts.

"I hope you don't have any more worries." She patted her son soothingly on the shoulder. “I know you didn't want to lose the ram.

Drew nodded. He was really haunted by that case, but not only by him. Drew had been trying all day to figure out what was causing the argument between his parents, but his mother had a knack for dodging his questions. But even though she never said anything, Drew nevertheless managed to understand something.

The dispute between father and mother did not seem to have broken out because of yesterday's incident. Of course, the father was very annoyed at the loss of the breeding ram, but from the mother's evasive answers it clearly followed that Drew was not guilty of anything, and he believed her. She could, when necessary, remain silent, but she would never lie to her sons. No, the reason for the squabble that broke out between the parents was different. The key to the puzzle was hidden in strange behavior sheep, but that was all Drew could figure out. If a little formerly father dismissed Drew's assumptions, now he himself was surprised to notice that he thought something was wrong.

Drew was snapped out of his reverie by the rapid drumming of raindrops on the glass—it looked like the glass might shatter at any moment. Picking up another log, he threw it into the fireplace with the others.

Tongues of flame shot up high - the fire in the fireplace flared up hot, the firewood crackled, hissed, fired sparks. Drew walked to the large bay window. Through the sound of the rain, he could hear the sheep bleating in the paddock. Shouldn't you go check them out? Through the storm clouds one could see the blurry, full disk of the moon, illuminating the farmyard with its ghostly light.

Suddenly, Drew felt a new, stronger than ever attack of fever. His head was spinning, and in order not to fall, he grabbed the heavy curtain with a trembling hand, squeezed it so that his fingers turned white. Drew's breathing became hoarse, uneven, sweat trickling down his face, filling his eyes. Drew ran a hand over his face, and the sleeve was immediately soaked with sweat, sticking to the skin. What kind of illness happened to him?

Drew looked up at Luna, trying to focus his gaze, trying to clear his head of the pain that had spread all over his body. Drew's skin was covered with goosebumps, his whole body itched as if it was on fire. Nausea set in, stomach clenching, ready to toss out Drew's breakfast that morning. The world began to rotate faster and faster around the axis, the base of which was the dazzling white point of the Moon.

“Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing.

The mother's face became so sad, as if she had aged instantly.

"I know there's something you've never told me, ma," Drew said, and continued when she tried to protest, "Please don't deny it." I saw you talking to your father. You are hiding something from me. I know that it is, and listen to me to the end. I need to say it. I just want you to know that I believe you. Whatever's bothering you or dad, I know you're doing the right thing. And I hope that I can somehow cope with this scourge, whatever it may be.

Drew was surprised to see tears well up in his mother's eyes at his words.

“Ah, Drew,” her mother said in a barely audible voice, smiling and sobbing. “Always so smart, so sensitive. You have no idea what your words mean to me. Please believe me that there are no parents in the world who would love their child as we love you with your father.

Drew leaned back a little and thought with some displeasure that his mother was being so clever at protecting his father.

In response, the mother laughed and hugged Drew.

“I know I didn’t want to, silly, I know I didn’t want to.

She hugged her son even tighter. The storm subsided, the thunder was no longer heard, even the rain had stopped. The whole world fell into silence.

"Don't try to be like Trent," her mother added softly. “There will come a time when my father and I will have much to tell you. But one thing you should know right now... You are not like your brother.

Drew raised his eyebrows in surprise, trying unsuccessfully to figure out what lay behind strange words mother. At that moment, the kettle began to boil in the kitchen, it whistled - at first the sound was quiet and low, but then it rapidly began to gain strength and height. The hairs on the back of Drew's neck stood on end. Mother hasn't finished talking yet.

A large window frame was now lying on the floor, strewn with hundreds of small pieces of glass.

Rough, sharp splinters protruded from the hinges attached to the frame. The bookshelf next to the window now lay on its side, empty and broken. Fallen books scattered across the floor, the wind rustling through their pages. Droplets of rain fell on Drew's face.

Drew helped his mother back into the chair, then walked back to the window, carefully stepping over the slivers and shards of glass. A fallen bookshelf could be put up against a broken window in order to somehow block the gap until morning. I will have to go to the basement for my father's toolbox - when my father and brother return, they will put everything in order together. It would seem that everything is clear, but still something continued to disturb Drew.

He looked around the room, as if searching for an important but elusive piece of a puzzle. The hairs on the back of Drew's neck stood on end, his whole body was trembling as if in a fever. Something was wrong, something was wrong. In the darkness of the gap, he tried to see what could break the window, but nothing was visible. It can be assumed that this was done by a huge branch that broke off from the tree, but where is it? Gust of wind? But could the wind have hit with enough force to blow out the massive window? Drew took another step towards the window. The wind-blown, raging flame in the fireplace suddenly went out, and the room was plunged into semi-darkness, reddish with glowing coals.

And then he appeared - an uninvited guest.

From the gray haze behind the broken window, a clot of darkness separated - a blurry low shadow. Drew stepped back. The shadow began to rise, grow, reaching first to Drew's waist, and then stretching higher and at the same time spreading out in breadth so that it soon covered the entire window opening.

Drew staggered back on his suddenly weak legs and almost fell on his back. The shadow began to float into the room, knocking down the remaining glass and chips along the edges of the window frame.

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Current page: 1 (total book has 22 pages) [accessible reading excerpt: 15 pages]

Curtis Jobling
Rise of the Wolf

Part I
Autumn, Cold Coast

Chapter I
parting word

Drew knew the predator was somewhere nearby.

Stretching his lips to the blades of grass growing under the hitching post. Drew stood on the roof of an old, rickety shed that contained tools and other belongings, rummaging through the golden meadow in search of some important, unknown sign.

“Get off the roof and help your brother,” his father called. We need to load the cart before it starts to rain.

“But, dad, there’s something wrong here,” Drew said.

“Either you come down, or I myself will climb up and throw you off,” the father warned, glancing at his son briefly.

Drew scanned the field once more with narrowed eyes, and then reluctantly jumped down to the muddy, rain-soaked farm yard.

"You're willing to think of anything to get away from hard work," his father muttered as he hefted another sack onto Trent's back.

Tall, broad-shouldered, blond and blue-eyed, Trent was the exact image of his father, Mac Ferran. Drew, on the other hand, was the exact opposite, short and thin, with a mop of thick brown hair that fell over his face with delicate features inherited from his mother. Although the twin brothers were sixteen years old and already on the verge of maturity, it was clear to anyone at a glance which of them "ate more porridge in childhood." At the same time, despite the outward dissimilarity, Drew and Trent were as close as brothers can be.

"Ignore him," Trent said, heaving his sack onto the cart. “He just wants to leave as soon as possible so he can get to the market.”

"And what's wrong with it, what do you think?" Trent asked.

Before answering, Drew took another look at the field that surrounded the Ferran farm.

- I can not say exactly. Wild cat? Or dogs? Or maybe a wolf? he suggested.

“Dark and so close to the farm?” You're crazy, Drew. Wild dogs, maybe, but what about a wolf?

Drew knew he wasn't crazy. Trent was certainly a strong, healthy, born rider, but knew too little about the wild. Drew, unlike his brother, turned out to be a born tracker and had the gift to subtly feel and understand this very nature and its inhabitants. When Drew first went to the fields with his father as a boy, he learned how to herd sheep with surprising ease. Drew perfectly understood animals, knew how to get along with them and find a common language. He always unmistakably recognized the close presence of any animal, from the smallest field mouse to the huge - fortunately rare in these parts - bear, learning about it from the reaction of other animals or the barely noticeable traces left by them.

“Do you think it’s the one from yesterday, the beast?” Trent asked.

That's exactly what Drew envisioned. In recent days, the sheep have been behaving unusually while grazing at night.

The ram trembled, beat the ground with its hooves, threw back its head with eyes bulging in horror. Drew raised his hands, which should have calmed the animal, but this time the effect was just the opposite. The ram shook his head, greedily swallowing the salty air with his open mouth, and stepped back. He took a step, then another, pebbles rustling down, and then, looking wildly at Drew, the ram fell down and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

Drew got to his feet and looked around to make sure he was alone. In the moonlight, the guy did not see anyone, but at the same time, the feeling that the animal that scared the ram to death was still somewhere nearby did not leave him. Drew rushed headlong into the house, not stopping for a second, and caught his breath only after he slammed the front door shut behind him. And now, on this rainy morning, Drew was experiencing the same nocturnal anxiety. Tonight you will have to stay as close to home as possible with the sheep and keep an eye on them.

– Drew! - called the father, pointing to the remaining sacks piled at the open barn gate. - Come on, pull them up. I want to get to Tuckborough before dark, boy.

Drew trudged lazily toward the barn, but catching his father's glare, he quickened his pace.

Drew's mother, Tilly, came out onto the porch, wiping her hands on her apron.

- Didn't leave? Mac asked skeptically. - However, not him, but I will have to fork out for a new ram. If I stay here until dark, all decent ones will be bought by others.

He looked at Drew, who was dragging the last two sacks to the cart, and shouted:

- If you tear the bags, I'll deduct from your salary, buddy!

- Did you fight again? Trent asked, stacking the last bags and tying them securely to the cart with thick rope.

Drew nodded, knowing that his parents had a fight. They constantly fought over him. Drew had long suspected that his father and mother were hiding something, but he could not understand what it was.

Undoubtedly, big changes were brewing in the life of the family - after all, Trent would leave his home very soon to enter the army. Not without scandals, but Trent still got his way - permission to become a military man, which he had dreamed of since childhood. From an early age, the father taught his sons how to use weapons, passing on to them his own experience acquired in ancient times. Under the old king, Mac Ferran had served in the Wolf Guard, and there was scarcely a corner of the continent of Lyssia that he had not visited. But much has changed since then, and if Trent succeeds in fulfilling his dream, he will serve the new king, Leopold the Lion, who is not at all similar in character to his father. After the death of the old king, a lot has changed in this part of Seven-Land - Leopold ruled very harshly, and difficult times have come for many residents of Lyssia.

“Whoa, Amos, stop!” Drew called, slapping the edge of the cart. The horse calmed down and stepped back slightly, nodding its head as if asking for forgiveness.

"He wants to move," Drew said, glancing at the gathering rain clouds. And I must say I don't blame him for that.

Trent jumped off the cart and went into the house. Drew moved next to say goodbye.

The brothers found their parents in the kitchen, where they stood with their arms around each other.

“Well, okay,” said the father. - I think we can go. Trent, grab the basket from the table, it's our lunch.

Trent picked up the basket and went to the front door, where a wagon could be seen waiting for him and his father. The brothers always accompanied their father to the market in turn. Tuckborough, about ten kilometers from the farm, was the nearest "civilization center" to them—not far at all if riding along the riverside road winding along the edge of the Dyrewood Forest. Another road passed over the bay along the top of the cliff. Of course, on a heavily loaded cart, the journey took much longer than on horseback. In the summer, a trip to Tuckborough with its shops, eateries and other attractions was always a highlight, bringing variety to the monotonous life on the farm. However, with the advent of autumn, this journey became much less pleasant. For some reason, torrential rain with a piercing wind fell on a market day, as if deliberately intended to spoil the mood of a person who hopes to have a mug of ale and, perhaps, even flirt with a pretty girl.

Mother was clearing the bowls left over from breakfast. Drew took a heavy raincoat off the hanger and carried it to his father, who was waiting by the door.

Drew nodded in agreement. Mother at this time said goodbye to Trent. A light rain began to fall.

“Try not to lose another sheep.” And look after your mother,” added the father, when Tilly moved a little away.

Then he patted his thigh, checking to see if his hunting knife was still there. Drew handed his father his powerful bow, and then went to get a quiver of arrows lying under the stairs. It must be said that McFerran rarely resorted to the help of a knife and bow during his trips, especially in recent years. This was earlier, when the brothers were still very young, the coastal road was teeming with bandits - that's when bows and blades were considered necessary ammunition for every traveler. But later, local farmers and merchants jointly organized self-defense units that quickly dealt with the robbers. Some were killed on the spot, others were tried and then hanged in Tuckborough, the rest simply fled in search of safer places for their fishing. Now the main danger that could be encountered on the road was a wild boar, a large wild cat or a wolf. But the retired guardsman stuck to his old habit of always carrying a weapon.

McFerran stepped out the door, and Trent followed him out into the light, tedious rain, his scarf tightly wrapped around his neck and his hood pulled down to his eyebrows.

- But! shouted Mac Ferrand, snapping the reins in his hands.

The old horse moved slowly forward, dragging a heavily laden cart behind him. Drew continued to stand a little to the side, watching the spinning big wheels cut ruts in the wet clay. The drizzle gradually turned into a downpour, thunder rumbled in the sky, and the cart blurred, disappeared behind a veil of water.

Chapter 2
A storm is coming

- How do you feel, son? asked the mother, lowering the knitting needles and the skein of wool.

She leaned down, ran her hand gently through Drew's damp hair, and then placed her hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. Drew knew he had a high.

Standing up and stretching, he managed a smile, the best thing he could do for his mother.

“Do you want some tea, ma?” Drew asked as he made his way to the kitchen. Hot tea is the only thing his stomach can hold on to right now.

Leaving the kettle on the fire, Drew returned to the living room and sat cross-legged on the rug by the fireplace.

– Will you have dinner? the mother asked solicitously.

Drew knew the kitchen table was set for everyone, including his father's, Trent's, and his own.

“No need to apologize, dear,” said the mother. “I understand how it is when you feel sick.

She looked at Drew carefully, as if reading his thoughts.

"I hope you don't have any more worries." She patted her son soothingly on the shoulder. “I know you didn't want to lose the ram.

The dispute between father and mother did not seem to have broken out because of yesterday's incident. Of course, the father was very annoyed at the loss of the breeding ram, but from the mother's evasive answers it clearly followed that Drew was not guilty of anything, and he believed her. She could, when necessary, remain silent, but she would never lie to her sons. No, the reason for the squabble that broke out between the parents was different. The clue lay in the strange behavior of the sheep, but that was all Drew could figure out. If a little earlier, the father dismissed Drew's assumptions, now he himself was surprised to notice that he thought that something was wrong.

Focus on the moon!

Drew's body began to calm down, the pain leaving him as quickly as it had come. The skin is cold, the nausea is gone. What was it with him? The rain outside began to subside, becoming light, almost soothing. The sheep fell silent in their pen. Drew loosened his grip on the curtains, brought his hand to his parched throat, and massaged it lightly.

Drew's calmness was somehow unnatural, debilitating.

“Are you all right, Drew?” asked the mother, rising from her chair.

“Not exactly,” he replied. – I feel sick. I think it's because of the sheep. I try not to think about it, but I just can't.

Mother stood beside him, chewed her lip, wiggled her eyebrows, stroked Drew's cheek.

"Ma," Drew asked, taking a deep breath. “Something is wrong with me. What exactly?

“Nothing, my dear. Absolutely nothing.

The mother's face became so sad, as if she had aged instantly.

Drew was surprised to see tears well up in his mother's eyes at his words.

Drew leaned back a little and thought with some displeasure that his mother was being so clever at protecting his father.

In response, the mother laughed and hugged Drew.

“I know I didn’t want to, silly, I know I didn’t want to.

She hugged her son even tighter. The storm subsided, the thunder was no longer heard, even the rain had stopped. The whole world fell into silence.

Drew raised his eyebrows in surprise, trying unsuccessfully to understand what lay behind his mother's strange words. At that moment, the kettle began to boil in the kitchen, it whistled - at first the sound was quiet and low, but then it rapidly began to gain strength and height. The hairs on the back of Drew's neck stood on end. Mother hasn't finished talking yet.

- You another.

Drew wanted to know as much as he could, but as soon as he opened his mouth, the small glass panels from which the bay window was assembled suddenly turned into a hail of flying fragments, and the window frame cracked and collapsed into the room.

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