The Anxiety of Kalix the Werewolf by Martin Millar Page B

shape-shifting creature. It was always lethal against werewolves. It was also forbidden. No werewolf would use it against a fellow member of the clan.
    â€œApart from Kalix, of course,” murmured Sarapen. “She had no hesitation about thrusting it into my chest.”
    The huge werewolf smiled. He despised his sister Kalix, but somehow he didn’t hold it against her that she’d stabbed him with the Begravar knife. At the time, he’d been trying to kill her. Most probably he’d have used the knife on Kalix if he could. Clan traditions were important, but the most important thing about a war was to win it, and Kalix had done that.
    â€œI’ll pay her back one day,” he muttered.
    Sarapen was the eldest son of the old Thane. He was the strongest werewolf in the MacRinnalch clan. He should have been elected as leader when his father died. His mother had seen to it that he hadn’t been. Thanks to Verasa, his brother Markus was the new Thane. His mother, his brother and both his sisters had all conspired against him.
    â€œBut I’m still alive,” mused Sarapen. “That would surprise them. Alive and stuck in an alien dimension. That surprises me.”
    He heard a soft footstep behind him. Only the Empress had access to this part of the roof. She approached him from behind and put a hand on his shoulder. Sarapen didn’t turn around.
    â€œI still want to go back,” said Sarapen.
    There was a moment’s silence. When the young Empress spoke there was a note of frustration in her voice. “I can’t send you back yet. The after-effects of the Begravar knife will kill you if you return to Earth.”
    Sarapen remained silent, staring out over the streams of lava.
    â€œWhy go back anyway?” said Kabachetka. “What’s in Scotland for you? A clan that betrayed you? Werewolves who don’t appreciate you?”
    â€œI should be Thane,” said Sarapen.
    â€œSo what? How would that compare to staying in a palace with anEmpress?” Kabachetka edged her way to his side, placing her arm around his frame. “I know you miss your home. I’ll be able to send you back sometime. My sorcerers are working on it. Meanwhile . . .”
    The Empress stood on her tiptoes to kiss Sarapen, embracing him as she did. She liked to put her arms around Sarapen. His muscles felt like steel beneath his garments.
    Sarapen kissed her back, not as passionately as the Empress would have liked. She withdrew her lips and gazed into his eyes.
    â€œYour mind is elsewhere.”
    Sarapen nodded.
    â€œAre you thinking about your clan?”
    â€œYou said you’d bring me news.”
    The Empress sighed. “I really have little business on Earth these days. It’s difficult for me to bring news.”
    Sarapen nodded. He didn’t know whether to believe the Empress or not. She always sounded sincere, but the werewolf found it hard to believe she knew nothing of his relations back on Earth. He turned to gaze out over the red rock landscape that fell away in a long slope beyond the volcano.
    â€œNow you’re thinking about going to fight in the desert!” exclaimed the Empress, and sounded cross.
    â€œI thought you weren’t going to read my aura,” said Sarapen.
    â€œI am not reading your aura. I never learned to read werewolf auras. It’s perfectly obvious you want to go and fight in the desert. Or anywhere away from me, I suppose.”
    Sarapen didn’t reply. There was a long-standing conflict between the Hainusta and the Hiyasta in the Western Desert. Sarapen was tired of the palace, and having no other prospect that pleased him, he’d asked the Empress to send him to the fighting. The Empress had so far demurred.
    â€œI can’t understand why you’d want to go and fight anyway. I have a beautiful palace and beautiful lands. And I’m beautiful too.”
    Sarapen looked at her. He nodded. “You are. But I