CONTENT WARNING: The usual references to violence and death.
Áine
This never-ending winter only grows more and more harsh and gloomy. At the start of the winter, I think the snowfall is beautiful. This late into the winter, it's a nuisance.
Lately, I find the dreams that used to haunt me returning, at varying levels of clarity.
Sometimes it's that woman, all the way back to when I was a child. Sometimes it's a faceless woman. Sometimes, it could be absolutely anyone. In all of my stress, my mind was playing tricks on me once again.
I would dream of watching them burn at the stake, their features burned away to charred, wrinkled flesh- and I would dream of silhouetted figures walking towards me soon after, torches burning against the stars. Almost every time, I'd jolt awake when their hands finally grabbed me- and tonight is no different.
It takes me a few seconds to realise that those hands don't belong to the shadows- they belong to my partner, Reynold, holding me tight, and leaning in next to me.
"You're safe, Áine," he says, in a quiet, half-asleep tone. The sound of his voice eases me a little, though I can't seem to shake the feeling entirely that I'm not still there. Usually, in his arms, I drift straight off, but I don't feel like going back to bed.
"Do you need me to-"
"You need your rest," I say to him. "Go back to sleep."
As soon as he'd gotten back from the monastery yesterday, Reynold headed straight to bed. He really should look at getting some assistance there, but he seems to think he can do everything. Within mere seconds, he's asleep again. I love him dearly, but I don't love his snoring quite as much. It's like sharing a bed with a dragon.
The candle is still burning away. I sit and watch it for a while, reminding myself of the comforting kind of fire. The wind is howling outside, and the snow hasn't let up since last night. I've come to realise that part of me is sick of the sight of this place. Perhaps, when the others leave for Lunvik, I can go somewhere, do something, see someone- anyone. Away from here.
"You should come back to bed," Reynold mutters, but before I can consider trying to sleep again, Róisín enters, clambering onto the bed with a sulky expression. I go and make myself something to eat.
The slight anger that rises inside of me feels wrong, but I can't dislodge it, and I can't quite work out what I'm angry about. Is it because his father is trying to fix things? Is it because I despise his father? Or do I despise that his father is at least trying to solve what he did wrong instead of running away like my father did? On top of it all, it feels as if everyone else has found their calling. Reynold is a priest, my little brother Eli is a woodworker, Katlego a herbalist, and I didn't even want to think about Oskar's endless achievements.
Whatever it is that's getting me down, I don't want Reynold to have to deal with it whilst it's at its height. He keeps his away from me on the full moon; it's only fair I do the same and not make this his problem.
Reynold
Ever since I've returned, Áine seems completely off. I've tried asking her what's going on, but she just tells me it's nothing. It isn't like us to not talk about these sorts of things, but she refuses. Given that a lack of communication is something she criticised me for in the past, I'd appreciate her being more open, but I suppose I just have to be patient with her and hope she opens up for the time being.
Róisín is coming to Lunvik with Alistair and I. She seemed excited about it all week, but now she doesn't seem particularly bothered. I thought it'd be good for her to explore a new place, learn more about her blood and such. It'd also give Áine some time to relax, unless she wants to come with us.
"Is there something wrong, Róisín?"
She kicks her feet and looks down at the carpet. "I'm worried about meeting Alistair. I know you've talked about him before, but he doesn't sound very nice."
I don't want Róisín's perception of him to be marred by what's happened between myself, him, and Clem. I want her to make her own mind up about him. He's been looking forward to meeting her, and I trust him to make a good impression with her.
"All parents have disagreements with their children, and the other way around," I say to her. "Sometimes you aren't happy with me or your mother, or sometimes we tell you we're not happy with something you said or did. It happens to everyone, Róisín.
Besides, we're going to have fun, right? It'll be a whole new place to look around, you get to sleep in a nice warm cabin in the snow, and you'll be able to feel the moon's energy all around you."
"I guess so. But I'm still just a child. I'm not going to turn into a wolf until I'm much much older!"
"There's more to us than wolves," I reply, chuckling. "You'll like it there. There's a pretty lake, and it's clean enough to swim in if you want to. And moonwater will cheer you right up. I promise."
Hopefully she'll be a little more cheery once she gets there. Alistair hired out some horses, since I think if I had to ask Elias to borrow his again, he'd throw me into the River Glimmer.
Once I get downstairs, there's a waft of breakfast from the kitchen. Alistair awkwardly greets Róisín, who doesn't seem frightfully pleased to meet him.
"I finally get to meet my little granddaughter." Whilst I know Alistair means it sincerely, it probably doesn't sound as such to my daughter. "Aren't you precious? You must be-"
"Róisín," she interrupts. "You must be Alistair, my grandfather. But I already have a grandfather, Oskar. So if you're my grandfather, and he's my grandfather...So are you two married?"
I have to stifle a laugh. Alistair's stunned expression only makes it funnier.
"Oh, no, we aren't married," he replies, through awkward laughter. "But, I know him. We're friends. I met him over forty years ago..."
Alistair sits her down on the sofa and manages to chat to her a bit about her preferred grandfather. Whilst they attempt to bond, I check up on Áine.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with us? We can head out to Lake Lunvik again, or that little pond-"
"No, Reynold. I think I want to stay here by myself, and make the most of the alone time."
"Oh, I see. Is there something wrong?"
She gives me a shy, apologetic look, like a puppy. She doesn't need to act like that just for saying no. I hope she knows that.
"I just want to be alone for some time, Reynold. I need time for myself."
If she needed time to herself, she could have asked me to look after our daughter for a while, or take her to the monastery on occasion. I don't want to get into a place where we aren't communicating what we should be again.
"You can have time to yourself anytime, Áine. You only need to ask. I'm sure Róisín won't mind hanging around with the kids whilst they're reading books during the Peteran sermons," I reply.
"I know, but-"
"If something is ever wrong, I need you to tell me, Áine," I say to her. "Otherwise we're going to get into arguments, and I don't want that. If you ever need a break from being in the house, you just need to say the word, okay?"
"But it's selfish," she spits. "What kind of a mother would want to be alone?"
"It's not a bad thing to want time to yourself sometimes, okay?"
I want Róisín to get to know the rest of her family better, and to explore a little more. Oskar and Eli take her out sometimes. I haven't heard from Clem at all since Alistair came back. Thing is, I don't want my daughter to think we're ignoring her if we try and get her out too often...Sometimes I wish I had the right answers. It seems with parenting, every decision you make is wrong somehow.
Either way, there's no use thinking about it right now. I change into something more casual, say my goodbyes to Áine, and the three of us head for Lunvik.
* * *
Alistair
Not even this harsh winter was as cold as my granddaughter's attitude towards me. It was completely unexpected; I thought she'd be excited to meet her biological grandfather. Then again, Reynold tells me she has quite an anxious disposition for such a young child. I need to be patient with her.
These horses were specially selected by the stable to rent for their apparent calmness around potential threats. Most horses hated us, and these were calm all the way here. However, as we enter Lunvik proper, the horses snort to one another and pick up their pace. I try to soothe their panicking. They can sense the crunching of predatorial paws bounding through the thick snow nearby, and so can we. I notice Róisín look around in surprise. She can pick up on something. She's just not sure what yet.
"Are we there yet?"
"Almost, Róisín."
I explain some of the history of the place to little Róisín.
Though some would correctly frown upon his ways in this day in age, Greggorius Lunvik was considered something of a forefather of the Lunvinchenaîne. He and his lupine brethren fled their homeland, and the Lunvinchenaîné made this place their own. She seems more excited about what I tell her about Oskar- that he and his vampire allies back in the day settled in an abandoned town, with Oskar naming it Nebelstadt, in his mother tongue. Greggorius, prideful as he was, named his new home after himself.
Greggorius turned the abandoned town into a safe haven for the moon-shackled. He was known for his vicious tempers and rampages on the full moon, but many simply put up with it, for the sole reason that he kept them safe. Many preferred his wife, Avelina, the only woman who never ended up on the end of his bad moods, and who would fight him in wolf form to snap him out of it.
Greg and his pack would eventually fall in battle, defend this makeshift village with their lives, but they did not die in vain. Lunvik remained a safe haven for us for many, many years after...though the only wolves left here now are our four-legged cousins.
I see the shadows of a charging pack, racing alongside us, peering through the trees- but they won't hurt us or our horses. Wolves are attuned to the Lunvinchenaîné. We look after each other.
Róisín squeals at the wolf puppy who yaps towards us. "Puppy! Father, can we get a puppy? Please? Please please please?"
"You already have a father and a mother who can turn into a wolf," he replies, laughing.
One of the wolves stands out from the rest. It looks on without a hint of curiosity, standing ahead of the rest of the pack. The dark stripe-like marking down either of its sides separates it from the rest of its pack. The entire pack's eyes are entirely on us, but it is not out of fear or aggression- it is out of mutual respect.
* * *
At long last, I arrive at my old home, completely untouched by all but the snow. That's the plus side of Lunvik being so quiet.
"This is pretty," Róisín says, waving goodbye to the horses as I house them in the stable next to the now-frozen vegetable patch.
"So you used to live here, Father?"
"I did," Reynold replies, dryly. "Let's get into the warm, shall we?"
I light a fire as soon as I get inside. Reynold throws his coat on the hook and rests beside the fire, lapsing in and out of sleep. Between his daughter, his partner, and his work, he must be exhausted. It's a wonder how he does it all in spite of his blood. I notice Róisín head straight to the altar to Lunvin.
"Wow, that's a big wolf!" she exclaims. "What are all these things on it?"
I'm hoping this trip might be a good way for me to get to know her properly. Hopefully, I can get past her anxieties. She seems curious, at least.
"That is an altar to the goddess of the Lunvinchenaîne."
"Luh-vin- no, lun-von...Luh...I give up. What does it mean?"
"We're also known as mooncasters. That's what most others call us. Your mother gains her magic power from within her, and from the veil of magic all around us. Us, we get most of our magic power from the moon."
"But I thought the Watcher was meant to be the god of the world," she replies.
"Different groups and cultures have different gods, Róisín. It all depends on who you ask."
"So this is Lunvin? Lunvin is just a normal wolf?"
"Not just any old wolf," I reply. "Again, it depends on who's telling the story. Lunvin can take many different forms. Sometimes she is the moon itself. Sometimes she is a wolf covered in eyes, sometimes something else entirely."
"That's so cool! A wolf that lives on the moon!"
I'm glad she's calmed down, and that she seems to take a genuine interest in her history. "That's so much cooler than the Watcher! Don't tell Father, but I think the Watcher is kind of boring compared to Lunvin."
"I heard that," Reynold mumbles, laughing.
Róisín
I like this cosy cabin, and this big wolf statue! Maybe being here will be fun, after all. I look all around the room. There's lots of little decorations with wolves on; Alistair says some of them could be thousands of years old! Have werewolves been around for that long?
By his desk, Alistair has a massive framed drawing of a scary werewolf.
"Did you make this?"
"I did, yes," Alistair says. "I drew this after the war, the one your other grandfather was also in. I also drew these whilst I was in Henford."
He puts up four pieces of paper on the walls, all with different drawings of werewolves on. Some of it was written in a strange language, some in Simlish, and some in the mooncaster's language- the letters look like phases of the moon. One has different kinds of werewolves on. There are some werewolves which are actual wolves, and some who are just kind of like hairy people. I wonder what kinds of different werewolves I'll see here?
"So...when I grow up, I'm going to be like this on a full moon? A big, scary, hairly, ugly wolf?"
"Yes. Usually between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two, you'll have your first transformation."
Amazing!
"I can't wait! It must be so fun to be a wolf!"
"It could be the most exhilarating experience of your life," Alistair says. "Then again, you likely won't ever remember being a werewolf. It'll feel like waking up after a bad sleep when you're human again."
Why do I have to be a little child? Why can't I be an adult now and do adult things like turn into a big wolf? I would sit on the highest hill and howl to the moon all night long.
"So, Róisín, have you ever tried to cast a spell?"
"Well, I sometimes get sparks of magic when I'm really happy. But I try to stop them now. When I was little, I accidentally broke a lot of things with magic. I can't really control it, but I can kind of do it."
"When you're a bit older, it'll be easier to control. For now, you have to start small- it's hard to learn how to do it on purpose," he tells me. "You have to really, really want to do it. The most important part of any magic is your intent."
I should ask him something, now that Father is sleeping. His snoring is so loud it hurts my ears.
"Do you and Father get along, Alistair?"
He lets out a big long sigh.
"Róisín, do you and your parents ever argue?"
"Sometimes, if I do something bad. Or when me and Father don't avoid each other on the full moon, sometimes we get angry at each other."
Alistair nods. "That's all it was. We used to argue, too, and sometimes I said and did some things that weren't very nice. Your father doesn't know as much as he should about mooncasters, and that's mostly my fault. So I'm going to teach him, so he can teach you."
"You should have been nicer to him, Alistair."
"I should have, Róisín," he replies. "I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better."
"Okay," I say to him. "I believe you."
* * *
Alistair tells me some stories when I'm in bed. I'm a bit scared. He tells me that if I count wolves in my head, I will then fall asleep, and that they will run to me in my dreams and protect me from anything that might hurt me. He tells me a story about a man who helps a wolf, and the wolf later protects him from a bear when he's looking for food. He says to me that wolves are very special animals, both to nature and to the mooncasters, and that we must always be good to them. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll see some wolves whilst I'm here. Maybe even a werewolf, I'm very very lucky.
Reynold
Róisín is asleep now. It's good to see she's starting to bond with Alistair, and that he's trying to be patient with her. Whilst I've been resting beside the fire, I've been reflecting on myself a little. It's necessary work, but certainly isn't enjoyable.
"I ought to admit to you that I've been hypocritical, Father. I was so angry at you for keeping me in the dark, and yet I did exactly the same thing to my partner. I kept her in the dark about the wolf for far too long before I actually told her about it, and what I did to Clem."
Alistair sighs to himself. "Many years ago, the people thought a scholar to be mad when he suggested the moon reflects the Sun's light, but you remember the old stories I used to tell you, don't you? Lunvin would be nothing without the Sun, and the other way around. Men and women would be lost without each other, and yet I did nothing for Clementia. The way you two eventually came back together as brother and sister...I just hope she's as willing to let us be father and daughter again."
"I doubt it," I reply. "The likehood is that you'll just have to accept that she doesn't want or need you now, I'm afraid. I don't want to say that, but if she doesn't want to reconcile, that's up to her."
"Fair enough, I suppose."
Attempting to make conversation with my own father is proving more difficult than I imagined it would be.
"I'm not sure how I managed it, but I actually held off the transformation for a few months."
Alistair gasps. "Held it off? How on Earth did you manage that?"
"I don't know," I reply. In reality, the only thing that got me through was priestly endurance.
"Reynold...Every single day, you are filled with Lunvin's ire, whether you notice it or not. The turning on the full moon is an important and necessary catharsis. You have to process anger, Reynold, not hide from it or bury it."
"I suppose so. I haven't done that for years, though. So much is going on that I can't hold back anymore."
"Well, that's good. If the only people dying to your wolf form are the witchfinders, well, I see no reason to be concerned. Do your people know of your power?"
I don't answer that one. Only Susana knows I have magic, though Elias seems suspicious of me- has done for years. Someday, they will probably know the truth about me. Again, the question arises of whether or not they deserve to know- but what good is the monastery if it gets invaded by witchfinders as a result? It's supposed to be a place of relative safety.
"So, Reynold, how much do you know your blood?"
Not as much as I should. I managed to find one battered old book in the Peteran library, and bits here and there in various books on the supernatural- but as to how much of it was true or accurate, I have no idea. The book was so old that half of the text had faded. It devastates me to think how much occult history has been lost to both time and strife alike.
"I can perform a healing spell and scry on moonwater, and that's it."
"I see," Alistair replies. "What about a lunar shield?"
Lunar shield?
"No? Communication with wolves?"
"Nothing like that, no."
"Well, no time for sitting down- the moon's out, so let's not waste time, hm?"
* * *
The winter chill is biting at my cheeks. Alistair kneels in the snow, and glowing orbs of moonlight fill his palms.
"Lunvin is speaking to you, Reynold- listen to Her."
Lunvin is normally easy to block out when I need to, but in Lunvik, there's little escape from the moon's pull. Her voice is equal parts invigorating encouragement and ire-filled whispers I can't quite make out. I force myself to clear my mind of anything else, and look into the moon until its light is almost blinding. Alistair seems to be more in-tune with Lunvin's light; I can see it in the expression across his face, flushed with aimless anger.
"You're hesitating, Reynold. Listen to her."
Soon enough, the orb of moonlight forms in my palm, flickering.
"Now, I want you think about something you want to protect dearly."
What don't I want to protect dearly? Áine, Róisín, the Peterans, the monastery, my sister- the list goes on. Any wolf would do everything it could to protect its pack- so for us, overprotectiveness is purely instinct. I close my eyes and think back to when the monastery was under potential threat, and the fear and horror on the witches' faces, and the children's tears. The rising fury combines with Lunvin's ire. The two of us are completely in sync with one another, and her light begins to surround me.
This feeling is difficult to describe. To be completely at one with Lunvin is to embrace the human and primal at once. The human urge to look after one another amalgamates with the primal urge to survive, and to strike down anything that dares oppose you in whichever way possible. Lunvin's voice rises to a shriek. Again, whether it's encouraging or cathartic, I'm not entirely sure.
I cast Her spell, speaking in Her tongue, and a glowing sphere materialises around me. The sounds outside become muffled, and I can just about make out the image of my father behind the barrier.
A sense of pride and joy fills my chest. I haven't felt this connected to my magic in a long time. Still, I can't hold it forever, and collapse into the thick snow. I lift myself onto my feet, and notice pink flecks in the snow. Alistair points out that it's my nose bleeding. There's a sudden throbbing in my head, like a migraine.
"Well? Isn't it amazing what lunar magic can do? And we're just scratching the surface. You have so much more to learn about yourself and your cousins, and Lunvik is the perfect place to do so. I think our next task will be to get to know the locals."
"There are no locals."
"Of course there are," he says. "There are wolf packs everywhere, and to learn more about yourself, you'll need to learn more about them."
I don't know entirely what to expect from that. Am I supposed to walk up to an animal minding its own business and tell it about the awful weather we've been having?
"Oh, and Reynold..."
"I'm proud of you."