Ulrik

by Steven E Wedel

  Ulrik smiled and kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. John Redleaf would have to be dealt with. Probably sooner rather than later. “A battle to please the old storytellers,” he muttered.

  His eyes moved across the expanse of his yard and came to rest on the blue-and-white striped nylon pavilion where he had stood over Joey, urging the boy to let go of his inhibitions and change shape. Again his mind flashed back to that other boy, Daniel, who had lived and died centuries ago.

  You’re not my father!

  The memory still hurt a little, although at the time Ulrik had denied it. He had insisted he was not trying to replace the boy’s father. That had been so long ago it seemed another lifetime.

  * * *

  “Daniel hates me,” Ulrik said, throwing himself into a chair made by another man, a dead man.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Ruth said, turning from the hearth to give him a sympathetic look.

  “I tried to show him the right way to hold a sword. He yelled at me, saying I am not his father. His father will teach him to hold the sword. You should tell the boy. Death is part of life. He should know this.”

  “I cannot,” the woman said. She hung a pot over the low fire and came to stand by the table. Ulrik looked up at her, the beautiful widow with blonde hair and gray eyes. He’d found her when he was in the colonial army. He’d been a colonel, leading a band of Delaware Indians as they followed a detachment of British solders toward Saratoga. The redcoats had camped at Ruth’s farm; when they left, Ulrik approached and asked what supplies the soldiers had taken and what they’d talked about. That’s when he’d learned her husband had been killed at Ticonderoga.

  When the war was over, he’d returned, remembering her beauty, but also the two fatherless children she would have to raise. He offered his services as a hired hand, willing to work for room and board, tending the crops and protecting the family. Soon, however, he was more than a hired hand.

  Ruth bent and kissed him. “I know you are right, but I cannot bring myself to tell him. I think Helen suspects the truth, but has not asked for fear I would confirm it. But Daniel … he is not ready to face it.”

  “I had seen many deaths before I was his age,” Ulrik said.

  “Your father’s?”

  Ulrik looked away, then shook his head. “That came later.”

  “Give him time.” Ruth moved to stand behind him and rubbed his shoulders. Ulrik knew her eyes were on the front window of the house, watching the children outside. If they approached the door, she would quickly remove her hands and step away. He willed them to continue playing.

  “I will take him hunting tomorrow. He has hunted before?”

  “No. Charles … he never got to take Daniel hunting before he joined the army.”

  Ulrik nodded. “Tomorrow, Daniel will learn to hunt. A boy must know these things if he is to become a man.”

  They set out before dawn the next day, Ulrik carrying the musket while Daniel walked beside him. The boy tried to be sullen, but his excitement over the hunt threatened to win out and put him in a good mood.

  “Have you ever shot a gun?” Ulrik asked.

  “Yes. Father let me shoot at targets.”

  “Are you a good shot?”

  “Yes,” he said, then hesitated and looked at his feet. “No, not really.”

  “That will come in time. This musket is really too long for you. Your father must have been – he must be a tall man.”

  The boy stopped and turned to Ulrik, his large dark eyes very serious. “Father isn’t coming home, is he?”

  Ulrik looked at the boy and knew that Ruth would not be happy with his answer, but he found he could not lie. “No, Daniel, he is not. Your father fought bravely, but died in battle during the war.”

  The boy lowered his gaze, but not before Ulrik saw that his eyes had suddenly brimmed over. He put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and squeezed gently. After a moment the boy looked up again, his face streaked with tears, and asked, “Why did you come here?”

  “I fought in the war, too. One day I came to your house. I was tracking a group of British soldiers that camped here. You remember that?”

  “Yes.” Daniel touched a fading scar near his left eye. “The officer hit me.”

  “Yes. When the British soldiers left, I came to the house and spoke to your mother. I saw you in bed. Your sister was tending your wound. Your mother was angry that I had not driven away the soldiers, until I told her that I was leading a band of Delaware Indians.”

  “I hate that man who hit me.”

  “He is dead.”

  Daniel’s eyes gave away his question. Ulrik nodded. “My assignment was to kill those British soldiers before they could join others at Saratoga. We did that.”

  “Why did you come back? Is it because you love my mother?”

  “No. I came back because … because I pitied your mother. A woman alone, trying to run a farm with two small children. It is no easy task. And because I have never had a family. I thought perhaps you would welcome me. I would help you with your farm and protect you.”

  “Like a father?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you’re not my father.”

  “No.” There was a moment of silence as the boy digested the information. Ulrik said, “We must move on. The sun will rise soon and we should be in position.”

  They soon came to a small, fast stream. Ulrik helped Daniel into the branches of a tree and climbed up after him. They took positions on limbs above the sightline of a deer and sat quietly for a few moments. Ulrik passed the long musket to the boy, reminding him that it was loaded and where he should aim when the deer came for its morning drink.

  It was almost an hour later when a family of deer approached the stream. The doe and young buck came to the water and drank while the older buck remained behind, scenting the air and watching. Daniel’s excitement was almost palpable. Ulrik pointed to the old buck and nodded. Daniel nodded back and slowly lifted the musket to his shoulder. The barrel wobbled a little, too heavy for the youngster to easily hold steady. The wobbling became less, then there was the crack of a shot and the air filled with the sharp smell of burned gunpowder and smoke, followed by Daniel’s scream.

  The recoil of the rifle had slammed the butt of the stock into the boy’s shoulder. He flailed with his arms, dropping the gun as he tried to keep his balance on the tree limb. Ulrik reached for him, but was too late. Daniel went over backward, bounced off a branch below him, screamed, then hit the earth headfirst. His scream was cut off by a dull crack. His body slumped to the ground.

  Ulrik stared for a moment, knowing the boy was dead, but unable to believe it. Daniel’s shot had missed. The deer had scattered. The forest was incredibly silent. Ulrik pushed himself from his own limb and landed lightly on the ground. He knelt beside Daniel, rolling the boy over so he could see his face. Daniel’s head flopped crazily on his broken neck, his innocent eyes staring back at Ulrik.

  “I am sorry, Daniel,” Ulrik whispered. “I think we were almost friends.”

  He picked up the boy’s body and the musket and turned toward home. Ruth saw them through a window and came running out of the house, screaming Daniel’s name. She stopped in front of them, her wild eyes moving from the lifeless boy to Ulrik. “He fell from a tree,” Ulrik explained.

  “Give me my baby,” she shrieked. She pulled the body from Ulrik’s arms and held it tightly against her breast as she cried hysterically. “You killed him! He didn’t like you. He didn’t like you, so you killed him!”

  “That is not true,” Ulrik said. “The recoil from the rifle knocked him out of the tree. It was an accident. He – ”

  “Liar! You killed him!” Ruth’s eyes were wild with grief and fury. Spittle flew from her mouth as she screamed her accusations. “He’s so cold. You killed him. Get out! Go away!”

  Ulrik lowered his face, but nodded. He leaned the musket against a nearby tree and looked over the small farm again. “I am sorry,” he offered. “I meant
you no harm.”

  Ruth had already turned away and was hurrying toward the house, talking to her dead son, telling him it would be okay. She went into the house and closed the door behind her.

  Ulrik looked at the house for a moment, then turned away and began walking south, wondering if he was doomed to never have a family of his own.

  * * *

  On the porch of his Mexican house, Ulrik sighed deeply. At least Ruth had still been alive when he left her, unlike most of his lovers. There had been other children to whom he’d tried to become a father, too.

  Dora …

  Kiona was the only one with whom he’d had any success. She was the only one still alive.

  And now she is nearly turned against me.

  Ulrik shook his head. In eight days the moon would be full and his cycle would be upon him. He had expected Joey to be able to change shape by then and accompany him on a hunt in wolf form. But the boy’s fear was holding him back. Ulrik believed Joey was trying, but that he simply could not overcome his fear of the pain that came with the transformation.

  Ulrik’s biggest concern, however, was his own cycle. If the boy could not transform by then, there would be several days without communication. Several days of Kiona’s influence. Ulrik did not like that thought.

  I could call Shara. She would come.

  No, it was not time for that. Shara would take the boy away the first chance she got.

  Ulrik knew Shara had returned to Chris Woodman’s old home in Oklahoma. He had arranged to have the place watched and knew that she and Thomas McGrath had arrived there yesterday. He was curious as to the whereabouts of Shara’s husband.

  Kiona, Joey and John Redleaf came out of the house. Kiona said, “We are going to take a walk.” The trio left the porch and disappeared around a corner of the house.

  “The boy must get over his fear,” Ulrik muttered.

  Shara

  Shara sat on the sofa, idly staring at the television screen, unaware she was watching an infomercial for a home gym. Her right hand toyed with the gold ring hanging on a sturdy chain around her neck. Her left hand lightly stroked the black hair of the big wolf sitting on the floor beside her knees. Her mind was like a lazy pinball, bouncing from one place to another as the early hours of morning slipped by.

  Chris is dead.

  She’d forced herself to accept that. People died. Often, they were killed. In the world she allowed herself to become part of so long ago, people being killed was a more common occurrence than normal.

  But he wasn’t one of them. Wasn’t ... one of us.

  Her eyes shifted to Thomas. He’d discreetly left the room earlier that evening and Shara had assumed he’d gone to the bathroom. Instead, he’d gone to his bedroom and allowed his monthly cycle to claim him, then returned to her.

  My guardian.

  Her hand slid from the top of his head to his thick neck and shoulders. She could feel the relaxed muscles under the thick fur. Thomas turned his head and looked at her, first her face, then her hand. Shara expected him to lick her hand or forearm for a moment before realizing he was not a typical dog she was petting. The thought jolted her back to reality for a moment and she pulled her hand away.

  I could be like that. I could be a wolf again.

  The repugnance she’d forced herself to feel whenever that thought floated to the surface of her mind was gone. For so many years, since Joey was three months old, she’d made herself abandon thoughts of being a wolf again. Now that Chris was dead, the guilt that had accompanied the thoughts seemed dead, too.

  Hesitantly, Shara lifted her hand and stroked Thomas’s neck again.

  As long as he is a wolf and I am human, this is okay.

  That wasn’t true, and she knew it. She had believed once that, if werewolves were real, they wouldn’t think like humans when they were wolves and certainly wouldn’t remember what they’d done as wolves. That had been one of the first beliefs proven to be myth. Her mind flashed back to her own first transformation, happening in the tool shed of a little house in the slum area of her hometown, just over an hour’s drive from where she was right now. She remembered running through melting snow, the feel of the wind, the smells of people fading behind her, replaced by the smells of livestock, winter forests and wild game. The wild black eyes of her first kill came back to her … a calf she’d separated from its mother and brought down easily.

  Thomas will remember me petting him like this.

  “I need you,” she whispered.

  His brown eyes flicked to her face. Then he did lick her bare forearm to acknowledge he understood. He sat patiently, not pressing the issue, and Shara found it easier to talk openly with him in his wolf form.

  “If you hadn’t been there … I’d be … I don’t know. I would probably be in jail. The police would have caught me at home, or I’d be wandering around in the woods like a crazy woman, calling for Joey.” She paused and tears filled her eyes. “Joey.”

  Thomas whimpered and nuzzled her knee with his snout. Still holding Chris’s wedding band in her right hand, Shara slid off the sofa to sit on the floor, her left arm now around Thomas’s shoulders. She buried her face in his furry neck and sobbed.

  After a while she got herself under control and sat back. She wiped at her face with both hands, smelling the wild wolf smell on her palms and fingers. She stared into Thomas’s eyes and he stared back at her. She lifted the wedding band and held it between them, wiggling it slowly between her thumb and middle finger.

  “Chris accepted me as both woman and wolf,” Shara said. “But after Joey was born, he never liked the wolf. It was before Joey, really. I think it was when we had to leave here, when Tony Weismann’s people chased us away. He didn’t like that I’d already bought the land and house in Montana without telling him. Then, he was furious when he found out I’d arranged new identities for both of us. That’s the day we bought our rings, went home and exchanged vows under a tree near the house. It – ” Her voice hitched in her throat, but she forced herself to continue. “It was a nice ceremony. Just the two of us. I was already pregnant.

  “Then Joey came.” She sniffed, cleared her throat, and continued, looking at the ring, not at Thomas. “The transformations were hard for Joey. You could tell they hurt him. He was so little. He’d just cry and scream, his little body stiffening out, sprouting and shedding hair as his shape changed and changed back. There was no control. He couldn’t stop it. When he got mad, he changed. When he got hungry, he changed. If his diaper was uncomfortable, he’d change.” She laughed a short laugh. “A diaper fastened on a human baby slips right off that baby when he becomes a wolf pup.”

  She swallowed hard and was quiet for a moment. “Chris couldn’t stand to see Joey hurting. He knew I’d made a serum that would probably work and he began pushing me to use it. At least on Joey, he said. I chose to become what I was, but Joey hadn’t chosen it. It wasn’t right to let him suffer. So I did it. Joey was three months old when I injected him. Dear God, I thought I’d killed him. I thought … I thought I’d killed him.” Shara wiped at her face again with her free hand.

  “Then I took the serum. I thought I was dying, then. Chris broke the door down to save me. I had three, maybe four locks on it. He broke it down, carried me to our bed and was singing the song Ulrik sang to me when he rescued me. You know, after that time I forgot how to become human again. After … after my first babies were killed.”

  Shara sighed deeply. “God, so much death around me. Everyone I’ve loved. Except Joey and …” She stopped, her eyes meeting Thomas’s again. She felt a blush suddenly burning her face and she looked away quickly. “And Ulrik, I guess, though I don’t love him now. I would rather he was dead right now. I hate him for what he’s done to me. To Joey. If he hadn’t allowed that woman to steal Joey, I might have found him and gotten home before the police got there. We could have all left together.”

  Thomas bowed his head as if he wanted to say something. Shara smiled, guessing his thoug
hts.

  “Yes, then Fenris would have had us all when he found Chris,” she said. “Ulrik will try to brainwash Joey, but I know he’ll fight and die to keep him safe if it comes to that.”

  She was quiet for a moment. She let the ring fall against her breast and dangle by its chain as she put both hands on Thomas’s shoulders. “Look at you,” she said. “So powerful. Why are you sitting here when you could be out there, prowling the night? I know, I know. To protect me. That’s sweet of you. But still … still … I’m not going to make any more of my serum,” Shara said. “I want to be the wolf again. I need to be the wolf again. I know I won’t be able to get Joey back without the wolf. And … and … dammit, I want it again.”

  She smiled, then laughed a little. “I do. I guess I can admit it now. I do want to be the wolf again. I want … a lot of things. You know, I haven’t tasted meat as a human since Ulrik rescued me.” She laughed for real. “The closest I came was in the in-between stage, when I went and visited my parents. I ate a raw rump roast my mom was going to cook for dinner.” The laughter died quietly. “That was the last time I saw them. I ate the roast, then killed my mom’s little dog and left them forever.

  “I want meat for breakfast,” she said. “And I want to begin trying to change shape again. I don’t know how long the serum will keep me from doing it. At first, if I didn’t take it on time I’d change about a day later than before I had the serum. But after so many years of taking it … I’m just not sure.”

  She yawned suddenly. “I’m tired. It’s four o’clock in the morning. I’m going to bed.” She got up, turned off the television and started for her bedroom. Thomas padded close behind her. As she crossed into the bedroom, he stopped and made to lie down in the doorway. Shara stopped and looked back at him.

  Don’t say it. Don’t do it.