LAIR OF THE WULF- a Barbarian in Chicago- part 2
CHAPTER FOUR

Nora Gott, Celebrity

The spotlight was hot on Nora’s face, but her smile, enhanced by the layers of makeup was very real regardless. Here she was, being interviewed again on the national evening news, and nothing could have made her happier.

She was the type of person who thrived on notoriety, on being in the public eye. Even when a young woman attending the university, what drew her to the civil rights and anti-war protests of the 1960’s was not really the causes themselves, but the fame. On her very first march, she was captured on film in Time magazine, walking side by side with black men and women on a civil rights protest. From the moment she saw that photograph in the magazine, she was addicted to this seeking after publicity, of being a celebrity.

She never admitted it, not even to herself, but it wasn’t so much the many liberal causes she celebrated that motivated her- it was being seen and listened to, she felt validated, and truth be told, she felt like she was “cool”; in with the “in crowd”! It was this addiction to fame that motivated her enough to totally abandon her own grandson, and to call publicly for his execution. It was a sign of how far she had fallen from the natural state of humans, where a regard for your own blood relations and tribe was far more important than following the dubious dictates of a bankrupt philosophy of political correctness.

She was smiling broadly, despite the heat, and basked in the attention. The news moderator on CNBC was unabashedly liberal, and was literally fawning over Nora, so admiring was he of her brave, liberal, PC bashing of her own relation.

“And you are telling me and the audience that you would love to have your own grandson killed, because he deserves it?” he said, his thick black-rimmed eyeglasses reflecting the lights. He smiled happily.

“Yes,” said Nora. “Principles are far more important than anything else, as I’m sure you’ll agree. This young barbarian,” she said the word with disgust, “has killed and broken many laws, but more importantly, he has committed hate crimes against African Americans. This is the very worst crime anyone can ever commit, and we must bring him to justice as quickly as possible. Relationships have no place when faced with such a crime!”

The moderator held up his hands to the studio audience, as if to say ‘isn’t she something great’, and the crowd cheered wildly. It was, of course, a hand-picked ultraliberal crowd, and they always followed marching orders.

On Fox news, however, the trend of opinion ran rather the other way, with many commentators opining that the “Barbarian Youth”, as he had been dubbed in popular speech, was admirable in his stands against violence and crime in our decadent cities. Many thought he should be left alone, and spoke their minds in spite of the violent reaction of many on the left. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Fox tried repeatedly to interview Nora Gott, and Antigone Gibbons, but they steadfastly declined. They only spoke on liberal stations and publications, and had both become quite the celebrities. Gibbons was on television even now, as he headed north with his attack force to apprehend the barbarian. He was on screen live from his vehicle, his ridiculous tweed hat above his yellowish face and tiny mustache.

“This is why I admire Nora,” he said. He smiled with crooked yellow teeth. “She know what right, and that what she do!” Nora smiled at his words, as did the moderator on CNBC. The buzz was that the two had become an “item”, after first bonding over their mutual hatred of Nora’s grandson. The fact that he was roughly twenty years younger than her was evidently completely politically correct.

This widespread celebrity, and indeed the notoriety surrounding the “Barbarian Case” as it had come to be called worldwide, had become the most riveting news story of the day. Even the radical muslim terrorist problem held less attention, although the mass killings of innocent Americans by these illegal terrorists being imported by their very own president had not abated one iota.

Black Lives Matter protesters commonly held up effigies of the large, tawny-haired white youth to burn at their rallies. One favorite in addition was to tie up the effigy on a rope, and black youths, both male and female, would run by and punch the figure in the face, one after another, until the whole thing fell apart like a human piñata.

The irony was that, even as all of this was going on in the news, on television and magazines, on the internet, and discussed on NPR and talk radio- the stage was being set for a massive intersection of all of these groups, up in the northwoods, on the Indian reservation of the Ojibwe upon which Wulf resided! BLM, the police, the feds, and even ISIS were all converging, unknown to one another, at the spot where a 17 year old refugee was living in what was actually an independent nation- the Ojibwe Territory.

Akula’s Sorcery

Nikan looked over at Wulf as they both stood gazing at the medicine tent of Akula. Witch fires of bright light periodically shone from within, and strange sounds emerged as well; roars, screams of birds and big cats, and sounds that were completely unidentifiable. Nikan would not have entered that tent for anything, but Wulf seemed impassive. Although the huge youth had nothing to do with Akula’s otherworldly magic, he knew his grandfather to be a mage who only performed good medicine.

The otherworldly lights from the tent shone red and gold on the face of the barbarian, who seemed merely… interested- where Nikan’s dark eyes were shining with terror. Looking towards his friend, the barbarian spoke.

“We will have need of Akula’s help,” he said. “Many are the forces arrayed against us. We will do what men can do, and more, but we are fighting much that is very evil indeed. Let us get some rest ere morning- tomorrow is the attack!”

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