The Werewolves of Nottinghill

by J. J. Thompson

  The farmers will be happy, he thought, but anyone wearing armor is going to be miserable, especially the ones standing for hours on top of the walls. And that includes me.

  Malcolm stomped across the courtyard to one of the sets of stairs that led up to the top of the wall. He began climbing carefully. The stone steps were already a little slick from the rain and he didn't want to break his neck tumbling back down them.

  When he reached the top of the stairs, he walked over to the edge of the wall and looked out over the countryside.

  The main problem, he thought as he scanned the horizon, would be the poor visibility that the scouts would be faced with. The rain was still light enough for Malcolm to see a long way, but that probably wouldn't last. And if there was a force creeping up on the castle when that happened, it might not be spotted early enough to effectively defend against.

  “So, do we have you to thank for this extra duty?” someone asked from behind him.

  Malcolm turned around and saw Tom, one of the guardsman who had been with Aiden's last patrol, just stepping on to the wall. He was grinning as usual and the big man smiled back ruefully.

  “Blame circumstances,” he replied as Tom joined him and they both looked out over the forest. “I'm sorry that you and your patrol members can't have more time off after what happened yesterday, but we're stretched thin, as you well know.”

  “Aye, I do. And I signed up as a guardsman knowing that it was hard work.”

  Tom wasn't wearing a helmet. Instead he had a chain coif attached to his belt, ready to be slipped on in an emergency. He took off one gauntlet and pushed back his wet hair.

  “But what else could I do as a former tech worker?” he asked rhetorically. “After my Change, I found that I had the ability to use weapons that I'd never even touched before.”

  He laughed as he slapped the sword hilt on his hip.

  “Imagine my surprise when I arrived at Nottinghill Castle and was handed a sword. I think that I was afraid that it would cut my arm off when I wasn't looking. And then when I swung it a few times, it felt like... I don't know. Like I'd spent my entire life with a blade in my hand. Was it like that for you?”

  Malcolm nodded his heavy head.

  “Exactly like that. The same for Aiden and, I suspect, all of us who Changed into warriors. Why it happened and how we were chosen will always be a mystery, I suspect, but here we are. And now we are tasked with training others whose Changes didn't give them the same advantage.”

  The two of them turned to the left and walked along the wall toward the southwest corner.

  “That's something else I don't get,” Tom commented. “Why wasn't everyone's Change useful? I think the majority of the people here received nothing but a return to their youth. Maybe they're a little stronger, which helps if they become laborers or farmers, but that's about it.”

  At the corner of the wall, a large metal brazier covered with an iron top rang dully as the rain pattered on it. During the winter, braziers were kept lit on all four corners of the wall to help the watchers stay warm. But in the summer, they just sat neglected, reminders of cold seasons past and future.

  Malcolm leaned against the heavy iron brazier and gave Tom an inquiring look.

  “You don't think that someone regaining their youth is enough of a gift? Or that people like Aiden and me becoming bigger and stronger was a blessing? Even without the skills that we were given, this body alone,” he squeezed his hands into fists and looked down at them, “is amazing. Yes, I'm a fighter, but I could just as easily till the fields or work in the forge. Not exciting, maybe, but still damned useful.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Tom said as he looked down at himself. “And someone told me once that we all had to Change to survive on the New Earth. My question was always: why? Renewed vigor and strength is great, sure, but I wasn't that old before the dragons returned. I'm sure that I could have been useful even without the changes that I went through.”

  Malcolm shook his head.

  “I was told differently by Simon O'Toole, many years ago.”

  Tom gaped at him.

  “That's right,” he said with some surprise. “You actually knew the wizard, didn't you? I'd forgotten that. What did he say?”

  Malcolm looked away blankly, tapping his chin as he tried to picture Simon's face, back when they had discussed this same subject. He had always looked so young, except for the streaks of silver in his hair that had been caused, apparently, by the use of dangerous magics.

  “Simon told me that the dragons could sense what he called 'mundane' humans. He meant people who hadn't been Changed. Don't ask me how they could do that; he never said. But he told me that Changed humans were effectively invisible to a dragon's senses. Yes, they could see us with their eyes, but they could not use their powers to track us. That's why so many of us who were Changed managed to survive the Night of Burning, unless we were caught in the middle of a city or town during the attacks. And that's also why we were so effective against them when Simon and others took down the primals. It was a gift from the old gods, he said, and only those who were Changed would survive long-term. Obviously he was right.”

  “Huh,” Tom muttered. “That's fascinating. I've never heard that before. It answers so many questions.”

  He glanced at Malcolm.

  “That tidbit of information should be taught to everyone, including the new generation of kids that are coming along.”

  “Hmm, good point. I'll try to remember to mention that to Tamara,” Malcolm told him. “I sure that she'd agree. But for now, I think that it's time to pay more attention to the task at hand, don't you?”

  “Yes sir,” Tom replied with a smile. “It's going to be a long, miserable shift, so we might as well get on with it.”

  The day passed slowly for the people in the castle. It didn't take long for word to get out that they had been contacted by an elf and that the elf had subsequently disappeared mysteriously. People were still on edge from the attack of the primal red dragon and this new wrinkle just heightened the tensions amongst the population.

  Aiden and his troop patrolled around the castle every two hours that day. After each circuit, he brought them back into the barracks to warm up and dry off. The rain had settled in and showed no sign of stopping any time soon. And it was a cold, miserable rain too, with a chill that settled into the bones.

  The dozen guardsmen were surprisingly cheerful, considering the situation. All of the warriors who had been with Aiden on his aborted patrol the day before were with him again, except for Tom who was up on the wall with Malcolm. The rest of the group were warriors who had volunteered their services and, when they were sitting in the barracks and relaxing between outings, they peppered the others with questions about what had happened the previous day.

  “Did you really see banshees?” one of them asked.

  Aiden was standing at the far end of the building, staring out of a window at the falling rain. He listened to their conversation, but remained silent. He was curious to learn what the others thought of his disastrous patrol.

  “Well, that's what they reminded me of,” Sharon said.

  The guardsmen were standing or sitting around the building's fireplace and a fire was blazing merrily within. Sharon was leaning against the left side of the stone mantelpiece, her thumbs hooked into her belt. Like all of them, her chain-mail armor was steaming in the heat.

  “My people had a lot of stories about the dark creatures of folklore,” she continued. “Old Irish tales, you know. The stories of banshees always scared me when I was a wee child. They were supposed to lure people away from their homes after dark and their victims were never seen again. A horrible thought to a little one.”

  There were murmurs of agreement from the group and Aiden smiled as he continued to stare outside.

  They're a good bunch, he thought. And the best thing that I can do is stay out of their conversations and let them work things out for themselves.

  Malcolm was a
lot more uncomfortable than Aiden was that day. The top of the wall was exposed to the wind and rain and there was no escape from the constant misery. Feeling that it was his duty as the leader of the castle's guardsmen, he stayed up and walked the perimeter most of the day. Every two hours, fresh guards would appear and he would send off the old shift to dry off and rest. They would return two hours later. It seemed to keep everyone at least reasonably happy about working out in the rainy conditions. Except for Malcolm, of course.

  Sebastian was the first mage to stand watch on the wall that day. He was wearing a thick slicker against the rain and, with the hood up, he was a lot drier than the rest of the watchers were.

  Malcolm spoke to him occasionally and found that the mage remained his usual cheerful self in spite of the weather.

  “Do you know how irritating it is to be around someone so insufferably upbeat in this kind of climate?” the big man asked at one point.

  Sebastian grinned at him, his face barely visible inside of his hood.

  “Of course I know that,” he said with a laugh. “Why do you think I do it? It's amusing. And it works really well on Tamara.”

  Malcolm was caught off-guard by that admission and burst out laughing. He knew that the siblings were very loyal to each other, but Tamara was much more serious than her brother and obviously Sebastian enjoyed winding her up occasionally.

  “That's a bit mean, isn't it?” he asked as he wiped rain water out of his eyes.

  “Maybe,” Sebastian replied with a shrug. “But sometimes my dear sister takes herself and her position much too seriously. I need to poke her once in a while and let out some of that hot air. It makes her a better person, don't you think?”

  Malcolm smiled widely.

  “I do, but if you ever tell her I said that, I will deny it.”

  Sebastian just winked and renewed his slow walk around the edge of the wall.

  After he was finished his shift, Sebastian was replaced by Veronique. Like him, she was wearing a waterproof cape to protect her robes from the rain and Malcolm didn't even recognize her until she spoke to him from inside her deep hood.

  “How are you holding up, my friend?”

  The big man turned around and saw the hooded figure approaching through the veil of steady rain.

  “Veronique? Hey there. Welcome to our misery. I'm fine, thanks. How are you?”

  She laughed delicately and moved forward to stand beside him.

  “I am very well, thank you. Sebastian seemed quite happy to end his shift out here. Are you not taking a break from the chilly rain as well?”

  Malcolm shook his head and pushed back his braids. Water poured down his armor as he did so.

  “Not yet. It's just rain, Veronique. You get used to it. And it isn't really all that cold either. I'm a Canadian lad, after all. Our winters were worse than the ones here in England, even though the winters these days are more severe. No, I'm fine for now.”

  They made small talk for a few minutes and then walked slowly around the circumference of the wall.

  “So Chao tells me that you and your sister are willing to help him in our reclamation?” Malcolm asked after a while.

  “Reclamation? Oh, you mean adjusting the evil spell you and Aiden have lived with for so long? Yes, most certainly. You are our friends and, quite frankly, neither Sylvie nor I could imagine having to deal with such a curse for so many years.”

  Malcolm shrugged and gestured at the sky.

  “It's like living with the bad weather, I suppose,” he told her. “We are powerless to do anything but adapt to it, and that's the way it's been with our 'condition' as well. But now there's Chao, a different kind of spell-caster. If he can lift the spell, or at least alter it to allow us to control it instead of the other way around, then that will be amazing. And if you and Sylvie can help him, we will be in your debt forever.”

  “You will never owe us anything,” Veronique said firmly. “Friends help each other, Malcolm, and that is that. The relief of seeing you two freed of your condition will be payment enough for us.”

  They had stopped at the center of the north wall and the mage made an abrupt gesture.

  “But you must be aware of the dangers in this ritual as well,” she told Malcolm. “Magic is unpredictable. Even after a decade of practice, it can still surprise me in ways that I do not expect. It is like a living thing sometimes, shifting and warping subtly as if teasing me when I use it. Other practitioners tell me that it is the same for them.”

  “You mean that it isn't static, like rock, but ever changing like the wind?” the big man asked.

  “Ah, I like that analogy. Yes, that is precisely what it is like. It flows and ebbs; sometimes stronger, other times more thin and ethereal. Oh, it is so difficult to explain to someone who has never used it. Imagine trying to knit a sweater using spider silk and how hard that would be. Working with magic is like that in many ways.”

  Malcolm thought about that for a moment as he peered out over the northern forest. No one had ever explained the use of magic quite the way that Veronique just had and it helped to put it in perspective. Put that way, it sounded like the magic-users were more like artists than laborers, delicately weaving the power to suit their purposes.

  “But if you made a mistake knitting your sweater, you could always start over,” he said thoughtfully. “But if you screw up while casting a spell...”

  “It could kill you,” Veronique said flatly. “Magic is unforgiving and does not tolerate errors. I've often wondered over the years how many other humans Changed to become spell-casters only to be destroyed by the magic, never to be heard from again. Why, we might have lost hundreds, even thousands of potential mages and wizards and never even knew it. It is a very sad thought, is it not?”

  “My God, that never even occurred to me,” Malcolm said, aghast. “I'm so used to dealing with physical dangers and training my body, not my mind, that I never thought about how dangerous the forces you work with really are. If I make a mistake during sword practice, I might cut myself a little. But as a rule, the weapon doesn't explode in my hands. But for you and the others...”

  “We are juggling bombs,” Veronique said with a touch of amusement in her voice. “Just so. But I do not wish to alarm you, my friend. Practice makes magical use easier, and spells that I once would not have even attempted are now routine to me. We are all constantly growing and learning, are we not? So, just as I am sure that you are a better warrior now than you were ten years ago, so too am I, and the other mages who have survived, better at what we do as well.”

  “That's reassuring. At least we can focus on what's most important right now,” Malcolm said as he gestured toward the brooding forest, hazy in the lightly falling rain.

  “Ah yes, the elf and her mysterious disappearance,” Veronique replied, following his gaze. “Why did she leave? And how? We all have our theories, I suppose. I just wonder which one will turn out to be correct.”

  “So why do you think she left?”

  The rain had turned into a light mist and Veronique pushed back her hood and shook out her blond hair. Like her sister, she had delicate features and piercing blue eyes and she scanned the horizon as she considered Malcolm's question.

  “Elves don't think the way that humans do, that much is obvious from the records I've read. I think it is quite possible that Chase simply left to return to her people and report that she had opened diplomatic relations with us. It may not have even occurred to her that she should have told us that she was leaving.”

  Malcolm stared at her with a sudden grin.

  “Imagine if it is as simple as that?” he laughed. “Everyone is running around, tearing their hair out and worrying that we might be attacked and the elf might have just left without saying goodbye. Well, if that's true, a lot of people are going to look a little foolish when she returns.”

  Veronique returned his smile.

  “That's true, if I'm correct. And I may not be. But as was mentioned earlier, N
ottinghill and its people are no threat to the elves, so there was no reason for Chase to sneak away like a thief in the night. That's why I believe that this is all a misunderstanding. We'll just have to wait and see, I suppose.”

  The rain clouds finally broke up about an hour later and the sun shone down strongly on the castle. The battlements started to steam as the water evaporated and Malcolm gratefully accepted a handkerchief from Veronique.

  “Thanks,” he said as he wiped off his face. “I'll give it back the next time I have the laundry done.”

  “Keep it,” she replied.

  The mage had taken off her rain slicker and her long blue robes fluttered in the wind.

  “I have dozens of them,” she continued. “Sylvie loves to stitch patterns into them and I keep giving them away. If I didn't, we'd be buried under hundreds of handkerchiefs.”

  Malcolm laughed at the thought and thanked her again.

  “Who knew that we'd go from miserable rain to hot sunshine in the space of an hour?” he asked rhetorically as he looked out over the steaming fields and forests to the south of the castle.

  Both he and Veronique were standing on the wall above the main gate, looking down the path that wound its way through the tilled fields and disappeared into the distant trees.

  “British weather,” the mage said with a gentle sigh. “The weather in France was always more predictable. Well, perhaps now that has changed, as it has in here in England. Who can say?”

  “Do you miss it?” Malcolm asked her. “France, I mean?”

  “You mean my old life?” Veronique asked, looking surprised.

  He nodded silently.

  “Yes. And no. My sister and I were physically older than we are now, but not by many years. Neither of us was married or seriously involved with anyone when things began to go wrong. She moved in with me when technology started to fail. Thank the gods that she did too. There were dangerous gangs roaming the Paris streets near the end. All of them were killed on the Night of Burning, of course. We had sealed the doors and windows of my small home to keep out looters and we slept in the storage cellar at night.”