by Andy Love
~~~~~~~~~~
Up to this point, Andrew had scribbled frantically to keep up. Jacob fell silent, and hung his head as he stared into the flagon of ale.
“What’s wrong, Jacob?” Andrew placed the quill on top of his paper and took a drink. “I thought this was about you being a werewolf. That was way in the past, what does it have to do with you, I thought you had a part in this tale?” Andrew wondered about the sanity of his friend. “I despair at the state of your mind. You really expect me to believe werewolves roam around Scotland. Let’s just get drunk.” He pleaded.
Jacob raised his head, looked at Andrew, slowly closed then opened his eyes again, and stared at Andrew. “We must continue; I need it told to everyone. They need to know what’s out there, that nobody’s safe. The Elders ensured we were taught as whelps, being a werewolf is due to being spawned from Rose MacKinnon and her family. They were hunted from Dunkeld by the villagers…we should be grateful for the gift we’d been given…”
“Did you see being a werewolf as a gift?” Andrew interrupted.
“No, it’s not like that. Let’s just get on with it, eh? You’ll find out.”
Jacob quenched his parched mouth. Andrew raised his quill, poised. He continued to scribe the tale.
~~~~~~~~~~
They were spawned from a beast in the Brumbuie woods, near Dunkeld. The pestiferous Rose MacKinnon survived her ordeal, to infect through the decades; at least, Jacob viewed it as an infectious disease. The infected.
In darker times of war, the infected clans fed on the carnage from battlefields. The infected didn’t quarrel with the real wolves in those decades of feasting; an abundance of fresh human meat lay in blood-soaked fields to take. Dismembered limbs were strewn over many hectares of tartan and swords. Neither infected, nor wolves needed to chase or fight, and no harm befell either party. The wolves stole a few limbs and ran into the distance, but the infected thrashed the flesh of corpses, and ripped it from the bones. These were times of plenty, and breeding excelled.
To sniff out frozen meat and blood was a problem with winter battles. The wolves would steal an arm or leg from the infected, and run into the woods. They never wished to make contact with the werewolves, and can’t be blamed for their evasiveness.
Jacob’s clan needn’t rip open a human corpse on a battlefield. They were already served up with open wounds by their own kind, ideal for the infected to feast on. His kin slid their snouts into bloody flesh and gorged until bloated. The abundance of food let them slake the need for human flesh, without drawing attention.
In lean times, the infected inevitably came into contact with local wolves, but mostly they avoided each other. In human times of peace, the two factions would fight to the death over food dug up in graveyards. They lashed with claws and devoured their kill.
His clan were disgusted at the mindless slaughter of the wolves, through fear and ignorance, by the humans, and admitted they were partly to blame. Maybe in time, humans would mature and be peaceful as wolves, if any were left alive.
The wolves wanted to live in peace and avoid humans, but the kin savoured tender human flesh. Jacob and his mate implied the werewolves become complacent and lazy. They were the most savage of savages, a clan of werewolves with only one predator.
Jacob’s ancestors passed on the legend of Draugar, beasts that fed on the dead or abnormal, and absorbed their afflictions. As no werewolf ever saw one, they must be a myth. It was assumed the Elders invented this legend to enthral the whelps, and keep the clan united. The Elders used to preach of Draugar, who fed on werewolves led astray on hunts. The ancient name ‘The eaters of dead’ are a myth, which clawed up bodies from the ground. Ancestors' bones and half-eaten corpses were found strewn around the forest floor, and in graveyards all over Scotland. The werewolves were cautious at night as Draugar were known to seize a werewolf, if split from the clan. The stolen stray didn’t even gasp in death. The deathly silent executions by Draugar, made the clan's heightened ability to hear, resemble deafness.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob held the palm of his hand toward Andrew.
“I need to stop a wee while. I’m starvin’ and need something warm in my gut afore I go on. Can we order?”
Annoyance briefly swept over Andrew’s face, before he smiled and placed the quill on the table.
“Aye, sure friend.” Andrew replied. He knew his hand would reach deep into his pocket to pay for this meal. Unconvinced of Jacob’s tale, yet intrigued with a morbid curiosity. He knew his friend never lied, and ached within for a return to the horrific events.
Andrew waved his hand in the air to attract the wench’s attention—a woman younger than her demeanour—who approached their table. Jacob raised his eyebrows at his friend, but spoke to the wench.
“Two powsowdie broths and two ales.” Jacob grabbed the wench by the hand with a strong grip, “and a singed sheep heid.”
The woman looked at Andrew with a little fear in her eyes. Andrew nodded his head, Jacob released the wench and she scurried to the kitchen.
A lengthy silence sat between the two men, until interrupted by the wench who clattered a sheep’s heid on the table. As the men cut pieces off the head, two flagons of ale and twin bowls of broth, were slopped onto the wooden boards. Andrew broke the silence.
“So, you’re asking me to believe that you’re a…what? That you’re some kind of, werewolf? Come on, Jacob.”
Jacob shook his head. “I was,” he whispered, ”a werewolf. I…no longer have the sickness. I know it’s hard to believe me, but I’ll explain. Please, I need yer trust.”
Andrew thought for a moment, and sighed heavily, still unconvinced of the stories validity. He shook his head in confusion then eventually concluded…if his friend believed it to be true then he would listen, and accept his friend's words.
“Sorry, Jacob. Please continue, please do.”
“I dinnae know if I should tell you this or not? If you don’t believe me, then no one else will. Maybe I should just let werewolves feed on people, forever? You might then understand the constant slaughter."
Andrew wiped greasy hands on his trousers, and lifted the quill once more as Jacob began to speak.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob lived outside Dunkeld with the Kin, and the constant fear of Draugar. He tutored the hunt to two teenage werewolves in the woods. Their simplicity ensured he struggled with the two whelps and his attempt to rein their eagerness.
A fresh scent wafted passed their nostrils. Their heads turned in unison to the forest, and the larger whelp stepped in front of the others. “I smell human,” he turned to the smaller whelp and slapped his arm. “ Come on, let’s get some fresh meat.”
He stepped in front of the two whelps. “Just haud on you twa. I gie the orders here,” he poked a finger in the chest of the largest whelp. “Nae you.”
The largest whelp lunged forward and cracked his forehead against Jacob’s. “I don’t want touched by the likes of you.” The smallest whelp laughed nervously then both ran into the forest, and left Jacob dazed on the ground.
Once he caught up with the whelps, he heard the human pant a short distance away. They’d be upon it soon. Humans tend to weaken easily, and not much sport for these two young, ravenous werewolves.
They bayed with intensified excitement into a mesh of leaves and branches, which created a mosaic sky. They could already hear the heavy breath of the man.
He growled the command to flank the prey, which ran for its life. Its sweat and fear seeped irresistibly through the air. The whelps bounded off on all fours, as they parted to the West and East with increased speed.
A howl of pain dragged from his throat as his muscles expanded. They reshaped, bones cracked, joints squeaked and popped as his frame quivered under the strain. The change from human to werewolf forced him to the ground.
Jacob exerted a burst of pace from stance, continued north on paws. He gained on the quarry, a short sprint away.
He heard a how
l from the East, another to the West, both very close. ‘Is now the time I call off the hunt and slaughter of another human, or should I bark the order to execute the ambush?’ Before he could muster the next thought, a gruff sound came from his throat.
Close enough to his quarry, he saw its pale skin, and could smell the stench of fear as it seeped through the human’s trousers. The youngsters were poised, ready to leap. They enveloped the food, and slid their teeth deep into its throat, which cut the terrible sound off in mid-scream.
Jacob stared, mesmerised as a desire burned within to join the whelps. He remembered how he craved the repulsiveness, to sink his teeth into softness, the tear of human skin and flesh. How the texture reacted inside his mouth, and the muscles part from a bloody carcass.
The drawback with a human feast, were its screams as it was torn apart, and announced to the world the presence of werewolves. Jacob told the whelps repeatedly to rip out the throat first. No matter how much the prey tries to scream, all it can do is a gurgle through it throat. Again, they had ignored him.
He lunged at one whelp, grabbed hold of its flank with his jaws and bit down hard. It let go of the prey with a yelp. Both youngsters turned to face him, their ears folded back, with bared teeth, which dripped bloody saliva and mucus. Steam rose from their hairy bodies as wisps of condensation dissipated in the cold January night air. Their defiance heightened as the perfume of luscious blood pumped out from holes in the human’s throat. Jacob must enforce dominance, or he would be ripped apart too. He snarled at each whelp in turn.
“I ordered you to close, take down, and ambush; not to kill.”
Jacob wanted to show them how to best disable prey quickly, kill quietly, and where the most succulent meat was. He barked another order.
“Kill your meat right, or it’ll draw attention.”
The human constantly groaned, as it rustled through leafs and dead branches. It tried in vain to reach for safety. The whelp from the west snarled, as his claws pinned down and punctured the meat’s calves.
The youngster to the East leapt on top of the man, and crunched its teeth through the human’s neck. The head rolled off to the side and the whelp expelled the human’s larynx in front of Jacob.
It didn’t take long for the food to judder and die. Once the limbs failed to move, they gorged in comfort on a mutilated mess of leaf-strewn and bloody meat. Jacob joined the feast as their heads shook around inside the body. Heat from the man's organs warmed his face and his nostrils blocked with blood.
It’s curious how the human heart still beats, even when they tore and ate its organs. The human’s body groaned, when the last breath was pushed out as our heads thrashed against its lungs.
The three returned to their human form. The largest whelp turned to Jacob with censure as they headed back to camp.
“This is’nae the last, we’ll sort this oot wi’ the elders. You tried to stop us eating one of your precious humans. You’re nae a hunter any more. You’ve lost the guts for death.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob stared at the flies on the half-eaten sheep head, his mind wrapped in an old life. His body would be consumed with savagery and a hunger for blood, if he were still a werewolf. His friend envisaged Jacob with a blood-soaked face and flesh on his teeth. If this story is true, and he convinced himself more, as time pressed on. ‘Am I really sitting with a killer, a savage of no conscience. Maybe I should take my leave with apologies?’ His mind raced with fearful possibilities, but realised he scared himself. ‘Jacob has been a good friend, why should I be afraid of a story from a horrid past?’ Andrew looked up, curious why his friend ceased to relate the story. He cleared his throat to draw Jacobs’s attention, but to no avail.
“Are you alright?” He waited, but his friend wasn’t disturbed by the attempt to interrupt a violent memory. Andrew’s patience grew thin. He shouted and rapped his knuckles on the thick wooden table. “Jacob!”
His friend lifted his head up startled. “What the f… what’s all the din aboot?”
Andrew waved his hand over the greasy stink from the meat as he chased the persistent flies, and queried Jacob.
“I’ll be honest with you, Jacob. I feel more than a little afraid of you now. I’m not saying that I don’t believe you, or do, but it’s difficult to imagine you ate human flesh. Hell knows what else.”
The ex-werewolf shook his head. “Oh, my dear friend. Please don’t live in fear of me. What I say is in the past. I’m not a werewolf now. Please don’t be afraid.” He pleaded.
“I’ll try my best to restrain my fear. Shall we proceed with the tale?” He shifted his eyes from the paper to his friend, who nodded. “Did the young men of your clan talk to the Elders?”
Jacob supped his ale and licked the excess from his lips before he answered. “Aye, they did. On oor return to camp, the wee bastards reported my weakness for the human. I know the clan Elders would give me a very short trial, that’s for sure. ”
Andrew dipped the quill in ink again and continued to scratch the parchment.
~~~~~~~~~~
The whole clan were called for an audience with the elders. They all squeezed into the small, dilapidated barn, and bumped into pitchforks, chains and ropes. Once the two whelps entered the small barn, it filled with intensified chatter and yells.
Straw bales at the back of barn were stacked up to resemble a large row of aloof seats, where the elders sat. Young clan members dangled their legs over the raised section of the oak beams. Dry straw and dung were strewn across the floor. Particles of wheat floated through the subdued light from the few lanterns. Large splinters omitted from the walls of the barn, created spy holes. They were perfect little windows, for those who did not wish to conform to the Elders rules, or were excluded from an assembly.
The excitement of a judgement raised hackles and emotions. The head Elder demanded silence, with the elevation of a hand. The atmosphere turned deathly quiet as the whelps approached the throne of straw. The Elder lifted his hulking mass off the bale, scanned the room and raised his arms.
“This here, be the trial of Jacob Brown. Accused of cavorting with humans.” He pointed a long index finger at the two whelps that knelt before him. “You whelps, tell us of these happenings.”
One youngster stood, took a few steps closer to the make-shift throne and lowered his head.
“We were oot in the woods and happened across a human. We wanted to kill it right away,” The whelp looked at Jacob, “but he couldn’t make his mind up. So, we ran after the meat and would have killed it cleanly, if he hadn’t thrown us from his precious human.” The other whelp nodded his head in energetic agreement, every time his friend mentioned Jacob’s actions.
The Elder pointed to the whelp that nodded. “Is this true?”
The whelp lifted his head slightly, and strained his eyes to view the elder. “Uh huh.” He nodded again, and thumbed the direction of his friend. “What he spoke be true.”
Jacob couldn’t abide lies. Their recount of events welled as anger in his mind. He yelled out at the back of the barn, and incited a cacophony of jeers and hisses, which he shouted over.
“It’s lies, all lies. Looks like I’m getting the same one-sided justice my wife got.” Jacob was forced to his knees, by the burly guards on each side. “Werewolves are human’s with a sickness. We are diseased. Our body changes and we make others sick. The beast inside us comes out to kill and feed. We can control it!”
Mothers covered the ears of their young.
"Don’t you realise, this change affects yer thinking? When your heid’s full of sickness, you just want kill and to feed.” Jacob struggled against the guards grip. “What about the agony when our bones break? Our muscles rip as we change. It’s always a reminder of our bane.” The derision and hisses erupted again, but he continued. “Every time…”
The head Elder’s voice boomed over Jacob’s elucidation. “Enough of your human words. We are werewolves, you human lover. You and your bitch-of-a-mate t
hought you were better than us. You thought as humans, you wanted to live like humans. We are not human. It’s something we feel you struggle with, yet. You think you’re so learned, with your numbers and fancy words from all those…fancy books. I think we should burn out any nasty books you may have hidden.”
A cheer of agreement blasted from the audience. Jacob’s eyes searched for a glimmer of sanity within the walls. His eyes expressed revulsion for the clan. The jeers, hoots and spit from the crowd, turned to laughter.
The outcast missed his mate. He needed the reassurance and comfort from Jessie. His fingers glided back and forth, across the distinctive two-tone leather bracelet on his other wrist. He touched the softness of Jessie’s blonde hair, which he entwined within the leather strands. He also made one for Jessie, with his hair merged into a leather throng bracelet. It was a symbol of their unity, a mark of love. They shared a closeness, frowned upon and torn apart by the kin.
“You’re all mindless, murdering bastards. Just savage animals.”
Jacob spat on the floor, pushed aside his guards, turned and burst open the twin barn doors. He stomped into the night full of rage.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob noticed his friend stopped writing. His quill was horizontal as the back of his hand rested on the table.
“Why have ya stopped, whit’s wrong?”
Andrew laid his quill on the table, and massaged the palm of his right hand as he tried to disguise his scribe-induced twinges.
“From what you’ve told me, it sounds as if you all lived as…animals. I know the poor in Scotland are unclean. They are forced to eat and drink what they can, but they’re not savages, yet.”
Andrew stopped the massage of his hand and flexed his fingers; fist to starfish. “In a way, you were like humans: fighting for food, and what you feel is right. I understand your frustration. Your anger of feeling trapped, in a life you don’t want. You were forced into this fantastical breed of beasts. “
Jacob’s eyes glazed. He pressed his lips together, clenched his jaw, and stemmed his emotions.
“If they’d only left Jessie and me alone. We were happy together.”