The wind howled around him like the call of an ancient, powerful beast. It seemed to bite at Raleigh’s skin with a hunger that threatened to claim him at any second. He opened his eyes as the discomfort increased and saw colour – the swirling green flames and the overcast sky – drain from the world to black oblivion.
I am dead, he thought for a split second, hurled into the abyss of Tartaros to await judgment if indeed there was any. The darkness lingered.
He knew he was in transit but he didn’t think it would be so slow. Panic prickled at the back of his mind, jading his thoughts against his better logic. What if he was stuck here? What if this
was death? Ridiculous thoughts of whether he’d done enough good in his long life to escape this false purgatory eked out from his conscience.
Raleigh’s eyes had been swivelling around blindly in the nothingness all the while, not even seeing his own body. It was there, he validated by flexing his hands and shuffling on his four legs. He pinched his arm and felt a sting of pain. If this was the end, why was he still corporeal? This hope was his lantern in the darkness.
There! Out of the corner of his eye, Raleigh saw. A patch of colour, though dull by normal standards, beamed through the pitch black and spread like wildfire across the blank canvas. Another patch, then another, and another. It was like God had taken up his old paintbrush and started anew. The patches grew and merged and finally put together the jigsaw scene.
Raleigh stood in a rocky cavern, limestone by his reckoning, arched high and wide. Glowing orbs on the floor revealed there was or had been a sentient presence here and they were versed to some degree in magic.
Lichen coated the walls in large yellow splodges, indicating rich oxygenation. There was an exit then.
The air was indeed fresh, and cold and moist. The cavern was fluvioglacial he predicted, sculpted by meltwater seeping into the bedrock and eroding the alkaline sediment. They were somewhere glacial or postglacial, alpine or tundral.
He could smell damp, fur and a bestial musk. Wolf.
Raleigh focused in on his immediate surroundings. Atticus was ahead of him and gave him a curt reassuring nod. He reciprocated.
The voice from the darkness made Raleigh bristle. It was not human. A grey stooping lifeform came into the orb light. His nose was never wrong.
Raleigh knew the glinting amber eyes. He relaxed as the werewolf morphed into human form, wind- and age-burnt face contoured magnificently in the orange luminescence and a rare white beard that put Atticus’ to shame. Typical that he’d be in that bowler hat. Mr. Hoyle.
His smile gave Raleigh’s heart warmth against the Alaskan frost. It was hard to imagine the man could ever die despite his advanced age, the youthful twinkle in his eye ever present. Raleigh smiled back, proud he was there.
Raleigh stepped after Atticus’ lead and hearkened to his caution. Werewolves could be unpredictable creatures. Perhaps it was best to shift back to human form.
He transformed again and felt the cold on his genitals. Wait – what? He’d forgotten his untimely and incompletely warded metamorphosis had shredded his clothes. Dr. Kinnon wasn’t the only butt of this joke. Cursing under his breath, Raleigh relievedly found his satchel was still intact and tottered to the side. He opened it to reveal a toiletries bag, now remembering Dr. Kinnon had all but stripped it bare.
For fuck’s sake, he swore.
“Sorry, but does anyone have any spare clothes I could borrow?” Raleigh stood facing the group.