Fur

i | The Boy Named Zakai

This chapter is from the past! All chapters titled in lowercase roman numerals are from the past, whereas all those titled with regular numbers are from the present.

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Zakai Belfiore arrived to Leila Ardeneux's birthplace in the wild woods of America the night a great flood swept through the forest.

One might say that he was brought by a miracle, that the universe itself washed him up on the banks of the Ardeneuxs' territory, except he and his family arrived five hours before the flood hit.

Leila's grandfather sat in his office, in the grand wooden lodge reserved for the pack's leader, in the gargantuan mahogany-stained wooden chair carved, sanded, and upholstered by the finest craftsmen he knew. A lantern flickered on his desk, and candles on all of the end tables and shelves about the room. Leila sat on the bulky leather couch perpendicular to his desk, her small frame taking up one third of a massive cushion. The rain pounded on the three paneled window behind her, thumping on the glass to be let in. Only a weak amount of daylight was left, and it too failed to break through the rain clouds and the glass.

"When are they coming, Grandpa?" She asked her staunch grandfather as she swung her feet to and fro where they came too short of reaching the floor, happy for the activity and the rhythm.

"Any minute now," he answered, sifting through papers in front of him. Each paper was a profile, an application for pack membership. There were eight of them. Leila had seen none. All she knew of the newcomers were that they were an Italian family from an Italian pack, migrating because the matriarch had a falling out with their former leader which was unable to be solved.

So they sat there waiting, the old man at his firelit desk and the young girl with the rage of the weather at her back. She wasn't scared of the storm, even though it was the worst her short life had ever seen. No... She feared much bigger things, much more harmful things.

She feared the disappointment of her family would be confirmed. She feared that one day her grandfather would give up hope and join the rest in writing her off. She feared who she was, who she wasn't, and what extent of her role was active in determining that.

Most of all, she feared the future.

Living with this, no storm could ever shake her.

She twiddled her thumbs in her lap as she waited. Her grandfather had nothing to say to her because that day she so dreaded was nearing closer. She could feel it. With every moonrise and every moonfall, he had less and less to say to her, less and less to say about her. Less and less reason to look at her, his kin he was drifting further and further away from claiming.

She was with him now, in his office waiting, simply because she had no place elsewhere. She was unable to go with her brothers and father to retrieve the Belfiores at the border, but so long as she bore the name Ardeneux her meeting of them was required if they were to assimilate into the pack properly.

Finally, after a long hour, the waiting was over.

The office door burst open. Leila sprang to her feet, at attention. Her grandfather slowly looked up from the paperwork. In the doorway was his son, her father. His ink black hair was flattened to his head. His saturated clothing dripped rainwater onto the hardwood floors.

He stepped aside to reveal the crowd behind him. His two sons, as much the perfect images of him in appearance as Leila was, moved away as well, making way for their new additions.

A mother and father entered, their son between them. The mother was tired; darkness laid under her eyes and the wrinkles of worry were cut deep into her face even as it relaxed. The father was stern; his expression was hard and taut and his mitt of a hand was clamped tight on his son's thin shoulder.

The son kept his eyes to the ground. He was a skeleton held harshly under his father's hand, his arms limply at his sides. His skin was tan from genetics rather than the sun, and even then there was no color in it, no vibrancy like a living animal should have. He was malnourished, that was evident at a glance, but some thing within Leila's gut, some preternatural instinct, told her that lack of nourishment was not wholly responsible for his submissive demeanor.

Five more Belfiores entered the office after that: an uncle, an aunt, two teenage cousins, and lastly a grandmother. Their presences enveloped those of the parents and their child in order to make room for all of them. Eventually, the son whom Leila's eye was captivated in studying was obscured by the crowd of his adult family and she was forced to look away. Where his eyes wouldn't raise to catch her staring, his family's certainly would.

Over the next few minutes, introductions were made. Her grandfather conducted those of the Ardeneux family. Leila's was last, as was customary with her being the youngest, though a niggling voice in her head said she would've been no matter her age. When he introduced her, her grandfather made no mention that anything was amiss with her despite the fact that everyone in the room knew her scent was off. It had been since birth. It smelled of werewolf, had no trace of human, and yet something was different about it. It was a weaker smell than everyone else's... as though a note were missing. She breathed a silent sigh of relief as the attention moved safely off of her with no further statements, over to the Belfiore side.

As the Belfiore matriarch introduced each of her family, they bowed as it came to be their turn. Leila caught none of their names. Their names, as extravagant and in length as they all were, went through her ear, past her brain, and out the other like dandelion pollen carried on the wind. She caught hold of only one, snatched it from that wind and held it close to her chest, safe from the storm of unkept memories.

Zakai Nicoli Alfeo Belfiore.

The son bowed when his name was called, but still, his eyes did not rise and he did not step away from his father. He was last, too. The youngest.

The adults continued talking. Leila didn't listen. She had no interest in their affairs because they had no interest in her. Instead, she kept watch over the boy named Zakai, over his idleness and his dejection, over his rigidity and his cachexia. Why would he not look up? Why would he never move a muscle unless dictated by another Belfiore, most especially his father?

Most of all, why did she care?

He was another kid, like her, whereas she had spent the majority of her life observing adults. And like her, he seemed different than those he associated with. Granted, they were different in dissimilar ways, but alike enough in principle that Leila's attention was possessed by him.

The meeting ended somewhere near ten o'clock. Leila and her two grown brothers were to show the Belfiores to their respective cabins. She was not given the group of Zakai and his parents to lead, but rather the congenial uncle, the domineering aunt, and their teenage son and daughter.

No one spoke to her on the way to cabin. The storm prevented it, forced them to duck their heads and run through the downpour. For this she was grateful. At the cabin she opened the door, saw them all inside, and mumbled a quick word of "If you need anything, come to the manorhouse," before running back off toward the manor she had just spoken of.

On her way back, with the rain pouring down on her hair and the mud splashing up around her ankles, she felt light on her feet. She remembered the boy's name, the lyricality of it. It rang softly through her head like a spell.

How interesting a name it was.