by A. Giannetti
“Shame on the three of you!” shouted Balbus when he saw what they were about. “There is more than enough wood lying about on the forest floor. There is no need to cut live trees!”
“Mind your own business Balbus,” said one of the men, harshly. He was a hard faced, bearded fellow who was so broad, he looked almost like a Dwarf. His name was Granius, and he and Balbus knew each other, but Elerian had never seen him before. “This is free land, and we’ll cut what we wish,” said the man arrogantly.
“You will be sorry if you do not change your ways,” said Elerian suddenly. His voice was still a child’s voice, but it was cold as a winter wind, and he stared at the three men with a hard gleam in his eyes.
The three men laughed uproariously at the threat. When he was done laughing, Granius spoke again. “Be off with you Balbus and your brat with you,” he said meanly. “If he threatens me again, I will teach him respect at the end of a switch.”
At the threat in Granius’s voice, Carbo growled and lifted his hackles. In response, all three woodcutters tightened their grips on their ax handles and held themselves ready to defend themselves. The situation was becoming ugly, and Balbus began to worry it would spiral out of control. He knew from experience that Granius was a hard man, given to fits of temper, and his two companions were just as bad. If attacked, the three woodcutters would kill Carbo without a second thought.
“Let us go Elerian,” he said, taking the boy firmly by the shoulder. “There is nothing to be gained by arguing with these men.” Keeping a firm grip on Elerian’s shoulder, Balbus half led, half-dragged him away. Carbo followed after them, casting several angry looks over his shoulder at the three woodcutters. The men’s callous laughter followed them.
“What they are doing is not right,” said Elerian angrily when they were out of sight of the woodcutters, and the thudding of the axes had resumed.
“There is much in the world that is not right Elerian,” said Balbus with a sigh. “We cannot correct every wrong that we see. I do not like what those men are doing, but we have no right to stop them. No one owns this land, and they can do what they like in this part of the forest, no matter how wasteful it is,” he said resignedly. That ended the matter for Balbus, but wisely, he did not release his firm grip on Elerian’s shoulder. He was all too familiar with the boy’s impetuous nature and was afraid that Elerian might run off to confront the men on his own.
Elerian said no more and gradually the frown left his face. Thinking that the boy had gotten over his anger, Balbus released his shoulder, and they continued on their way. Elerian actually appeared to become cheerful again, and by the time they returned home with a load of golden honeycomb, Balbus was certain the boy had forgotten the incident and Granius’s hard words. In this he was mistaken, however, for beneath his carefree exterior, a hard core of anger continued to burn inside Elerian. The woodcutters might be within their rights to chop down trees and leave them to rot, but that still did not make their actions acceptable to him. By evening, Elerian had formed a plan to interrupt their destruction.
The next day, when he set off for his lesson with Tullius, he took with him an old wolf skin that had hung in the barn for years. He could not depend on his unreliable powers to frighten the woodcutters, but the skin might do the trick instead. He left it in the forest near Tullius’s home, returning for it after his lesson. Unerringly, with the wolf skin rolled up under his arm, Elerian returned to the place where he and Balbus had encountered Granius and his companions the day before. He heard the chopping of their axes long before he reached them. As he had hoped, they were still at work, despite the shadows that were gathering under the trees. The men were confident that their strength and their sharp axes would protect them from the dangers of the forest no matter what time of day it was.
Wrapping the wolf skin around him, Elerian approached the men, darting unseen from one tree to another. The sight of another smooth skinned beech with half its limbs lopped off fanned the coals of his anger again, and suddenly, he felt his power stir. With growing excitement, he watched as a flow of golden light spilled from his silver ring. As it covered the wolf skin he had already wrapped around him, Elerian was momentarily startled when the hide shifted and seemed to tighten around him like a live thing. The light that had spilled from his ring vanished, and he saw only the black wolf hide now, covering him snugly from head to toe. Feeling very much like a real wolf, bent over and moving on all fours, Elerian crept out of the shadows gathering under the trees.
Approaching the woodcutters from behind, Elerian gave a deep, guttural growl whose fierceness and volume was startling even to himself. The effect on the woodcutters was even more pronounced. Raising their heads from their work, they left off their chopping and turned, with startled eyes, to seek the source of the frightening sound.
Barely twenty feet away from them was Elerian, crouched down on all fours, but the three men did not see a small boy wrapped in a tattered wolf skin. Instead, they saw a great black beast, larger than any normal wolf. The creature’s eyes were like burning embers, and its long fangs gleamed white. Behind the woodcutters, the four horses they used to haul their wood neighed wildly and broke their tethers. As they raced away through the trees, Elerian suddenly spoke in a rumbling voice, much to the men’s consternation.
“The Ondredon have sent me to punish you,” thundered Elerian in a voice that shook the leaves on the trees. “For the crime of cutting live trees, I am ordered to devour the three of you alive.” Snarling ferociously, Elerian bounded toward the woodcutters. The mention of the Ondredon and the spectral quality of the enormous beast rushing toward them badly frightened two of the men. Dropping their axes, they gave out wild yells and bolted away after the horses as fast as their feet would take them.
Only Granius remained behind to face Elerian. As Elerian rushed toward him, Granius’s feet remained firmly planted on the ground, and he held his sharp ax ready in his hands. Elerian reluctantly found himself admiring Granius’s courage as he stood his ground, alone.
When Elerian was barely ten feet away, Granius unexpectedly threw his ax. Barely in time, Elerian shifted to his right, and the razor sharp ax took off the tip of the wolf skin’s left ear instead of splitting his skull. To his surprise, Elerian felt a burning pain as if his own ear had been sliced off, and red anger replaced his grudging admiration for Granius who was even now resolutely drawing his knife from his belt. An irresistible urge to tear the woodcutter to pieces suddenly overwhelmed Elerian. As he reared up to lunge at Granius, it seemed to the woodcutter that the creature before him swelled in size. Its eyes grew enormous, burning red as coals, and its foul, hot breath fanned his face as it opened his jaws to seize him. The appalling sight was too much for even Granius’s stout courage. He stabbed the wolf with his knife and then took to his heels, following after his rapidly vanishing companions.
Granius’s blade remained lodged in Elerian’s left shoulder, very likely saving the woodcutter’s life. The waves of pain radiating from the sharp blade distracted Elerian, spoiling his aim so that his jaws closed on empty air instead of Granius’s throat. The excruciating injury also had the effect of bringing Elerian back to himself. He was badly shaken as he realized that he had intended to kill Granius. His ring had not only given him the appearance of a wolf but also some of its fierce nature.
Pulling the knife from his shoulder with his teeth, for his hands seemed to have actually become paws, Elerian healed the wound. He was in control of himself again and no longer felt any desire to hurt the fleeing woodcutters, even Granius.
“There is no harm in teaching them a good lesson, though,” thought Elerian to himself, and a wicked gleam came into his eyes. If he had really become like a wolf, then the opportunity was too good to waste. Trailing the woodcutters by scent, he soon caught up with them. They had slowed to a walk, but at Elerian’s first growl, they sprinted away as if they had grown wings on their feet, leaping and bounding over the fallen limbs and other obstacles on the f
orest floor in a way that was wonderful to watch.
Joyfully, Elerian chased after them, nipping at their heels and legs. Each nip he doled out resulted in a satisfying scream or shout of fear, for the men were sure they were being torn to pieces. Every now and then one of them would look over his shoulder with fearful eyes resembling small white saucers. The sight eventually proved too much for Elerian. He was forced to give up the chase, for he was laughing so hard that he could no longer run fast enough to keep up with the fleeing men. As he lay on the ground, shaking with laughter, the wolf skin slipped away from him of its own accord. When he regained control of himself, Elerian found that, once more, he was only a young boy.
Eventually, the woodcutters realized that they had left their fearsome pursuer behind and slowed to a walk again, but they did not stop until they reached the Black Boar at Sidonia. There, over large mugs of strong beer to steady their nerves, they regaled the large party gathered at the inn with a slightly altered version of their adventure. An enormous black wolf had attacked them in the forest. Despite their brave attempts to fend off its attacks with their axes and knives, they had been forced to run from it to save their lives, for the spectral beast was immune to the injuries they inflicted on it. To demonstrate the narrowness of their escape, they showed the rents in their pant legs. The wounds beneath their torn clothes were mere scratches, of course, for Elerian had not wanted to injure the men seriously, but this did not seem to detract from the fear and horror their tale roused in their audience.
The next day, the story got back to Balbus from one of his neighbors. “Is it possible that Elerian is involved?” wondered Balbus to himself as he recalled the boy’s anger toward the woodcutters. When he passed the old wolf hide hanging in the barn, Balbus looked it over carefully. “I don’t recall that missing ear,” he thought to himself. He favored Elerian with several long, thoughtful looks as they did their morning chores, but aside from an odd gleam in his brown eyes, the boy looked completely innocent. “He certainly is not injured in any way,” thought Balbus to himself, but of course, that proves nothing. He could have healed himself.”
Without saying anything to Elerian, Balbus made a trip into the forest that afternoon and retrieved the axes of the three men as well as Granius’s bloody knife. Their horses had already come home on their own. Balbus carefully searched the ground where he found the axes, but he found no sign of a severed ear, for Elerian had already returned and buried it. Balbus returned the axes and the knife, but got no thanks from the sullen woodcutters. When he questioned them, they swore that it was a real wolf that had attacked them, not someone dressed in a skin.
“Elerian could not have been involved, for he is certainly no shape changer,” thought Balbus to himself as he returned home. He put the matter out of his mind and never mentioned his earlier suspicions to Elerian. Granius and his two companions returned to their trade after a few days, but from that day on, much to Elerian’s satisfaction, they confined their woodcutting to the edge of the forest, and they cut no more live trees.
THE BLACK WOLF
Delighted by the results of his trick on Granius and his companions and lured on by the hope of being able to perform more magic, Elerian was encouraged to involve himself in more mischief. It was early summer now, and people were working outside again. Whenever he could slip away from the farm unnoticed, Elerian took note of which of his neighbors were in the habit of working late in their fields. Then, in the evenings after his lessons with Tullius, he began to show himself at the edges of their fields, wrapped snugly in the old wolf skin. Each time, the excitement generated by the escapade roused his magical powers. At first, Elerian was uneasy, remembering how close he had come to slaying Granius, but to his relief, the wolf skin never became a part of him as it had before. It did, however, appear to aid his ring in recreating the illusion of the great black wolf that had frightened the woodcutters. When the staid farmers of the hilltops caught sight of Elerian lurking near the edges of their fields with his flaming eyes glowing like coals, they fled at the sight of him. They expected to be eaten alive if they were caught, for by now, everyone had heard the tale told by Granius and his crew.
No one was actually hurt, and Elerian shook with laughter each time he watched grown men and women sprinting across their fields with a speed they had not displayed since their youth. Each successful prank stoked the fires of mischief inside Elerian, and he saw the golden light he craved spill regularly from the magic ring he wore on his left hand. He began to hope that the invisible barrier, which normally kept him from using his powers, was gradually being weakened or worn away.
Eventually, Elerian became a victim of his own success. By midsummer, his reign of terror caused all the nearby fields to become deserted well before the light of the sun faded. He was now forced to become bolder in his search for new victims. Heart pounding in his chest, he began to creep up to farmhouses where the shutters were left open so that he could show himself through the bars of the windows. The sight of his great, shaggy head and fiery eyes caused a glorious panic each time the people inside saw his frightening form appear briefly at their windows.
Before long, however, it became impossible to find a window after dark that was not shuttered, and Elerian was left without a target for his mischief, for he was limited to the area that was in easy walking distance of Balbus’s farm. He dared not return home too late after leaving Tullius’s lest Balbus become suspicious. Elerian did not feel altogether comfortable with the idea of frightening Balbus, so it was not long before his attention became focused on Tullius. Elerian decided the irascible, old mage would be his next victim.
The thought of playing a prank on Tullius sent a satisfying thrill of excitement through Elerian, for there would be a very real element of danger present. He could still vividly recall in his mind the powerful spells which Tullius had used to rout the mutare. Undeterred by the risk, Elerian carefully laid his plans. One evening, after leaving Tullius’s home, he retrieved his wolf skin from where he had hidden it in a hollow log. Noiselessly, he crept back through the forest toward the mage’s house. Filled with a delicious sense of danger that quickly roused his dormant power, Elerian leaped lightly over Tullius’s front gate and ran to the right of the house. There, he crouched out of sight behind the stone fence and peered stealthily between the weathered pickets of the gate that led through the garden wall. Luck was with him, for Tullius was outside, taking advantage of the last few hours of daylight to work in his garden. He did not appear to be paying much attention to his surroundings, but Elerian knew better. The slightest sound or flicker of motion was sure to alert the wary mage.
The moment Tullius turned his back, Elerian set his left hand on the top of the garden wall to the left of the gate and cleared the low wall in a single, lithe bound. Landing noiselessly on his feet, he stealthily made his way up the path to Tullius’s back door, his heart pounding in his chest with excitement. If Tullius turned his head now, the mage would see him at once, and the game would be over. Elerian shuddered at the consequences if he were caught. The old mage continued with his work, however, and Elerian reached the doorway to the house without being discovered. There was a tall, bushy cedar growing on each side of the doorway, and Elerian silently slipped behind the bush on his left. Trembling with excitement and nervousness, he gathered the old wolf skin tightly around him and settled down behind the fragrant branches of the cedar. His unpredictable mage sight showed him a flow of golden light spilling from the silver ring on his left hand. Augmented by his heightened emotions, he felt his control over his power grow to a new level. The wolf skin tightened around him, and for the second time, Elerian felt that he was truly becoming a wolf as he had on the evening when he had frightened Granius and his fellow woodcutters. Impatiently, he waited for Tullius to stop working and approach the back door.
The sun inched down into the west, and Tullius suddenly seemed to realize the lateness of the hour. With his hoe in one hand and his staff in the other, he c
ame walking up the path toward the back door, blissfully unaware of what awaited him behind one of his cedars. When he was barely ten feet away, Elerian suddenly sprang out on all fours from behind the bush with a cavernous growl echoing in his chest.
To his delight, Elerian saw Tullius stop as if turned to stone. The whites of his eyes showed, and the hairs on his head rose like a gray halo around his shocked face. Like the woodcutters, Tullius saw not a small boy in an old skin, but a great, slavering black beast with fierce, flaming eyes whose head reached to the level of his chest. He gave a great shout of alarm and flung his hoe at Elerian before turning and sprinting for the far side of the garden. Fear lent wings to his feet, and he covered the ground in great bounds that sent his sandals flying off his feet and caused his long gray beard to flutter like a banner over his right shoulder.
Having won the first skirmish, a wiser Elerian would now have retreated in safety, but the sight of Tullius racing across the garden with his beard and hair flying in the wind of his passage was too much to resist. Howling like an entire pack of wolves, Elerian gleefully set off along the flagstone path in pursuit of the fleeing mage. Ahead of him, in an astonishing display of agility for a man his age, Tullius cleared the back wall of the garden in a single leap and disappeared from sight.
Increasing his speed lest his prey escape him, Elerian rushed toward the wall, but before he could reach it, Tullius suddenly popped up again from behind the fence. It was Elerian’s turn to be frightened now, for the mage had his staff extended, and his dark eyes were flashing like thunderbolts. Knowing what was coming, Elerian desperately threw himself backwards, and the spell which Tullius cast at him struck the paving stone on which his front paws had stood a moment before, causing it to explode with a thunderous crack. Some of the jagged stones which flew into the air struck Elerian painfully in the chest and face, but he ignored the pain, for he knew he was still in mortal danger. Sprinting desperately across the garden, he made for the far wall, but even in his panic, he was careful not to run in a straight line, for that would have made him an easier target for the furious mage.