The Lycan Hunter (The Gardinian World Series) (2 page)

More than eight thousand years later, the war continues. To Narn
’
s
constant dismay, the Lycans are winning.

MY FATHER WILL BE DEAD BY SUNSET.

The thought should make the scene before him more ominous, but
the waters of Blue Ridge Lake remained calm, unlike the energy boiling
in Kyran
’
s veins. He stared out over the lush grounds of their Blue Ridge
Mountain compound, taking in those gathered to bid a final farewell
to his father, Arik, an aged, grey-haired version of himself. Ronan, his
younger brother, stood on Arik's other side. Among the pack members
who had gathered for the ritual was their mother, Erma. Her face was
void of emotion, as though she was aware of the toll the ritual of
Ardethen would take on her sons.

During the
Ardethen
, the ritual killing of an aging leader, the elder
leader would call on the god Ulryk, the God of Kings and Queens, to
preside
. Whoever killed him would be bestowed the powers to command
those under him. At the moment, Kyran wasn
’
t sure whether he or his
brother would be leading the pack in their father
’
s absence. He was
the oldest, but his brother beat him in strength.

Ronan’s fighting skills weren’t necessarily superior. Lycans were
created
by
Narn
, the
Goddess
of the Wild, to be
guardians
of the wilderness.
Thus all Lycans were born, not made through bite, scratch, or science gone wrong. The longer they resisted the initial call of the Full Moon
past their thirteenth birthday, the stronger they were. Kyran had
experienced the moon
’
s pull on his seventeenth birthday, Ronan on
his twentieth.

Added to Ronan’s inherited strength was the supreme training
earned under the revered guidance of Mikko Wayne, leader and founder
of The Order of the Rockys.

The Order–also called The Rockys–was an unconventional group
of Lycans. The members weren’t confined solely to Talas, the Lycan
wolf form. At least one Lycan from every species owed their allegiance
first and foremost to Mikko Wayne and all other Rockys, despite their
difference in forms. ‘Once a Rocky always a Rocky’ was their motto.

The allegiance to the Rockys had become a core component of
Ronan’s design. Despite having no desire to lead, Kyran knew that if
called to do so Ronan would become the Mikko, or chief, that the Blue
Ridge needed.

The pack stood in silence, waiting for their soon-to-be deceased
Mikko to speak. When Arik stepped forward, the pack fell to its knees.

“Today I will invoke the ritual of Ardethen. I seek to claim my
place in Gardas and find the peace that has eluded me on Earth. As
required, I must select from the fittest of those beneath me to rule in my
absence.” Arik looked at both of his sons. “I sought the guidance of the
gods and have
followed their
ever-wise advice in naming my successor.”

Arik turned to face Ronan, and Kyran nodded, knowing that it was
wise to choose the strongest to rule the pack full of über-dominant males
that made up the Blue Ridge pack.

“Ronan, you are of stout body and sound mind, and choosing you to
succeed me would be an honor.” Arik kissed his son softly on the
cheek. “The gods, however, sought a different path but acknowledged
you as a formidable opponent to the throne.”

Kyran stared at his father as if he was still trying to process what
happened. Ronan, however, smiled at his father and returned the kiss.
Arik wrapped Ronan in a fierce hug before he turned and stood before
Kyran.

“
Ah, Kyran, my oldest,
” Arik said, flashing a smile. “You have long
had desires I wondered if you would grow out of. At first mention of
trying to end the Forever War, I thought it was nothing more than the
folly of a child. You are a male past the age of youthful irrationality,
and I see that you are steadfast in changing the lives of all Lycan kind
.
For that, I am proud to call you my successor. May you never forget to
honor place upon you by the god Othion, who has blessed you with his ultimate gift of Amund.”

Kyran's head jerked at the mention of Amund, a god
’
s way of
providing divine protection. As the Doctrine of Liflasir–the Gardinian
holy book–dictated, it was Othion who gave rise to the first starry night
and subsequently the first dawn. Kyran nodded to his father that he
would do all that was required to praise the god for the abundance
of his gift.

Arik gave him a rough hug before he stepped back and smiled.
“It is you who the gods have chosen, and they have chosen wisely. I
pray you seek solace in those wiser than you. When the road to the
salvation of Lycan kind becomes wrought with tribulations, remember
you hold the grace of one of the most high.” He faced the pack and
went to his knees. “I Arik, Mikko of the Blue Ridge pack, call forth
Ulryk, God of Kings and Queens, to see me through my Ardethen. I
call you Ulryk to bless my chosen, Kyran, with the power that was
once mine to command. May you see fit to bless him as he embarks
to lead the pack following my trek into the realm of Gardas.”

Silence spanned a few minutes before Ulryk, a savagely masculine
god, stepped forward. He held a blade forged by Jordis, the goddess
of weaponry, crafted from minerals found only in Gardas. Ulryk held
the blade forward, letting it catch the light from the setting sun. As
typical of god-blades, it held an indefinable array of colors and was
devastatingly sharp.

Arik gripped
the b
lade
’
s hilt, made of the same material but molded
into an ornate design of crowns.

“
Mikko Arik, your successor is noted, and I find him to be acceptable.
He will inherit the wealth that is my blessing to give all those who lead.”
Ulryk said in his characteristic rumbling baritone. “Kyran, step forward
, and claim the sword that your Mikko offers to you.”

Kyran did as he was told, his chest tightening at the implications that holding the god-forged weapon rendered.

“As a symbol of authority, I bid you rest, Mikko Arik. Find peace
in the undeniable hold of Gardas.” Ulryk nodded to Kyran. “Fulfill your
duty, and claim your title.”

Kyran gave his father a final nod before he plunged the blade into
his father
’
s heart. There was a flash of color – brilliant blue shining the
brightest – before Kyran pulled the blade free. He let it clatter to the ground as he knelt, catching his father before he fell.

Ronan and their mother joined him, their sadness evident despite
the necessity of Arik
’
s death. Kyran heard the muffled cries behind him, t
he pack marking the passing of their long ruling chief.

The
soul-searing
magic coursed through his veins, telling him that
he was officially the Mikko of the Blue Ridge pack. Now all he had to
do was tap the part of him that was only his– as the leader– to command
,
and he could bend the will of those under him to his. Bend not break,
because the gods understood the need for free will and maintained it.
In the face of such power, disregarding the command of the Mikko was
something only the strongest of alphas could manage.

Kyran faced his pack while Ronan and his mother placed Arik’s
body on a stone platform used for the Passing, a funeral-like ceremony.
They prepped his body while Kyran gave his first address to the pack.

“I am both honored and saddened in this moment as I stand before
you. I am blessed to be your Mikko, and I endeavor to lead you as
successfully as my father did.”

He turned to face the platform where his father lay nude under a silk sheet that held the messages of the love and remembrance of his
deeds woven into the fabric. The wound in his chest had been stitched
shut and the blood cleaned away.

“As is my duty as Mikko and eldest son, I will call forth Lelah and
ask that she welcome my father into her arms and usher him into the folds of Gardas.”

Ronan carried a small fire pit with jeweled inlays to the center of
the raised dais where the platform rested. He lit it and dropped a few
pieces of sandalwood into the flames before stepping aside.

Kyran went to his father and knelt at the side of the platform.
“
Today we gather, the faithful and true, to bid farewell as required by
Ardethen. Travel safely to the arms of the beloved Goddess Lelah. Take
your place in the arms of our people. May their presence bring you
solace and healing. Farewell, until we see you in the peaceful embrace
of Gardas.”

The Goddess of Life and Death appeared at his father’s feet and gave Kyran a slight bow.

“Kyran, son of Arik and honored Erma, I will take your dead and
usher the Mikko into the arms of his people. He will rest in Gardas as t
he faithful and true deserve,” she said.

She reached out and touched Arik, and Kyran bit back the miser
y that swelled in his chest. The pack – who had no reason to mute their cries of despair – cried openly.

Before his eyes, the man that had spent his life leading his people,
being a force larger than his frame, crumbled to ash.

Ronan and Erma removed the draped silk and hung it against the
front side of the platform before they gathered Arik’s ashes in a golden
urn. They placed the urn in the gentle blaze and stepped aside when the flames leapt up to greet its newest occupant.

Each pack member rose in solemn silence, removed their red sashes
of mourning, and added them to the blaze. Each addition was marked
by the leaping flames and the sorrowed crackling, as if even the fire
understood its destructive purpose in the moment.

Lelah stepped forward and extinguished the fire with the barest
wave of her hand. “Mourn no more, Talas of the Blue Ridge pack. You
have welcomed the era of a new Mikko, and the former is safely in
my care. May you find peace and strength in the coming days.”

She bowed deeply to the pack and vanished.

Kyran turned to face the pack, telling them to prepare to feast
the following day. Today they should spend the rest of the day in
remembrance of a mighty male.

***

Kyran reread the request from the Mikko of the nearby Oconee
pack. Apparently, his desire to end the war was reason enough for
the Mikko to approach him with his distasteful offer.

Lycans didn’t take leadership lightly. If his request was any
indication, the Oconee Mikko wasn’t a real leader. Any Mikko who
would approach another with the intention of dumping responsibility
on them generally ended up dead with their entire pack seized.

Kyran tossed aside the request and studied Ronan’s plan of attack.
The Oconee Mikko would soon learn that despite the whispered rumors
doubting his sanity, Kyran was far from weak. He would give the
worthless male a chance to die as honorable leaders do in dominance
challenge
or to be
killed
in a way that was a
reflection
of his s
hortcomings
.

DEEP UNDER THE HUNTER
’
S
central headquarters just north of Atlanta, Georgia, Alexis James sat on the rough pine bench opposite her locker. The combination locker-slash-weapon room wasn’t much
to look at: s
plashes
of gray paint on the walls, eye gouging red lockers
,
and cement floors that were often like pumice stones against her
otherwise smooth feet.

She packed her weapons into a black duffel, which creaked in its
newness, the leather complaining at her refusal to understand its capacity
limits. She
held an awed reverence for her weapons. Each blade, gun, and
her single modified crossbow was weighted and balanced specifically
for her. Alexis ran a gentle finger across the cool metal stirrup of her crossbow the color of headstones and let a smile drift onto her face.

With the exception of one assignment that she fought every day
to forget, Alexis had gone months without a mission. She felt like an
itchy
trigger
finger, but today she had a meeting with the council member
responsible for her assignments.