Werewolf - The Forsaken - Tribes Of The Moon.pdf - Werewolf - The Forsaken - FatumTech

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By Aaron Dembski-Bowden, Matthew McFarland,

Travis Stout and Stewart Wilson

The Funeral

of Eli Marks

The wind is biting cold, and there’s nothing around to break it. The wind bites like it

wants to hurt someone, and more than one of the people assembled on the hilltop wish

they’d brought coats. They don’t show their cold, though. They’re strong. They’ve each

seen more pain and bloodshed than most soldiers, most cops, most doctors — because

these people are werewolves.

But more than one of them cries anyway. The grave is fresh. The headstone is simple

granite, hand-carved by one of the werewolves with fresh tears on his cheeks. The Ura-

tha look at the stone, and inally one of them steps forward.

He looks old. His face is worn with sun, his arms are scarred with many battles and

his walk is slightly bent. A stranger might peg him as 70 or 75. He is in fact nearly 100,

but he’s lost count. He isn’t crying, because he’s buried too many friends to have tears

left for the deceased. Normally he wouldn’t even speak… but this is Eli.

He looks down at the headstone, and sighs.

Here lies Eli Marks. Died alone, surrounded by his friends.

“Look, that’s what he wanted on the stone.

“Eli’s headstone is miles from anywhere. It’s on top of a hill that no human being ever

climbs, outside a cornield that hasn’t been tilled in decades, in a town where the people

know to stay the hell inside on certain nights. It’s the kind of place that Eli hated, but

he wanted to be buried here. I imagine that’s because he knew it would be quiet, and he

igured that the People would come to visit his grave. He’s right; here we all are.

“Eli’s pack. Makes perfect sense that Eli would be hanging around with you people.

You’re all diferent tribes, and when I met you, that just boiled my blood. But see, where

I’m from, if you Changed you joined the Suthar Anzuth, or you left the area and never

darkened a doorstep again, and that’s just how it was. I didn’t feel like leaving my home-

town, so I became a Blood Talon, and I’ve never regretted it.

“When I met Eli Marks, he was just a kid, barely into his 20s. I was already well into

my 50s, I’d seen my own son grow up, get married and swear that he’d never talk to his

crazy old man again. Eli asked all the wrong questions. He asked me if I had kids, and he

asked me where my pack was. He asked me about my wife, and then when he’d picked

himself up of the ground, he asked me why I’d hit him. And inally I got tired of putting

him of, and so I talked about my son and my wife and my pack, and you know what that

son-of-a-whore said to me?

“Yeah, you do, because he said it to all of you. He said, ‘Good thing you’ve got a tribe

to support you.’

“Damn, but I got sick of hearing that. I never had much use for the Thihirtha Numea

— sorry, but I don’t — and I did not like him throwing it in my face. But you know, there

were days that I got to wondering, where was my tribe when my wife was murdered?

Where was my tribe when my son thought I was crazy for talking to shit that wasn’t

there? Where was Fenris when my packmates fell to their deaths? I know what this

sounds like, but I’m standing over the grave of the Uratha that I —

“I’m sorry. Someone else can…”

The old man steps back. Another werewolf reaches out and puts a hand on his

shoulder, and he linches, but then turns and nods in thanks.

A woman steps forward. She is much younger, but she walks with a cane. The ban-

dages on her legs are fresh, and the wounds there haven’t completely healed. Several of

the werewolves here have ofered to perform a rite to heal those wounds, but she has

refused. She brushes blonde hair, still stained with blood, out of her eyes, and she puts a

hand on her packmate’s gravestone.

“Eli Marks, I never would have thought you’d go out this way. I thought you’d out-

live us all. But then I’ve never been right about you, never once.

“You know the irst time I met him, I thought he was human? Yeah, I know how ri-

diculous that is, but he had that stupid ring on, the one that masked his scent. I actually

hit on him. Stop that, assholes, I didn’t know. He corrected me right away, and I ran.

“We were in DC, outside the relecting pool. I was looking for spirits there, and Eli,

well, he was looking for Uratha. He tracked me down at a cofee shop three miles away,

and found me sitting outside chain-smoking and pounding down green tea or whatever

the hell I was drinking back then. And we got to talking. He pegged me as Farsil Luhal

right away, and he ribbed me about not knowing he was one of the People. And he said

it to me, too, ‘Your tribe would understand, right?’

“And I wanted to say, ‘What? If I fucked a werewolf and gave birth to one of those

god-awful things? Would Sagrim-Ur forgive that?’ But then I thought about it, and I

wondered if he really would. Do you lose points with the Firstborn for thinking about

this shit?

“Anyway, Eli could get away with that kind of thing. He said it with a smile, and you

had to igure that he was asking because he wanted to know the answer. And I had to

think about it, because he asked, and I igured it out — it doesn’t matter if Red Wolf

would forgive me. Red Wolf trusted me not to do stupid shit like that, and I don’t want

to betray that trust.

“I’m sorry. I should be talking about Eli. Fuck. I’m no good at this shit.”

She takes a step away from the gravestone and throws her arms around another

werewolf. She buries her face in his chest and starts to cry, and he strokes her blood-

stained hair. He has much that he wants to say, because Eli Marks was his packmate,

too, but he can’t, not when she needs him. Instead, he nods to a werewolf standing at

the back of the group, and the assemblage turns to face him.

The Uratha is younger than the irst speaker, but he is clearly the most powerful

Uratha here. He has a glimmer of silver to his skin, even though his marks aren’t visible.

His name is Severn, and he leans upon a staf, into which he has bound a spirit of light-

ning. When he speaks, the rumble of thunder speaks behind him.

“Eli Marks shouldn’t have died this way. I know his packmates feel they fought their

best against the Pure, and perhaps so. But for him to die ighting the Imru — and the

Anshega are still the People, no matter what you might think — is a travesty. He should

have died ighting something terrible from the Hisil, something that couldn’t think or

reason. Eli Marks was a creature of reason, and this…

“But there is nothing for it, now. Eli died well, I’m certain of that, and my only

regret in knowing him is that I never discharged my debt to him. When we met, nearly

ten years ago now, I was a cocksure alpha of a pack of my fellow Iminir. I know that

some here would say that things have not changed, but would you say it to my face?

“Eli did. That was his gift. He somehow managed to say exactly the wrong thing in

exactly the right way. When we met, he was trespassing on my pack’s territory, and we

surrounded him. I demanded that he show his belly, and he did, but he said, ‘Winter Wolf

must be quite proud of you, you’re so strong.’ He didn’t sound sarcastic, but why would

he say such a thing except to mock? And so I called down lightning on him, just to teach

him a lesson…

“And the lightning would not come. Perhaps I simply failed to rouse the spirit of my

staf, but I believed then — and I still do now — that Skolis-Ur disapproved of this show

of power. And so I helped Eli Marks to his feet, and I dusted him of, and I told him that

he was welcome in my lands.

“Three days later, our territory came under attack by a being that we could not see,

feel or track. And Eli Marks knew how to beat it, using a Gift that no spirit in my lands

could teach. And I told him then, as we stood on a battleield marked with my blood, his

blood, and the blood of that damnable creature that killed two of my pack, that I would

repay him for his assistance and his lesson.

“I never did. But I thank Amahan Iduth, Urfarah and Skolis-Ur that I was able to bleed

with him that day.”

The thunder builds to a climax. Severn steps back, and heads around him incline out

of respect. But Severn, too, is nodding, his head bowed to the gravestone.

A long moment passes before anyone else speaks. The Uratha who speaks next

moves to the gravestone without anyone seeing him. He looks over the rest of them

with a slight sneer. He is thin, black and young, possibly the youngest present. He wears

a pistol in a hip holster, and although the assembled werewolves can’t see it, the symbol

on the hilt marks him as Meninna, though he himself would not use the First Tongue

name for his tribe.

“You all make Eli sound like a faggot.

“Hey, goddamn it, think how I feel! Eli was my friend, and here I have to listen to you

making him out like he’s some touchy-feely hippie guru pussy! Eli wasn’t no faggot. He

was People, and he was a ighter, and I don’t know what the rest of you saw, but I didn’t

see him take shit from anybody. Not even me. Hell, I shot the fucker, and he didn’t take

shit from me.

“He rolled into Atlanta one night. He’s walking through College Park like he owns the

place, and I’m iguring somebody’s gonna punch his card before too long anyway. But

then I realized he’s one of us, so I better roll on him before someone else does. I told him

he’d better step of, and there’s fucking Eli with his ‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, I’d never

see you coming, huh?’

“And I look around, and I’m standing in the middle of the goddamn street. Nearest

cover is thirty yards away, and I can’t exactly just change forms out in front of God and

everybody.

“No, I didn’t shoot him then. That was later, and that was over something I ain’t

telling you all about. But I punched him in the head, and he punched me right back, and

there we are knocking each other down and he’s not budging and neither am I. And

inally I grab his ass and tell him whose territory he’s in, and he says, ‘Oh, OK then,’ and

asks me if his pack could maybe ind a place to hole up for a while.

“I walked away from that shit bleeding and sore, and you damn well better believe I

never rolled on anybody like that again. All that time I’m walking around Atlanta think-

ing what a badass I am ’cause I’m a Hunter in Darkness, like the name means shit. Thank

you, Eli, and fuck the rest of you.”

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