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Axis Mundi. The World Tree. The spiritual center of the world. The Garou know it well, for they must place themselves at the Tree, the center of creation, to work their rituals. And in the branches and among the roots, the spirits await, ready to assist those who speak the right words. .. or to punish those who walk the wrong path.

C h e Unseen Hos t s Gather Axis Mundi: The Book of Spirits is a sourcebook detailing many of the myriad spirits serving Gaia.

themselves. Can you afford not to seek their favor?

Here are the elementals, Enigmatics, Epiphlings, Naturae, and the broods of the great Tribal Totems

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'+ a Axis Mundi includes:

The spiritual history of the Garou, including the legendary Pact between the shapeshifters and the spirits

Expanded information on dealing with spirits, especially how to placate them and bind them into fetishes

Dozens upon dozens of spirits, each with their own story, all ready for use with Werewolf or Muge Second FJitinn

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RX~S m u n n i T H E B O O K O F 'SPIRITS

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~ommunion

“Damn it, old man! Where are you taking me?” The old man turned around to face his nephew, a sour

look on his face. ‘ S o impatient. It’s not your bones creakin’ up this hill. You’re young and strong. So shut up.” He turned back around and kept walking up the steep hill, reaching out to grasp pine branches to pull himself up.

Little John Fox shook his head in disgust. His uncle was older than God, they said on the res. He sure acted like it. Dragging him out in this weather - cold enough to freeze amanalive ifhestoodstillfortoolong-and marchinghim up Vision Hill before the sun even rose high enough to at least thaw some of the ice. The old man had to be senile.

“C‘mon, Uncle. Let’s just get back in the pickup and turn on the heater. We’re going to freeze our asses blue out here!”

The old man didn’t respond. He kept pulling himself methodically up the hill, even though the effort seemed to cause him pain. But his endurance never seemed to run out; he never paused, he just kept going.

Little John sighed and followed him, quickly catching up. He had come back to the reservation from college to see his family and give them some of the money he’d earned in the city. He never expected his uncle to wake him at three in the morning, force him into his beat-up pickup truck and drive all the way out here. His father was up and looked worried, but he bowed his head when John asked him to calm Uncle down to get him to stop with this foolishness. He just said, “Respect your uncle, son.”

Respect what? An old coot who thought he was a shaman? John sneered behind his uncle’s back. He knew real shamans now, not the crazy old human kind, but the wolfen kind. He felt a flush of pride at his secret, the one thing he couldn’t tell his folks that had happened to him at college. How he’d changed into a werewolf. No, he couldn’t let them know because his enemies would come. The Wyrm had many minions, all too ready to hunt the innocent. He didn’t like leaving his new pack behind for

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the weekend, but Mother Larissa insisted he see his par- ents. Why she gave a damn, he didn’t know. But he did as he was told. And he was regretting it.

His uncle disappeared over the rise and John knew that they had reached the top. He ran the last few steps to join his uncle, walking across an open field of snow and heading for a large rock.

“You have never been here before,” Uncle said as he walked, “And that’s my fault. I was too busy when you were growing up, when you needed this the most. Then you went away and it was too late. But now you’re back and we’ll get this done right.”

“Get what done, Uncle? You haven’t told me what all this is about.”

“You learned all sorts of bad ways growing up. Helping the warriors run liquor and cigarettes, getting shot at and shooting back. Lucky you were never caught. If you wound up in jail, we might never have seen you again.”

“Look, don’t get down on the warriors. They’re just trying to make good money. Nobody lets us earn anything the legal way, so if we have to break the law, then so be it. The money I made got me to college, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, college. Real important. They’ll fill your head all full of crap. Fill it so thick nothing else will fit in. Nothing good, at least. How much do you know of our traditional ways, Little John?”

“I don’t need to know much. Most of that’s in the past. Our ways are now.”

Uncle shook his head and stopped as he got to the rock. He began to pull things out of his leather bag: a pipe, tobacco, a rattle and some animal teeth and claws. “Our past is now. Our ways are forever. They haven’t forgotten, and we’ve got to honor them. It’s our duty.”

“Who are they?” “The spirits. The animals. Those beings all around us

who give us life and protect us from evil.” Little John smiled. He knew about spirits; he’d seen

some of them. Larissa said he was a Theurge, a spirit man. But he knew that only the Garou could teach him about spirits, because only they could see them, travel to their land: the Umbra. Humans like Uncle might be touched by them, but they couldn’t talk to them, really. He sighed. Time to humor the old man.

“Okay, spirits. I know about them. Let’s light up the pipe and smoke a few for them and go home, okay?”

Uncle glared at him. “Sit down. We’ll smoke, all right. But it ain’t tobacco.”

Little John sat down, confused. “What do you mean? That’s not hash, is it? I didn’t expect that from you.”

Uncle smiled. “No, it’s not marijuana. It’s something special. Something I made up just for you and your jour- ney.” He began packing herbs into the pipe, and John could tell by the colors - white, yellow and red - that it wasn’t tobacco.

“Journey? I thought this hill was our journey. You mean we’re going somewhere else?”

Uncle lit the pipe with a match and faced the east. He offered the pipe to that direction, mumbling to himself. He then turned in a circle, offering smoke to all the directions. He then took apuff himself. A smile crept onto his face and he looked around, giggling. He winked to the air, then handed the pipe to John. “GO ahead, they’re waiting.”

John shrugged his shoulders and took a toke. He held it in and couldn’t help but smile himself. It felt good, slightly euphoric. He opened his eyes and saw Uncle stare at him, smiling. But his smile was full of sharp teeth and his eyes were those of a wolf.

John’s throat caught and he began coughing vio- lently. He shut his eyes as they began to water and then opened them again. His uncle was gone and the land- scape had come alive. The moon was up and the sun was gone. The pine trees swayed in a breeze, but seemed to be watching him. He couldn’t say why, but he felt eyes all over him. He stood up and looked for Uncle. There was no sign of him; even the pipe and animal fetishes were gone. Little John shook his head to clear it. I must have slept for hours. That stuff is powerful. Wonder what it was. Uncle must be back at the truck.

He began walking in the direction from where they’d come when he heard a branch snap in the nearby woods. He halted and looked around. Nothing. Must have been a squirrel. He kept walking.

Something small and white launched itself from the edge of the woods right onto his chest. Surprised, John slipped in the snow and fell. A rabbit sat on his chest, looking right into his eyes. John swore it was grinning at him. Then, it spoke: “I got him! Hurry up, while he’s still down!”

The area exploded into activity. A deer ran forward and landed on his legs, pinning them down. A moose galloped forward and landed his two front legs onto John’s shoul- ders, pinning them down and snapping his collarbones.

“Aaargh!” John yelled. “Get off ofme! What’s going on?” The rabbit began biting his neck, opening his jugular.

Blood sprayed into the air and across the snow, staining the rabbit’s fur red. The deer began nibbling at his leg, devouring his hamstrings. John gaped in horror, his mind foggy with pain.

A raven flew from the sky and landed on his cheek. “Can I get in on this?”

“Sure!” the rabbit said. “But his liver’s mine.” “No problem,” the raven said. “I like eyes.” And it

reached its beak down and plucked out John’s right eye. John screamed and tried to shift into Crinos form. His

body began to change, fur growing out and his chest expanding. The rabbit yelled out: “Just what I was waiting for!” and burrowed into his expanding rib cage, reaching in and nibbling his liver.

John fainted.

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across the sky quite a ways. But he could see with both eyes and move his legs. He was all right. There was no damage done. I t had been just a dream. But as he looked around, he saw blood and tracks all about. Rabbit tracks, deer tracks, moose tracks. And raven tracks.

He shuddered and realized that he was still in Crinos form. He must have healed while he was unconscious. But what had happened? Why in the world did the animals attack him? Why did normally herbivorous animals eat him? What kind of crazy world was this? Oh, man! I’m in the Umbra! How did this happen? It must have been Uncle. He’s been a Garou all this time. This is his revenge for my disrespect. Me and my mouth. I gotta get out of here. Gotta find a reflective surface.

He began moving back to where he knew the pickup truck was in the material world. He knew that, while he could peek into the material world, he would need a shiny object or a body of water in this world. But it was the only place he knew to go.

As he walked down the hill, he realized how hungry he was. His stomach was rumbling fiercely and his legs were a bit unsteady. All the work of regenerating my organs must have taken a lot of energy out of me. I gotta find some food.

As soon as he thought it, he stopped, wolfen ears sharp and nose sniffing. A deer had wandered onto the path below him, apparently unaware of him. He crept forward on all fours, shifting into Lupus form. He saw the deer now, a large buck. He moved silently around it to make sure he was out of the wind. It was oblivious to him, bending its head down to munch at the grass.

He tensed and leapt at it. It spun around and stared him in the eye as he flew through the air toward it. In that moment, their eyes met, and the deer bowed. He landed on it and his jaws wrapped about its neck, tearing its jugular open. He slid down its flanks and opened them with his claws. It made a weak, bleating sound and fell, its life draining from it. John moved in to eat, but stopped as he met its fading eyes. He felt shame and bowed his head and moved away.

“Don’t you dare refuse its sacrifice!” his uncle yelled, appearing from the woods in front of him, past the dying deer. “He chose to die that you might eat! Thank him.”

John stared at his uncle in astonishment and then again looked at the deer. It was almost dead and he felt even worse at prolonging its agony. But he knew Uncle was right, deep down he knew. “I.. . I’m sorry. I’ve never done this. Please forgive me. I.. . thank you. I need your strength togoon. I’ve got to fight the Wyrm, for Gaia. Please don’t judge me.” He began to cry at the shame of it, the idea that he judged himself more worthy of life than his prey.

The deer blinked its eyes and died. A feeling of relief came over John, one that he knew was not caused by himself alone. He felt that something was speaking to him, whispering deep in his ear, but he could not consciously make out the words, but they gave him peace nonetheless.

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