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Loving mother/
He has come/
To take your son/
Listen/
How he strides the earth/
When only animals are awake/
When the shattering of ideals begin/
God of ruin/
Will come to you/
- Katatonia - "Nephilim"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07LWw9spcaU
Black beneath as the night,
With wings of a morning glow,
From his sooty throat three syllables float,
Ravishing, liquid, low;
And 'tis oh, for the joy of June,
And the bliss that ne'er can flee
From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
Long ago as a child,
From the bough of a blossoming quince,
That melody came to thrill my frame,
And whenever I've caught it since,
The spring-soft blue of the sky
And the spring-bright bloom of the tree
Are a part of the strain—ah, hear it again!—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
And the night is tenderly black,
The morning eagerly bright,
For that old, old spring is blossoming
In the soul and in the sight.
The red-winged blackbird brings
My lost youth back to me,
When I hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail,
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
- The Red-Winged Blackbird by Ethelwyn Wetherald
[NOTE: This story is a sequel to I Didn't Say I Was Powerful, I Said I Was a Wizard. While you don't lose too much in the way of context without reading it first, I'd recommend it. You can read it by clicking this link: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/30150926/]
Iowa City, Iowa / June 3rd / 8:45 P.M.
“I’ve been up down this road a dozen times already,” said the red wolf, trudging uphill, “and I’m no warmer now than when I first started looking. You’d think after two hours, I’d make some progress here. Swear to God, I’ll go crazy first, but I’m not going back until I find the damn thing.”
Frustrated, the red wolf sat down on a nearby gravestone to deliberate. Wilis didn’t think about it in the moment, but this was no ordinary gravestone. The red wolf only remembered its significance the second he leaned back and stared into the opaque and meditative eyes of Oakland Cemetery’s infamous Black Angel statue.
“Oh yeah, I shouldn’t be here, should I? Touching you. Though, it makes me wonder if you’re the one responsible for all my piss-poor luck this evening,” he remarked with a wry smile, “Although, to be fair, it’s been a mixed bag overall these past few days, and I can only blame you for so much of it. It’s not like Quinn knew what to make of you, anyway. Then again…”
Trailing off, the red wolf’s focus dissipated as a familiar refrain echoed in his mind. This mysterious transmission would come and go sporadically throughout his walk around Iowa City, but the same refrain was always repeated:
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
The speaker’s voice was that of a young woman Wilis subconsciously recognized. The red wolf wasn’t entirely sure who she was, but her voice instinctively resonated with him the same way one would regard a long-lost friend after reacquainting years later. He first heard these words reverberating inside his head the moment he woke this morning, but periodically, the signal sending out the message grew stronger the closer he approached a specific area. The young man internally analogized it to adjusting the antennae on an old, analog television set. One such area where this signal was stronger than most anywhere else, the red wolf discovered, was Oakland Cemetery. The other site of note was the adjacent Hickory Hill Park a few miles due east of the University of Iowa campus. Wilis and his newfound friend, an ocelot named Quinn Castillo, spent several hours earlier today searching for the source. However, even with the latter’s impressive, magical prowess, the two were unable to pinpoint the beacon anywhere inside the park or the nearby cemetery. It’s elusive, fluctuating nature kept them occupied retracing their steps numerous times. As discouraging as this lack of progression was for Wilis, the longer he locked eyes with the Black Angel, the more the static seemed to lift from that signal and reveal more behind the strange message.
From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
Long ago as a child…
“What is this supposed to mean? I don’t get—shit!”
Hypnotized by the entrancing rhythm with which these words were spoken, Wilis nearly jumped out his fur as vibrations from his pocket roused him free from this stupor. Upon removing his cell phone, the red wolf promptly saw who sent the disruptive text and swiped the screen.
“Gimme some good news, Quinn. I’m going crazy here, man.”
Wilis sat bewildered as he reread the text. The red wolf wasn’t sure why, but the text he just received from Quinn inexplicably elicited a rush of paranoia.
‘Don’t let me forget,’ it read. ‘There’s one thing you should know before you hit the road. It’ll keep you safe once your bus gets to Charleston. Remind me later tonight if I’m still awake, and we’ll talk about this stuff when you get back to the castle. Either that or bring it up in the morning while you’re getting ready. There’s no rush, so enjoy your walk. See you soon, Wil!’
“It’ll keep me safe,” Wilis whispered. “Keep me safe from what I wonder?”
While Quinn likely meant no harm, Wilis still found it tempting to question this recent tide of good fortune upon his narrow escape from captivity. This persistent yet nebulous sense of mistrust stayed with the red wolf from the moment he awakened inside an unfamiliar room a couple days ago until now. Quinn had clothed and sheltered him, a stranger no less, even after witnessing Wilis’ transformation into a mystifying and terror-inducing creature with great black wings and fiery red coals for eyes. The red wolf wasn’t sure himself what to make of his own supposed shadow side, but it was hardly anything the young man was eager to share. He knew from experience that this horrific form was unpredictable and especially volatile under the right circumstance. What made this metamorphosis more frightening was the overall loss of control that came with it. As the red wolf reclined back, he stared up at the large statue whose wings had given him shade.
‘I don’t know what Quinn saw,’ he pondered, ‘but if I looked like everyone else that night, then why not take me to a hospital? Why carry my unconscious body all the way back to his dorm—that castle? It only makes sense if Quinn saw me before I reverted to normal. Though, in the end, does it matter? Quinn could just be a lot like Haley. Trying to help a stranger for its own sake. God, there’s got to be some way to reach out to her in the meantime. Her and Tyson. I’ve got a lot to explain, and a lot more to apologize for.’
Such thoughts came to mind the first day Wilis spent inside the imposing, chiseled limestone edifice of Blackhurst. Designed in the Scottish Baronial style, Blackhurst, or Tiergarten Castle as the locals called it, abided in isolation from nearby Iowa City. Surrounded by a dense copse of august oak trees, the only accessible path to the property was a single paved road that snaked through acres of conspicuously unincorporated land. Intriguingly enough, the estate was bafflingly barren with only one existing occupant. Wilis saw Blackhurst more like an immaculately arranged haunted house than an actual home kids his age would come to inhabit. Yet if the ocelot were to be believed, Tiegarten Castle would soon house many remarkable youths as they attended school at the University of Iowa. For now, Quinn Castillo was their first arrival for the upcoming fall semester. If they were as atypical as the jungle cat who gave him food, shelter and clothes with no expectation of reimbursement, then they likely came from families with more dollars than sense.
Smirking, he wryly asked the stone angel aloud, “Is it really like Hogwarts then, you think? Blackhurst? If Quinn was only the first of many to come, then everyone else has got to be much like him. You see where I’m going with this? At this point, I’m about ready to believe anything.”
“You’re Quinn’s friend, aren’t you? The one from out of town.”
Blinking with perked ears, the red wolf turned his head and saw that he was in the presence of a stranger. This stranger was a bespectacled river otter no older than Wilis himself at around eighteen. With his boyish, untidy head of strawberry blonde hair and implicit penchant for pink, the otter didn’t cut an intimidating figure. However, there was still an unwavering intensity behind those black horn-rimmed glasses that belied any preconceptions of immaturity. Standing in high-priced, overbright sneakers and speaking with an unaffected Southern accent, this river otter and his apparent contradictions proved intriguing to Wilis Rockwell.
“So, you’ve heard of me,” said the red wolf with an insouciant grin. “You’re absolutely right. That wizard is a friend of mine. I’m Wilis, by the way. Though I can’t say I know you by name. At this point, should I assume you’re a wizard, too, much like Quinn?”
“Brent,” said the stranger coolly. “I’m Brent Morris, and sadly no, I’m not a wizard.”
“Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, Brent Morris. Anything I can help you with?”
“No, not particularly. Quinn had mentioned you over the phone. Who you were and what you looked like for instance. He said you’d be out and about somewhere nearby. Although, I was under the impression you’d be back at Blackhurst by the time I arrived and not at the cemetery of all places.”
“He must be more worried than I thought if he sent you out to come find me.”
The river otter furrowed his brow and said, “Quinn didn’t send me. What makes you think that?”
Before Wilis could reply, the red wolf was rocked by a sudden, unexpected pressure in his left temple. The young man grimaced as he massaged the affected area.
“Ah, damn migraine. Anyway, Brent Morris, Quinn and I spent all morning looking for this one thing out here, but after a few hours, we gave up and went home. The two of us were planning to come back later today, but Quinn got busy with his duties. Honestly though, I’ve done no better on my own. I’m already an hour in, and I’m no closer now than I was this morning.”
With one raised brow, Brent asked bemusedly, “Did you lose your wallet, or maybe your phone? If it was anything like that then you’d have better luck uncovering a needle from a haystack. You’ve got nearly two-hundred acres to scour. Hickory Hill is very large. It’s no wonder the two of you have gotten nowhere. If it’s troubling you that much, why not call the police and see if they’ve received anything like a wallet since this morning? To be frank, that would be a much more productive use of your time.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so coy, my dude,” Wilis countered with a knowing smile. “We both know why you came out here.”
Smirking incredulously, the river otter asked, “Oh? So, tell me then, Wilis, what is it that we both should know?”
The wolf’s smile only grew bigger as he pushed off the pedestal, confidently pocketed both his hands and sauntered toward the river otter with a phrase on his lips. It was one he surmised would elicit the proper reaction:
“O-ke-lee. O-ke-lee. O-ke-lee.”
With wide eyes and a crooked smile, the river otter asked, perceptively fascinated, “Wilis, you have no idea how grateful I am to know we’re both on the same page. If you can hear what I hear, then we’d have more luck unearthing the source of this signal if we work together. Normally, I’d go about this alone, but I’m positive I’d run into you again later tonight if we parted ways here. Besides, in the end, your assistance might prove useful.”
“That settles it then. Now, if you don’t mind me, I’ll lead the way back to Hickory Hill. Whatever is sending out the message is pulling me back, and we’ve only got so much daylight left to burn before the spooks come out.”
“Aren’t we presumptuous?”
“Why yes, as a matter of fact. Presumptuous. Probably useful. Hearing voices in my head. I like to think I check off all sorts of boxes for better or worse,” Wilis let loose a small laugh as he ambled downhill toward the street. “C’mon. Honestly, though, I can’t shake off the feeling somebody is watching us right now. That someone or something in this cemetery is studying the both of us from afar. Almost like watching two lab rats scurry in their cages.”
“Oh, you’re right about that, Wilis. Somebody is watching us. Don’t tell me you forgot the stone-faced friend you made back there with the black wings. It seemed like you two were having a spirited conversation from what I observed.”
The red wolf shrugged and said with a chuckle, “What can I say. I’m a people person. I wanted to see for myself if the Black Angel of Iowa City was as scary as the legends say. To my surprise, that lady back there is what I’d call a patient and attentive listener. Not once did she interrupt. Also, the pictures Quinn showed me didn’t do her many favors. She’s more statuesque in person.”
The trek itself took only around fifteen minutes on foot, but once there, Brent and Wilis set out to locate the source of the mysterious signal. Once a little over an hour passed since, more and more concealing distortion dissipated from the transmission. In turn, this left the message and its meaning clearer but no less cryptic. Even though they had the park relatively to themselves after hours, that sensation which arose from feeling watched didn’t so much subside as intensify with time. Thankfully, the heat and humidity which so often come in June abated with the setting sun. In their absence, the two young men found great progress with this protracted search. Although, it appeared that the closer they were in discerning the truth, the quieter the broadcast became. Nevertheless, given that each heard the same communique with equal clarity, both boys were able to narrow their focus to one specific point near a landmark that Wilis easily recognized.
“You’re joking, right? This bridge?”
The otter shrugged and said, “I don’t know what to tell you. We triangulated its position relative to this bridge, yes. The signal isn’t really moving outside this search area. Regardless, we don’t have much time. At this rate, it’ll disappear within fifteen minutes.”
“Dude, Quinn and I already checked it out, and his magic pointed us outside the park toward the cemetery. Whatever it is, it’s moving. All right? It was only until you came around that I felt it drawing me back here. We’re literally back at square one.”
Frustrated himself, Brent sighed to calm down and said, “Why don’t we repeat those last few lines again once they come back around? The ones we hear before the static breaks. That way we can ensure we’re both on the same page, and work this out from there?”
Standing before the petite foot bridge, the red wolf and river otter articulated what their efforts had since revealed:
“The spring-soft blue of the sky
and the spring-bright bloom of
the tree
are a part of strain—ah,
hear it again!—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!”
“These words—the way they’re structured—they’re part of a stanza. One from a poem. That much we’ve established. However, it’s not one I can recall from memory, and as such, I could only guess its significance. How about you, Wil?”
“Nope. I’ve never had an ear for poetry. It be anything for all I know. Although,” he paused as more thoughts percolated beneath the surface, “I don’t know how you feel, man, but the longer I hear these words—the longer I think about what they mean—the more I really want to understand. The way she speaks, man, it’s like a siren’s song. I’ve got no rational reason to waste so many hours out here in this park, but I’ve got this yearning I can’t put into words. At least, nothing coherent. Even if this beacon—whatever it may be—leads me into a cage with other lab rats, I’d rather wreck this ship of mine then go home with no real answers.”
The river otter furrowed his brow once more then asked, “Wilis, I’ve got to know. Be honest with me. Who are you?”
“What?”
“Exactly who are you? You’re not part of the Vanguard, and I’m all but certain you didn’t attend Perihelion.”
With a small, disarming smile Wilis countered, “You got me there, Brent Morris. I must confess that I’m what you’d call an outgoing type. You see, as a social butterfly, my unfurled wings often take me places full of many exotic faces.”
“For you to know about Quinn’s skills—let alone him letting you lodge at Tiegarten Castle—means there is much more to you than meets the eye. I may have been homeschooled up through high school, but even then, I knew most preeminent espers studying at Perihelion Prep on scholarship. Either you’ve got more rarefied connections then you let on, or Quinn flagrantly broke protocol and opened the doors of Blackhurst to one of his many strange friends he met on the street.”
“Yeah,” the red wolf admitted with uneasy laughter, “I mean, could you imagine anybody being so reckless?”
“Not that I mind if he broke those rules. While I don’t adhere to the belief that blind obedience is of supreme importance, I’d appreciate it if more people in my life were more honest much less evasive. Especially other psychics like you, Wil.”
“Hold up. Other psychics? Brent, I’m no psychic,” said the red wolf with vindicated enthusiasm, “but Christ, that explains everything. Who you are. Why you’re here.”
“Don’t lie to me. There’s no way you’re not an esper. In order to perceive higher frequencies much like the one broadcasting this signal, you’d first need to possess some sort of innate psionic potential. There’s really no other…”
The red wolf shivered in place upon unsteady feet as he suddenly felt overcome with fear and intrigue alike and asked aloud to a white light overhead as voices filled his head with song.
“Mom?”
In that moment, like a bolt from the blue, the voice which once captivated the red wolf and river otter returned from the ether with rejuvenated vigor. Boosting the signal was the presence of a supplemental figure. Speaking simultaneously with the young woman was that of an older gentleman whose mechanical rhythm and stilted cadence stood in stark contrast with the maternal warmth which drew them each out here this day. As the loop progressed, more of this poem revealed itself, and Wilis, haunting enough, joined their chorus with rapt, hypnotic interest.
“And the night is tenderly black,
the morning eagerly bright,
for that old, old spring is
blossoming
in the soul and in the sight.”
Distressed, the river otter stood mesmerized as white light from beyond the treetops seared into them like a searchlight’s harsh glare. Descending from some nebulous locus deep within the branches, a plethora of large black feathers fell around them like ill omens made manifest. As they each drifted downward, the river otter couldn’t help but note the ominous silence that accompanied them. Underneath the white light, Brent heard only the red wolf’s chanting, and very little else. The crickets which heralded the setting sun had since vanished, and in their wake, there was nothing. The appearance of life had all but deserted the surrounding area.
Watching with mounting horror, in hushed tones, he said shuddering, “I know what this. The message and its purpose. It’s a trap.”
“The red-winged blackbird brings
My lost youth back to me,
When I hear in the swale, from a
Gray fence rail,”
“Wilis, listen to me, something’s coming,” Brent pleaded, seizing Wilis by the arm, “We’re both in terrible danger. We need to get out of here!”
“O-ke-lee! O-ke-lee! O-ke-lee!”
Brent gasped and pulled away from Wilis as the wolf’s eyes suddenly became an impenetrable black enclosed by halos of red sclera. Low, savage sounds reverberated from the wolf’s open mouth. In that time, Wilis’ intense, inscrutable stare and guttural growls punctuated the capricious silence with an incalculable dread. This primal fear was only heightened by the harsh white light which cast the wolf’s facial features into jagged, near-unrecognizable constructs.
Frightened, Brent reluctantly took a step toward the red wolf and asked, “Wil, are you all right? Say something! I can’t read your—”
The river otter took one more courageous step, and with it came a single, indescribable realization. The fur on the nape of his neck stood on end as terror rushed over his body as he came to a sudden, unsettling conclusion. He and Wilis were not alone. However, all the breath in Brent’s lungs fled his body in one last panicked gasp as he laid eyes on the interloper.
“Brent Morris, at last we meet. I’m glad to see you both in such good health.”
The man standing before them seemed more like a persuasive mirage than an actual person. Seeing him stand there so gracefully on the petite foot bridge, the river otter thought he could put his whole hand through him like some phantasm if the distance was closed. Like Wilis himself, this stranger was also a wolf, but the coloring of his fur and hair were much darker. The older wolf’s attire was also as glaringly incongruent as his sheer presence. With his navy pinstripe suit, burgundy dress shoes and meticulously combed hair, this wolf seemed more at home surrounded by the milieu of the elite and effete. What made Brent’s fur stand on end, however, was one key facet that didn’t appear to change. It was his smile. The older wolf’s polite and pleasant grin remained frozen in place while he spoke. All the while, his voice—stilted yet cordial—resounded from within Brent’s mind like a separate consciousness inhabiting his own.
“I see you’re afraid,” the older wolf stated with his large, unmoving smile, “but I assure you that your fears are groundless. Neither you nor Wilis will be harmed.”
At first, Brent didn’t speak. Reaching out, he curled a couple fingers as he scowled in fevered contemplation.
“Sneaking around, I see,” he said without speaking, pointing toward his left temple. “That will do you little good, I’m afraid. Ultimately, studying you and your tremendous aptitude proved worthwhile. Both you and Wilis did not disappoint. In the end, your interactions produced valuable insight. We’ve learned much.”
“You’re reading my mind, aren’t you? Using it as a medium,” said the river otter, hesitantly exhaling as he let his hand fall limp by his side. “Who are you?”
“You will remember very little of this night, but if it will sate your curiosity, then hear me. My name is Indrid Cold. Understand that I have come a great distance tonight to collect my progeny.”
The otter stole a single glance at the red wolf and asked, “If that’s true, then why bother with all the theatrics, huh? Tell me what you’ve done to Wilis. The way he’s behaving—it’s like he’s been put into a trance. I can’t pick up on anything mindful anymore. Before, I sensed glimmers of consciousness even if I couldn’t completely read his mind, but now it’s different. Now he’s more animal than anything else. It’s all primal. Is that how you typically treat your family?
“For now, I only ask for your patience. You will soon come to understand, but not this night. Now is the time for rest. You see, home awaits you both. You and Wilis each have a role to play, and there is still so much left for us to study and analyze.”
“Study? I still don’t understand you mean by that. Who are you people, and just what are you after!?”
“As I’ve said, Brent Morris,“ he said as the harsh light swiftly engulfed the bridge, “you shall know in time. For now, seek those you love, and protect them from the oncoming storm. If Tyson still weighs heavily on your heart, then return to him. He and the others will need you soon enough.”
I want to take this time to thank the ever-fabulous
aerokat for all her hard work and effort. She's responsible for the incredible art you see here. She truly surpassed my expectations with this piece, and I can thank her enough for her continued streak of incredible work! If you're at all curious about sponsoring her craft, the link to her Patreon can be found right here:
https://www.patreon.com/poecatcomix/posts
If anything, please check out her gallery! I know you won't be disappointed once you look into it.
art is © aerokat
Wilis Rockwell and Brent Morris are ©
nazcapilot
He has come/
To take your son/
Listen/
How he strides the earth/
When only animals are awake/
When the shattering of ideals begin/
God of ruin/
Will come to you/
- Katatonia - "Nephilim"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=07LWw9spcaU
Black beneath as the night,
With wings of a morning glow,
From his sooty throat three syllables float,
Ravishing, liquid, low;
And 'tis oh, for the joy of June,
And the bliss that ne'er can flee
From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
Long ago as a child,
From the bough of a blossoming quince,
That melody came to thrill my frame,
And whenever I've caught it since,
The spring-soft blue of the sky
And the spring-bright bloom of the tree
Are a part of the strain—ah, hear it again!—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
And the night is tenderly black,
The morning eagerly bright,
For that old, old spring is blossoming
In the soul and in the sight.
The red-winged blackbird brings
My lost youth back to me,
When I hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail,
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
- The Red-Winged Blackbird by Ethelwyn Wetherald
[NOTE: This story is a sequel to I Didn't Say I Was Powerful, I Said I Was a Wizard. While you don't lose too much in the way of context without reading it first, I'd recommend it. You can read it by clicking this link: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/30150926/]
Iowa City, Iowa / June 3rd / 8:45 P.M.
“I’ve been up down this road a dozen times already,” said the red wolf, trudging uphill, “and I’m no warmer now than when I first started looking. You’d think after two hours, I’d make some progress here. Swear to God, I’ll go crazy first, but I’m not going back until I find the damn thing.”
Frustrated, the red wolf sat down on a nearby gravestone to deliberate. Wilis didn’t think about it in the moment, but this was no ordinary gravestone. The red wolf only remembered its significance the second he leaned back and stared into the opaque and meditative eyes of Oakland Cemetery’s infamous Black Angel statue.
“Oh yeah, I shouldn’t be here, should I? Touching you. Though, it makes me wonder if you’re the one responsible for all my piss-poor luck this evening,” he remarked with a wry smile, “Although, to be fair, it’s been a mixed bag overall these past few days, and I can only blame you for so much of it. It’s not like Quinn knew what to make of you, anyway. Then again…”
Trailing off, the red wolf’s focus dissipated as a familiar refrain echoed in his mind. This mysterious transmission would come and go sporadically throughout his walk around Iowa City, but the same refrain was always repeated:
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
The speaker’s voice was that of a young woman Wilis subconsciously recognized. The red wolf wasn’t entirely sure who she was, but her voice instinctively resonated with him the same way one would regard a long-lost friend after reacquainting years later. He first heard these words reverberating inside his head the moment he woke this morning, but periodically, the signal sending out the message grew stronger the closer he approached a specific area. The young man internally analogized it to adjusting the antennae on an old, analog television set. One such area where this signal was stronger than most anywhere else, the red wolf discovered, was Oakland Cemetery. The other site of note was the adjacent Hickory Hill Park a few miles due east of the University of Iowa campus. Wilis and his newfound friend, an ocelot named Quinn Castillo, spent several hours earlier today searching for the source. However, even with the latter’s impressive, magical prowess, the two were unable to pinpoint the beacon anywhere inside the park or the nearby cemetery. It’s elusive, fluctuating nature kept them occupied retracing their steps numerous times. As discouraging as this lack of progression was for Wilis, the longer he locked eyes with the Black Angel, the more the static seemed to lift from that signal and reveal more behind the strange message.
From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!
Long ago as a child…
“What is this supposed to mean? I don’t get—shit!”
Hypnotized by the entrancing rhythm with which these words were spoken, Wilis nearly jumped out his fur as vibrations from his pocket roused him free from this stupor. Upon removing his cell phone, the red wolf promptly saw who sent the disruptive text and swiped the screen.
“Gimme some good news, Quinn. I’m going crazy here, man.”
Wilis sat bewildered as he reread the text. The red wolf wasn’t sure why, but the text he just received from Quinn inexplicably elicited a rush of paranoia.
‘Don’t let me forget,’ it read. ‘There’s one thing you should know before you hit the road. It’ll keep you safe once your bus gets to Charleston. Remind me later tonight if I’m still awake, and we’ll talk about this stuff when you get back to the castle. Either that or bring it up in the morning while you’re getting ready. There’s no rush, so enjoy your walk. See you soon, Wil!’
“It’ll keep me safe,” Wilis whispered. “Keep me safe from what I wonder?”
While Quinn likely meant no harm, Wilis still found it tempting to question this recent tide of good fortune upon his narrow escape from captivity. This persistent yet nebulous sense of mistrust stayed with the red wolf from the moment he awakened inside an unfamiliar room a couple days ago until now. Quinn had clothed and sheltered him, a stranger no less, even after witnessing Wilis’ transformation into a mystifying and terror-inducing creature with great black wings and fiery red coals for eyes. The red wolf wasn’t sure himself what to make of his own supposed shadow side, but it was hardly anything the young man was eager to share. He knew from experience that this horrific form was unpredictable and especially volatile under the right circumstance. What made this metamorphosis more frightening was the overall loss of control that came with it. As the red wolf reclined back, he stared up at the large statue whose wings had given him shade.
‘I don’t know what Quinn saw,’ he pondered, ‘but if I looked like everyone else that night, then why not take me to a hospital? Why carry my unconscious body all the way back to his dorm—that castle? It only makes sense if Quinn saw me before I reverted to normal. Though, in the end, does it matter? Quinn could just be a lot like Haley. Trying to help a stranger for its own sake. God, there’s got to be some way to reach out to her in the meantime. Her and Tyson. I’ve got a lot to explain, and a lot more to apologize for.’
Such thoughts came to mind the first day Wilis spent inside the imposing, chiseled limestone edifice of Blackhurst. Designed in the Scottish Baronial style, Blackhurst, or Tiergarten Castle as the locals called it, abided in isolation from nearby Iowa City. Surrounded by a dense copse of august oak trees, the only accessible path to the property was a single paved road that snaked through acres of conspicuously unincorporated land. Intriguingly enough, the estate was bafflingly barren with only one existing occupant. Wilis saw Blackhurst more like an immaculately arranged haunted house than an actual home kids his age would come to inhabit. Yet if the ocelot were to be believed, Tiegarten Castle would soon house many remarkable youths as they attended school at the University of Iowa. For now, Quinn Castillo was their first arrival for the upcoming fall semester. If they were as atypical as the jungle cat who gave him food, shelter and clothes with no expectation of reimbursement, then they likely came from families with more dollars than sense.
Smirking, he wryly asked the stone angel aloud, “Is it really like Hogwarts then, you think? Blackhurst? If Quinn was only the first of many to come, then everyone else has got to be much like him. You see where I’m going with this? At this point, I’m about ready to believe anything.”
“You’re Quinn’s friend, aren’t you? The one from out of town.”
Blinking with perked ears, the red wolf turned his head and saw that he was in the presence of a stranger. This stranger was a bespectacled river otter no older than Wilis himself at around eighteen. With his boyish, untidy head of strawberry blonde hair and implicit penchant for pink, the otter didn’t cut an intimidating figure. However, there was still an unwavering intensity behind those black horn-rimmed glasses that belied any preconceptions of immaturity. Standing in high-priced, overbright sneakers and speaking with an unaffected Southern accent, this river otter and his apparent contradictions proved intriguing to Wilis Rockwell.
“So, you’ve heard of me,” said the red wolf with an insouciant grin. “You’re absolutely right. That wizard is a friend of mine. I’m Wilis, by the way. Though I can’t say I know you by name. At this point, should I assume you’re a wizard, too, much like Quinn?”
“Brent,” said the stranger coolly. “I’m Brent Morris, and sadly no, I’m not a wizard.”
“Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance, Brent Morris. Anything I can help you with?”
“No, not particularly. Quinn had mentioned you over the phone. Who you were and what you looked like for instance. He said you’d be out and about somewhere nearby. Although, I was under the impression you’d be back at Blackhurst by the time I arrived and not at the cemetery of all places.”
“He must be more worried than I thought if he sent you out to come find me.”
The river otter furrowed his brow and said, “Quinn didn’t send me. What makes you think that?”
Before Wilis could reply, the red wolf was rocked by a sudden, unexpected pressure in his left temple. The young man grimaced as he massaged the affected area.
“Ah, damn migraine. Anyway, Brent Morris, Quinn and I spent all morning looking for this one thing out here, but after a few hours, we gave up and went home. The two of us were planning to come back later today, but Quinn got busy with his duties. Honestly though, I’ve done no better on my own. I’m already an hour in, and I’m no closer now than I was this morning.”
With one raised brow, Brent asked bemusedly, “Did you lose your wallet, or maybe your phone? If it was anything like that then you’d have better luck uncovering a needle from a haystack. You’ve got nearly two-hundred acres to scour. Hickory Hill is very large. It’s no wonder the two of you have gotten nowhere. If it’s troubling you that much, why not call the police and see if they’ve received anything like a wallet since this morning? To be frank, that would be a much more productive use of your time.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so coy, my dude,” Wilis countered with a knowing smile. “We both know why you came out here.”
Smirking incredulously, the river otter asked, “Oh? So, tell me then, Wilis, what is it that we both should know?”
The wolf’s smile only grew bigger as he pushed off the pedestal, confidently pocketed both his hands and sauntered toward the river otter with a phrase on his lips. It was one he surmised would elicit the proper reaction:
“O-ke-lee. O-ke-lee. O-ke-lee.”
With wide eyes and a crooked smile, the river otter asked, perceptively fascinated, “Wilis, you have no idea how grateful I am to know we’re both on the same page. If you can hear what I hear, then we’d have more luck unearthing the source of this signal if we work together. Normally, I’d go about this alone, but I’m positive I’d run into you again later tonight if we parted ways here. Besides, in the end, your assistance might prove useful.”
“That settles it then. Now, if you don’t mind me, I’ll lead the way back to Hickory Hill. Whatever is sending out the message is pulling me back, and we’ve only got so much daylight left to burn before the spooks come out.”
“Aren’t we presumptuous?”
“Why yes, as a matter of fact. Presumptuous. Probably useful. Hearing voices in my head. I like to think I check off all sorts of boxes for better or worse,” Wilis let loose a small laugh as he ambled downhill toward the street. “C’mon. Honestly, though, I can’t shake off the feeling somebody is watching us right now. That someone or something in this cemetery is studying the both of us from afar. Almost like watching two lab rats scurry in their cages.”
“Oh, you’re right about that, Wilis. Somebody is watching us. Don’t tell me you forgot the stone-faced friend you made back there with the black wings. It seemed like you two were having a spirited conversation from what I observed.”
The red wolf shrugged and said with a chuckle, “What can I say. I’m a people person. I wanted to see for myself if the Black Angel of Iowa City was as scary as the legends say. To my surprise, that lady back there is what I’d call a patient and attentive listener. Not once did she interrupt. Also, the pictures Quinn showed me didn’t do her many favors. She’s more statuesque in person.”
The trek itself took only around fifteen minutes on foot, but once there, Brent and Wilis set out to locate the source of the mysterious signal. Once a little over an hour passed since, more and more concealing distortion dissipated from the transmission. In turn, this left the message and its meaning clearer but no less cryptic. Even though they had the park relatively to themselves after hours, that sensation which arose from feeling watched didn’t so much subside as intensify with time. Thankfully, the heat and humidity which so often come in June abated with the setting sun. In their absence, the two young men found great progress with this protracted search. Although, it appeared that the closer they were in discerning the truth, the quieter the broadcast became. Nevertheless, given that each heard the same communique with equal clarity, both boys were able to narrow their focus to one specific point near a landmark that Wilis easily recognized.
“You’re joking, right? This bridge?”
The otter shrugged and said, “I don’t know what to tell you. We triangulated its position relative to this bridge, yes. The signal isn’t really moving outside this search area. Regardless, we don’t have much time. At this rate, it’ll disappear within fifteen minutes.”
“Dude, Quinn and I already checked it out, and his magic pointed us outside the park toward the cemetery. Whatever it is, it’s moving. All right? It was only until you came around that I felt it drawing me back here. We’re literally back at square one.”
Frustrated himself, Brent sighed to calm down and said, “Why don’t we repeat those last few lines again once they come back around? The ones we hear before the static breaks. That way we can ensure we’re both on the same page, and work this out from there?”
Standing before the petite foot bridge, the red wolf and river otter articulated what their efforts had since revealed:
“The spring-soft blue of the sky
and the spring-bright bloom of
the tree
are a part of strain—ah,
hear it again!—
O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!”
“These words—the way they’re structured—they’re part of a stanza. One from a poem. That much we’ve established. However, it’s not one I can recall from memory, and as such, I could only guess its significance. How about you, Wil?”
“Nope. I’ve never had an ear for poetry. It be anything for all I know. Although,” he paused as more thoughts percolated beneath the surface, “I don’t know how you feel, man, but the longer I hear these words—the longer I think about what they mean—the more I really want to understand. The way she speaks, man, it’s like a siren’s song. I’ve got no rational reason to waste so many hours out here in this park, but I’ve got this yearning I can’t put into words. At least, nothing coherent. Even if this beacon—whatever it may be—leads me into a cage with other lab rats, I’d rather wreck this ship of mine then go home with no real answers.”
The river otter furrowed his brow once more then asked, “Wilis, I’ve got to know. Be honest with me. Who are you?”
“What?”
“Exactly who are you? You’re not part of the Vanguard, and I’m all but certain you didn’t attend Perihelion.”
With a small, disarming smile Wilis countered, “You got me there, Brent Morris. I must confess that I’m what you’d call an outgoing type. You see, as a social butterfly, my unfurled wings often take me places full of many exotic faces.”
“For you to know about Quinn’s skills—let alone him letting you lodge at Tiegarten Castle—means there is much more to you than meets the eye. I may have been homeschooled up through high school, but even then, I knew most preeminent espers studying at Perihelion Prep on scholarship. Either you’ve got more rarefied connections then you let on, or Quinn flagrantly broke protocol and opened the doors of Blackhurst to one of his many strange friends he met on the street.”
“Yeah,” the red wolf admitted with uneasy laughter, “I mean, could you imagine anybody being so reckless?”
“Not that I mind if he broke those rules. While I don’t adhere to the belief that blind obedience is of supreme importance, I’d appreciate it if more people in my life were more honest much less evasive. Especially other psychics like you, Wil.”
“Hold up. Other psychics? Brent, I’m no psychic,” said the red wolf with vindicated enthusiasm, “but Christ, that explains everything. Who you are. Why you’re here.”
“Don’t lie to me. There’s no way you’re not an esper. In order to perceive higher frequencies much like the one broadcasting this signal, you’d first need to possess some sort of innate psionic potential. There’s really no other…”
The red wolf shivered in place upon unsteady feet as he suddenly felt overcome with fear and intrigue alike and asked aloud to a white light overhead as voices filled his head with song.
“Mom?”
In that moment, like a bolt from the blue, the voice which once captivated the red wolf and river otter returned from the ether with rejuvenated vigor. Boosting the signal was the presence of a supplemental figure. Speaking simultaneously with the young woman was that of an older gentleman whose mechanical rhythm and stilted cadence stood in stark contrast with the maternal warmth which drew them each out here this day. As the loop progressed, more of this poem revealed itself, and Wilis, haunting enough, joined their chorus with rapt, hypnotic interest.
“And the night is tenderly black,
the morning eagerly bright,
for that old, old spring is
blossoming
in the soul and in the sight.”
Distressed, the river otter stood mesmerized as white light from beyond the treetops seared into them like a searchlight’s harsh glare. Descending from some nebulous locus deep within the branches, a plethora of large black feathers fell around them like ill omens made manifest. As they each drifted downward, the river otter couldn’t help but note the ominous silence that accompanied them. Underneath the white light, Brent heard only the red wolf’s chanting, and very little else. The crickets which heralded the setting sun had since vanished, and in their wake, there was nothing. The appearance of life had all but deserted the surrounding area.
Watching with mounting horror, in hushed tones, he said shuddering, “I know what this. The message and its purpose. It’s a trap.”
“The red-winged blackbird brings
My lost youth back to me,
When I hear in the swale, from a
Gray fence rail,”
“Wilis, listen to me, something’s coming,” Brent pleaded, seizing Wilis by the arm, “We’re both in terrible danger. We need to get out of here!”
“O-ke-lee! O-ke-lee! O-ke-lee!”
Brent gasped and pulled away from Wilis as the wolf’s eyes suddenly became an impenetrable black enclosed by halos of red sclera. Low, savage sounds reverberated from the wolf’s open mouth. In that time, Wilis’ intense, inscrutable stare and guttural growls punctuated the capricious silence with an incalculable dread. This primal fear was only heightened by the harsh white light which cast the wolf’s facial features into jagged, near-unrecognizable constructs.
Frightened, Brent reluctantly took a step toward the red wolf and asked, “Wil, are you all right? Say something! I can’t read your—”
The river otter took one more courageous step, and with it came a single, indescribable realization. The fur on the nape of his neck stood on end as terror rushed over his body as he came to a sudden, unsettling conclusion. He and Wilis were not alone. However, all the breath in Brent’s lungs fled his body in one last panicked gasp as he laid eyes on the interloper.
“Brent Morris, at last we meet. I’m glad to see you both in such good health.”
The man standing before them seemed more like a persuasive mirage than an actual person. Seeing him stand there so gracefully on the petite foot bridge, the river otter thought he could put his whole hand through him like some phantasm if the distance was closed. Like Wilis himself, this stranger was also a wolf, but the coloring of his fur and hair were much darker. The older wolf’s attire was also as glaringly incongruent as his sheer presence. With his navy pinstripe suit, burgundy dress shoes and meticulously combed hair, this wolf seemed more at home surrounded by the milieu of the elite and effete. What made Brent’s fur stand on end, however, was one key facet that didn’t appear to change. It was his smile. The older wolf’s polite and pleasant grin remained frozen in place while he spoke. All the while, his voice—stilted yet cordial—resounded from within Brent’s mind like a separate consciousness inhabiting his own.
“I see you’re afraid,” the older wolf stated with his large, unmoving smile, “but I assure you that your fears are groundless. Neither you nor Wilis will be harmed.”
At first, Brent didn’t speak. Reaching out, he curled a couple fingers as he scowled in fevered contemplation.
“Sneaking around, I see,” he said without speaking, pointing toward his left temple. “That will do you little good, I’m afraid. Ultimately, studying you and your tremendous aptitude proved worthwhile. Both you and Wilis did not disappoint. In the end, your interactions produced valuable insight. We’ve learned much.”
“You’re reading my mind, aren’t you? Using it as a medium,” said the river otter, hesitantly exhaling as he let his hand fall limp by his side. “Who are you?”
“You will remember very little of this night, but if it will sate your curiosity, then hear me. My name is Indrid Cold. Understand that I have come a great distance tonight to collect my progeny.”
The otter stole a single glance at the red wolf and asked, “If that’s true, then why bother with all the theatrics, huh? Tell me what you’ve done to Wilis. The way he’s behaving—it’s like he’s been put into a trance. I can’t pick up on anything mindful anymore. Before, I sensed glimmers of consciousness even if I couldn’t completely read his mind, but now it’s different. Now he’s more animal than anything else. It’s all primal. Is that how you typically treat your family?
“For now, I only ask for your patience. You will soon come to understand, but not this night. Now is the time for rest. You see, home awaits you both. You and Wilis each have a role to play, and there is still so much left for us to study and analyze.”
“Study? I still don’t understand you mean by that. Who are you people, and just what are you after!?”
“As I’ve said, Brent Morris,“ he said as the harsh light swiftly engulfed the bridge, “you shall know in time. For now, seek those you love, and protect them from the oncoming storm. If Tyson still weighs heavily on your heart, then return to him. He and the others will need you soon enough.”
I want to take this time to thank the ever-fabulous
aerokat for all her hard work and effort. She's responsible for the incredible art you see here. She truly surpassed my expectations with this piece, and I can thank her enough for her continued streak of incredible work! If you're at all curious about sponsoring her craft, the link to her Patreon can be found right here:https://www.patreon.com/poecatcomix/posts
If anything, please check out her gallery! I know you won't be disappointed once you look into it.
art is ©
aerokatWilis Rockwell and Brent Morris are ©
nazcapilot
Category Artwork (Digital) / General Furry Art
Species Mammal (Other)
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