Visions of Clover: Blood Wolves, #2

By Rei Rosenquist

The blood wolves kill without remorse. The only defense against them is anticipation and a very specific magic. Sigils that works at just the right time.

 

But today, the unthinkable. The blood wolves come early.

 

Can Clover act fast enough to save an entire town? Can they even save themself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rei Rosenquist
• Release date: Apr 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201465179

Rei Rosenquist

Rei Rosenquist first remembers life as seen out the high window of a hotel balcony. Down below is a courtyard, swarms of brightly dressed tourists, the beach. The memory is nothing but a blue-green washed image. Warmth and sunlight. Here, they are three years old, and this is the beginning of a nomadic story-teller’s life. Over the years, they have traveled to many countries, engaged many peoples, picked up new habits, and learned new languages. But, some things never change. For them, these are stories, food service, and traveling. These three passions have bloomed from hobbies, studies, and jobs into a way of life. These days, Rei can be found in between Tokyo, Kailua, and Bellingham, Washington pouring beautiful latte art, baking off a batch of famous savory scones, and cozying up with a laptop to obsessively write mountains of dark speculative fiction. You can find Rei’s stories and blog at reirosenquist.com. You can also reach them via email at [e-mail] or connect via Facebook (Rei Rosenquist), Twitter (rylrosenquist) and Instagram (rylrosenquist).

Book preview

Chapter 1

I lay lazily in the middle of the large meadow clearing, a quiet sweet spot just outside of Aage, my hometown. Overhead, the fat red sun hangs in the middle of a pale sky. The air is warm and yet refreshingly crisp. The sky is pale lavender-blue smeared with wisps of powdery clouds tinted rosy pink by the dusky sunlight. I take a long sip of water from my rock salt jar and lay my head on a clump of blue and green moss.

I sigh because I know I have to get up.

Dusk is coming. I need get back to town before the blood wolves come. Get in somewhere Sealed and safe. But, I can't help myself. I stare up at the sky, waiting until I spot a handful of emerging stars. In a matter of breaths, the darkening sky is cluttered, almost dirty with pinpricks of bright indigo light. The stars form no particular patterns in the sky, no pretty pictures or interesting shapes memorized by our ancestors. It's just a swath of dusty light peppered across the sky. But, their light is beautiful nonetheless.

There are stories told by some wise old elders about how the stars are a reminder that life is spread far and wide. Vacuum between and infinitely hard to reach, but alive and thriving nonetheless. Our ancestors, some say, scattered themselves across the known universe like stars, populating every corner of the habitable space. And, what's more? All their descendants live on, happy and robust, even today.

Nobody sane believes that woo-woo claptrap though.

Our scouts have traveled far and wide, and less than half have returned to share the desolate news. There are no others left. The stars are cold, dead, empty. The world is a barren wasteland.

Aaga, our little sleepy town, is all there is.

And still, the blood wolves come in numbers.

Every night. Thrashing against our windows. Dripping teeth bared, snarling. Hunting savagely for a way in to our Sealed rooms. Devouring any fool found outside after dark.

The pack has all but wiped Aaga out.

There are only fifty of us left.

Branches snap off to my right. Twigs crack under some heavy foot. I sit bolt upright, shock blooming in my gut and unfurling into fear. I should have left this clearing ages ago. I shouldn't have waited for the stars. I should be home behind a Sealed door.

I'm a fool.

I can't move.

It’s just Rosehip, calls a familiar voice instead.

I exhale and deflate like a popped soap bubble.

From behind a copse of long flat-leaved thorn-brush bushes, the dusty brown face of my best friend emerges. Black and silver hair that always falls perfectly smooth around broad sturdy shoulders, a thick tower of a neck, and a sharp chiseled jaw. Plump brick-colored lips grin ever so slightly.

You're out later than usual, Rosehip says gently.

I could say the same, I say, smiling wide.

Master Seal Maker Rosehip is about the safest person to sneak up on me. We two have known each