Lone Werewolf Duology (bxb)

8. The Crones

Volya's two sisters flanked him as they set off to see the Crones. He was a pro in separating his dreams from reality by now, but this simply was too weird to be real.

Believe it, the mist-wolf said.

Volya scowled at him mentally. If you are such a know-it-all, it wouldn't have killed you to give me a hint.

Where's the fun in that? came the predictable reply.

Volya sighed and marched on. At least he knew enough to guess where they were heading. The Crones waited inside the ritual circle of the standing stones and trees, the place where the bonfires lit the night to celebrate the summer solstices. If the Buyan Isle was the Walkwe's place of power, this circle was the beating heart of their magic.

However, the island stretched on and on. When Volya had camped here last year with Liam, it was smaller... despite remaining unchanged. He tried to wrap his head around this contradiction and quickly gave up. It wasn't any more weird than the island being basically a bend in the river for the Others. The humans that is. Oh, Lord in Heaven, he was so hopelessly confused!

"How is she my sister?" Volya whispered to Nadezhda, slanting his eyes at Kramola.

She didn't even blink. "Because our mother gave birth to Kramola first. Then it was us. Shall I draw you a genealogical chart?"

"Duh," he said. That's what Nadezhda should have told him instead of her painstaking explanation. His teachers in Montana wore out the 'there are no stupid questions' adage threadbare, but they were wrong. There absolutely were patently stupid questions.

He sighed. "I'm so confused."

"You better clear your head before long. In case you didn't notice, brother, you're in mortal peril."

Getting a grip was an excellent idea. Only Volya kept glancing at Kramola and wondering why he was in her way. Couldn't she just frigging tolerate him like Nadezhda did? Obviously, not everyone had to like him; he just wasn't as loveable as say, Liam, but to get the confirmation that his own sister was hell-bent on wiping him out of existence... this was a bit much.

While Volya sweated under his collar and walked, women appeared from all sides, stepping from behind the trees or maybe the blades of grass or out of thin air. This popping into view wasn't a skill Volya had seen in his visions, but if technology progressed from a chariot to an SUV, so could magic.

All he knew was that every time he twisted his head, their escort grew larger until they marched through the greenery in a long column, four or five abreast. By the time they had stepped into the circle, there were at least a thousand women and girls present. Kramola's friends, the Huntresses, made up a good portion of the gathering, maybe a quarter or even a third.

Of the Crones, there were ten. The number made sense given the size of the community. It even made sense that they weren't all ancient, rather they looked as tough as the standing stones of their circle.

What didn't compute was that one of them could only be his—

"Mother!"

Volya coughed to cover up his dramatic exclamation. A chill ran down his spine when he imagined someone correcting him. Then the sniggers due a delusional fool who saw his dead-beat mother in every woman.

But no... Even if the mother he had conjured in his imagination took on features of Baba Masha and statuesque proportions, and this woman looked nothing like that, he was not mistaken.

He searched for visual clues to confirm his guess—and immediately found them. The suspect was shorter than Kramola and taller than Nadezhda, with the same color eyes as his sisters. All four of them shared the same cast to their features, similar beyond just being of the same ancient bloodline.