A Wolf in the Sun Book 1

Centuries have passed since the forces of nature won the war against humanity. Sentient animals now rule a healing world, and as the stain of mankind continues to dwindle, a young wolf called Silversong is determined to rise in the hierarchy of his pack. Strong at manipulating wind and air, all he needs is a way to prove himself to his Chief.

Before he can get the respect he deserves, however, Silversong's aspirations are cut short by the Heretic and his outcast wolves. Against all odds, the Heretic and his band of exiles escape their imprisonment far to the west and wreak havoc on Silversong's pack. The exiles pose a threat unlike any other, and their enigmatic leader won't stop his brutal conquest until all wolfkind submits to him.

Silversong can't let a monstrous wolf like the Heretic roam free. With the wind at his back, he pursues the leader of the exiles into forests of shadow and into ancient places better left forgotten. But the further he strays from home, the more he comes to realize that maybe his enemies aren't so evil after all. Maybe there's a reason for the destruction they seek. and maybe there's a far greater danger lying in wait.

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Excerpt from Secrets of Stone © Copyright 2024 Coltrane Seesequasis

Prologue

A BROKEN CHAIN

 “Keep up, or they’ll catch you!” the grey wolf warned.

Swiftstorm followed the obvious advice. She darted through the malformed pines and jumped over outstretched roots, matching the speed of her partner despite the pain exploding through every paw. The savage laughter behind them stiffened her hackles. The exiles were getting closer.

“I wasn’t exactly planning on stopping,” Swiftstorm huffed, legs numb from sprinting as the stuffy air denied her a comfortable breath. “But thanks for the reminder, Greyhail.”

Greyhail craned his head over his shoulder to smirk at her, eyes like amber sunsets in his broad and scarred face. “Had to make sure your focus was on the appropriate thing,” he grunted, panting away his fatigue. “You always get distracted whenever you’re near me for some reason. Must be my good looks, eh?”

Heat seeped into Swiftstorm’s cheeks, but she forced herself to scowl until he turned around. “Ugh, you’re so hopeless.” She tried to hide a creeping smile.

“Not as hopeless as the situation we’re in,” he snorted.

The remaining stars glimmered defiantly against the thickening clouds, but like the moon before them, their light was smothered without mercy. Raspy voices cheered at the triumphant darkness, and the evergreens groaned and twisted in place, their roots below coming alive.

“Look out!” Swiftstorm yelped.

One of the roots tripped her partner, and he smacked his muzzle on the frozen ground. Before he could get up, tendrils of wood exploded out of the soil and entangled him like snakes coiling an unsuspecting rat. He thrashed and wriggled, but the choking prison never softened its assault. Slowly, the tendrils began to decay, emitting an odour foul enough to sicken even a vulture’s stomach. They dragged him low and ignored his struggle.

Swiftstorm’s nostrils curled. She blocked her nose and forced her mouth to suffer the unclean air instead. Even so, the sickening stench soured her tongue and wrenched her gut. “Greyhail!” She skidded to a standstill beside him.

“Argh!” Greyhail yowled, biting at his confines in between heaves. “Get them off!”

“Quit moving!” She braced herself and tore at the rotting roots, spitting out the sickening chunks of wood before they could slide down her parched gullet.

“Quit moving?! Really?!” Greyhail’s forelegs broke free. “Oh, sure. I’ll just relax while these roots BURY ME ALIVE!”

“Oh, be quiet, you bug-brained buffoon!” Swiftstorm growled, using her quick claws to sever the stubborn tendrils. She grabbed her partner by the scruff and helped him up. “Try not to embarrass yourself like that again. I’m getting tired of saving your sorry backside.”

“Consider my sorry backside eternally grateful.” Greyhail coughed and gave her a thankful nuzzle before stepping away from the writhing mass. “I definitely owe you the fattest prey I can sniff out.”

Swiftstorm nudged him on the cheek. “For all the times I yanked your tail out of trouble, you owe me much more than a single meal.”

The ceaseless barking of their pursuers reminded her of the danger they were in.

Ugh, to think this was supposed to be a simple scouting mission to see what the exiles were up to. Somehow we managed to attract the attention of every faithless mongrel in the Furtherlands instead! Some scouts we are.

Greyhail gave her a funny look before turning toward their destination. “I’ll think of a fitting reward after we’re safe in one of the cozy caves of the Great Chain. Deal?”

“Deal.” Swiftstorm nosed him on the snout.

“Good. Now come!” He bolted in the direction where the summer sun would rise, kicking up clumps of frigid earth.

Several flea-bitten exiles bounded over the prickly undergrowth and snarled, fangs sharp and dripping saliva. Swiftstorm whirled around and hurried after Greyhail, the banished wolves hot on her tail. Eager teeth snapped within a hair of her flesh, but they found themselves chomping on nothing but air. She maneuvered herself gracefully through the remainder of the forest, ducking under groping branches and hopping over slashing roots. Her muscles ached, her chest pounded, her throat burned, but the threat of death or worse forced her to keep going.

A line of mountains stretched high beyond the forest. It was the Great Chain, the sanctuary of the sentinels, her beloved home. The rocky ridge marched jaggedly until it met the distant sea—a lofty barrier separating the noble wolves from the savage outcasts. The memory of taking the sacred oaths to defend the Four Territories against the evils of the Furtherlands hardened her resolve. She was a jailor of the wicked and an enforcer of the Wolven Code! As a sentinel, she should’ve been the one doing the chasing! The Great Chain loomed ahead and beckoned her, promising safety once she arrived under its shadow.

Exiles wouldn’t dare attack the line of mountains! Not even if the Heretic himself commanded it of them. The mere notion of the Heretic, the leader of the exiles, launching a direct assault on the home of the sentinels twisted her insides. He would fail! The Great Chain has stood strong for countless seasons. Its stone is impenetrable even to wolves like the Heretic.

Raspy laughter accompanied the growls of the relentless pursuers and caused a wave of chills to spike her fur. She pricked her ears and drained herself of fear, of worry, of all intruding thoughts. The currents of air created by her movements shifted and stirred, but disobeyed her command. The corruption tainting the Furtherlands was still too powerful. It blocked every attempt to weave even the faintest breeze.

A snowflake landed on her nose and melted. She craned her head skyward as more flakes drifted out of the brewing storm, calmly crowning the peaks of the Great Chain in white. The unnatural snowfall mocked the dawning days of summer. An uneasy pressure squeezed Swiftstorm’s heart. This should’ve been a time for heat and growth, but the unwelcome blizzard now thwarted the delicate balance of the seasons.

Then she noticed it—a grinning face formed by the inky clouds, its deer-like shape stretched and twisted abnormally, its mouth exposing row upon row of sharp teeth. She recoiled and stifled a breath. Hollowed eye sockets stared right at her, and a tangle of antlers sprouted from its skull like warped roots snaking across the tainted sky.

She averted her gaze from the fiendish face. It was the Fallen Titan, the evil spirit responsible for the corruption of the Furtherlands. She was sure of it.

“I smell your fear, sentinel!” blared a ragged voice behind her. “Give up and accept your fate. You’ll never make it to your precious mountains! The Fallen Titan’s power flows through our veins.”

“By the time we’ve finished tearing the flesh from your bones, the Warden herself won’t even recognize your corpse!” another exile taunted. “And we’ll slaughter her afterwards!”

“Motherwolf curse all you wretched scatfurs!” Swiftstorm yapped, her haste fueled by a desperate energy. The squirming pines cleared, and the earth felt warmer under her sore pads.

Almost there… almost there… almost there…

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