PART 3: THE HARBINGER
STFU was operating out of a firebase in the highlands when I found my new name.
Let me explain. As a werewolf, you age very slowly. Having the same Shackleford running MHI for too long could get suspicious, so I’d started picking a new name every generation. I planned on restarting again after getting back from Vietnam, and Mr. Wolf certainly wouldn’t do for a proper name.
One morning Van came and woke me up. He said that an important man had come to the village and wanted to speak with me. You’ve got to understand, we were in the middle of nowhere, so I wasn’t sure what kind of important person would end up out here, but our young translator was adamant. So I followed him down to the Degar village.
I liked the Degar. Montagnards for “Mountain People,” The French called them. So most of the Americans called them Yards for short. They were on our side, and they could fight like nobody’s business. The locals had been guiding Destroyer and his boys and had been feeding intel to STFU.
Van took me to a hut on stilts with a really tall roof. It appeared that all of the local warriors had formed a perimeter around the hut. They were showing a lot of deference to whoever the mystery guest was. Inside the smoky, dark, hot dwelling was one of the oldest men that I’d ever laid eyes on. He was blind, wrinkled, could barely whisper, and was playing with a plate full of chicken entrails.
“What’s the deal, Van?”
“He’s a holy man, Mr. Wolf. He’s come a very long way to find you.”
“No. I mean with that chicken.”
“He’s telling the future.”
Van was an earnest fellow, and I’d never known him to be the superstitious type. The old man whispered something. Van had to lean in real close to translate. “An animal gave its spirit to a man. The spirit was tricky and thought it could change the man. The spirit had always changed the man. But this man would not change. Instead, he made the animal spirit change its ways.”
My condition was not to be spoken about. “I’m sure hoping you didn’t tell him anything classified, Van.”
“No, Mr. Wolf. I didn’t tell him. He said the mountain spirits told him you were coming.” Flexible mind, I preferred to think that this old man’s mountain spirits were whispering to him rather than my translator was talking about things that could get him in trouble. The old man kept on whispering. “He says that the animal spirits have waited…I don’t know the word…A very long time for one that could change them. The animal spirits will listen to you…the mountain spirits will help you…in the war.”
“Tell him thanks. In a war, you’ll take whatever help you can get.”
Van told him. There were flies buzzing around the chicken, and the hut was so humid it made Alabama seem frosty. The old man kept on in a monotone whisper. Van looked confused. “Not this war. The big war.”
“This one ain’t big enough?”
“No. The coming war…Sorry, I don’t understand. The mountain spirits told him it is coming. The war to end all things. You are one of the four.”
“What’s that mean? Four what?”
The creases of the old holy man’s knuckles were filled with dried chicken blood. “The Mountain Spirits won’t say. Before you can lead the animal spirits, you have to teach someone. Make them ready for the war that will end all things. You have to prepare the way.…There will be many battles. Many changes. If you fail, the animal spirits will fight on the enemy’s side instead. When the time is right, you will announce the war, and all the spirits will follow you into the dark place.”
“None of that makes a lick of sense.”
“He says you are the one that prepares the way.…I don’t know the word. One that prepares the way.…A harbinger? Yes. The mountain spirits say you are the harbinger.”
The holy man fell silent. He scooped up the plate of guts and tossed it out the door to the dogs. He was done. He’d delivered the message from his mountain spirits. We were dismissed.
Harbinger. I liked the sound of that.