by Andy Love
A crackle behind made him stop, with his back to a tree for defence. He strained to hear a low growl to his right, and saw the old wolf. It stole toward him, with its tail in the air. Jacob wondered. ‘Does the old man want to kill me for his mate's death?’
He knelt down hesitantly as the wolf crept close. Jacob cowered, and kept watchful of the alpha’s subtle movements.
‘Should I trust the old wolf? I must, he trusted me.’ The wolf nudged his leg with its body. Jacob lowered his hand to the side of the wolf's head. His trust in the old wolf realised, when it pushed a cold damp nose against the back of his hand. Both sat at the base of the tree in silence, until Jacob spoke, with no chance of an intelligent answer.
“You put your family in danger and Jess was killed. I don’t understand why you’re here. I’m a stupid half-breed with…thanks.”
The wolf faced his old guest, grunted, and gazed into the forest ahead. Jacob headed North, before he veered West toward distant lights.
The alpha knew Jacob’s chosen direction to be a perilous one. He knew the direction Jacob walked, a place of no hope, a trek to death. His pack ran to chase the whelps in the opposite direction, but the alpha howled their return.
Jacob heard baying behind him, and ran hard in the direction of the distant lights, toward salvation, help, maybe even humans. His heart pounded and adrenaline coursed. He heard a sound in the distant southeast. The crash of branches, and the urgent pace of whatever travelled through the wood. He heard that distinctive sound, which should turn blood ice cold; the kin were on the move again. The whelps had Jacob’s scent. He needed to move faster. His breath quickened and the sweat flowed. The urge to release the sickness ate at him. It thrashed inside his blood, and demanded release.
~~~~~~~~~~
A large dark blue blowfly, landed on Andrew’s paper, right in front of his quill. Its broad, yet compact body danced for joy, when it saw the debris left from the sheep head. He could only stare at this impudent hairy little monster. It flashed a metallic abdomen as it rotated its body. Andrew raised his quill slowly as the fly’s close-set eyes revolved manically. When the fly faced the meat, he stabbed at the dirty fly with his quill. He missed and created a blotch of ink on the top of his paper.
Jacob looked at the inkblot and grinned. “I think you need a bigger lance. That fly’s a wee bit too quick for you.”
“Aye,” Andrew replied as he shook his head. “Or a bigger fly.”
Both men laughed until Andrew tried to squash the fly with his hand. He missed again and the fly escaped to another table.
“Damn beasties,” Andrew exclaimed. “I’d kill them all, if I was quick enough.”
Jacob nodded in response.
Mr. Hunter raked down the Inn’s open fire and Mrs. Hunter wiped the bar with a discoloured rag. The wench busied herself: collected empty flagons and bones from the meals, while she straightened empty tables and chairs. Andrew dipped his quill into the makeshift pot of ink and interpreted Jacob’s words coherently onto paper.
“It’s getting late, Jacob. We need to get on with this before last orders are called.”
“OK, where was I? Oh aye, I headed away from my kin, and the wolf pack who helped me escape, so…”
~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob ran a long time in a fever of terror. The once distant lights solidified into window shapes, and a large building loomed through the darkness. He read a roughly engraved wooden sign above the double front doors, NODODY’S INN.
A dog growled, barked and lunged at Jacob as he walked up the steps of the old wooden porch. The animal’s mouth and teeth seemed to grow each time it reached the extent of its tethered lunge. Jacob stepped back with fright then emitted his own dominance. The dog cowered in subservience as white froth dripped from its jaws. Its last ounce of courage passed clenched teeth with a whine.
Jacob stepped into a large room: a long L-shaped bar to the left, the rest filled with tables, chairs and people. The wooden walls held sconces with flickering tallow, which blackened the wall behind. Two men sat in one corner; their long scraggly hair obscured their features. One of them played high tones from a fiddle. He mastered the bow as if he used a sword to carve across the body of the instrument. The screeches made Jacob want to scratch his skin from the inside. The other vagabond pummelled a Bodhrān with a bone. Everyone stamped their feet to the unusual pagan beat. Jacob sensed a hypnotic thud through the wooden floor. Tables and chairs were strategically placed for the maximum number of people. The Inn heaved with rancid hairy males, and sweat-soaked whores. The stink from alcohol, bodies, and tallow irritated his sickness.
Figures lurked in the background. They shifted between opaque, translucent, to a limpid quality. Some were mesmerised by the rhythm, which pulsed to the flicker of candles. Screams of laughter were also heard over the macabre ballad. He listened to the thick, creamy blood surge underneath the unclean skin. A nearby whore wriggled toward him, and brushed her pliable body against his. Like a cat aches to feed, her pungent smell and filthy hairs spread. The music muted her seductive tones to a constant purr. Jacob tried to brush her aside with a negative response, but the insatiable instinct to feed made her persistent. His stomach forced an arc of puke down her cleavage. She looked at the putrid mess then slapped Jacob across the face. While he wiped the remainder of the acidic drool from his chin, the burly Innkeeper shouted. “Whit da ya want, laddie? There be nae bitch hereabouts to lick yer arse clean.”
Jacob couldn’t allow his sickness to surface, that’s what the whelps wanted. It wouldn’t be fair on these poor humans, to slaughter them all. It was unknown to them what he was, or the pogrom he could create. They didn't deserve to die in such a way, nobody did. Jacob’s instinctual loyalty to the clan obscured his decision.
‘Surely one quick release of sickness couldn’t hurt too much? A swipe across their throats and I could have a tasty feast…I can’t allow these thoughts.’
The smell and sound of a kill would slither between the trees on the cold night breeze. It would point a giant bloody finger of aroma, straight at Jacob. He deliberately restrained the inner werewolf from retaliation, and let his human and vulnerable side emerge.
Jacob hated being humble, but he should try a little taste as his life depended on it. A walk through the gauntlet of onlookers brought him to the bar. The Innkeeper shouted in his face this time. “Whit da ya want here, laddie?”
“I want a room for the night, that’s all. I don’t want any trouble.”
The Innkeeper looked behind each side of Jacob and grinned through green-edged teeth. He gave a deep bow and attempted aristocratic vernacular. “I’m sure we can accommodate you, Sir. Would Sir want anything before you retire for the evening?” His grin dropped to a scowl. “Maybe one of our whores, or a rag to wipe your fuckin’ mess, or should we make you eat it.”
Jacob scanned the Innkeeper with contempt, and stared at the leather bracelet he wore. The distinctive twist of coloured leather thongs, and his entwined werewolf hair. He glanced at the bracelet’s counterpart on his wrist, and back to compare the Innkeeper’s. It belonged to his dear Jessie. ‘That’s ma Jessie’s!” The thought raged in his mind. There’s only one way someone could have her symbol of unity. It meant he was in centre of a Draugar den. The horror of realisation surged inside and his legs almost collapsed beneath his terrified body.
The Innkeeper glanced behind Jacob again, raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly.
Excited howls were heard in the distance, and all attention suddenly diverted to the front doors. Jacob turned back to face the Innkeeper, and met with an explosive fist to his jaw. It dropped him onto the filthy and uneven planked floor. His face burned with rage as he clambered to his knees. He spat out bloody saliva, and a few teeth. His audience gasped as he looked up with renewed intimidation. They all froze and stared at Jacob’s puddle of blood-spotted floor and the drool on his face. The small silence broke with an outburst of laughter. The blood in his veins burned as muscles pulsated
and contorted. He must concentrate, before his bones began to crack and bend into another shape. He must stay calm. Concentrate. Fight it! He can’t let the disease through.
The sickness arrived. Jacob’s eyes flashed open, and viewed the crowd through a golden hue. The change somehow made these people more repulsive to him. They seemed to have demonic features, different somehow. He reared up to seven feet of hair and muscle, and roared with pained rage. The things infuriated him, they cackled and bared mouthfuls of needle sharp teeth. He couldn’t smell people anymore; a putrid evil, a sick stench of rotted flesh, which wafted through the air. Confusion set into Jacob’s mind. The things prodded him, tormented as a mad dog. The faces of these beings turned corpse-like. Their skins split into deep cuts, as their images faded then gained solidity. The candlelight made them appear to flicker between reality and obscurity.
Jacob glided round, swiped at the agitators, and lifted one off its feet. It flew across some tables and crashed awkwardly into the musicians. The room once again roared with laughter as the fiddle player groaned, disgruntled at the interruption of his haunting music. Jacob turned, swiped at another, but it moved in a blink of his eyes. The fiddle player already ground out another macabre song while he stomped time with his foot. An evocatively sleazy voice seemed to swim around the room from the grim mouth of the man that pummelled on a Bodhrān. These…beings could only be the legend—Draugar.
Draugar surrounded and slashed him with their long, yellow sickle nails. He howled in pain with each separation of skin from his carcass. They shook their hands, which released clumps of fur and bloody flesh. It splattered furniture and stuck to the walls. Jacob noticed a piece propel through the shadowed figures and hit the wall. His feeble attack and lack of energy suppressed the sickness. He regressed to human form and lay on the floor in his own carnage, barley alive. His common sense and normal vision return. Jacob craned his head to confirm his observation. “What in hell are you lot?”
Two Draugar hauled him by the arms into an upright stance as a female leaned over him and spoke in a hushed Gaelic accent.
“What out from hell? We know you dog, you’re kith and kin. We made you, long ago. This is our land; we Draugar take all that our food is. We are not one species defined, but many we hoard. Humans feud, and must slaughter their own…we gorge on their wars.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Jacob. We haven’t tasted werewolf blood for some time, not since your mate. You’ve been good enough to bring extra meat through those doors, very soon. I suppose we should thank you, but we won’t.”
The thing’s breath repulsed Jacob, as it talked some more. “Ah, I see from the look on your face; you don’t understand. I’ll simplify it for you. We feed on corpses in lean times, and absorb all disease or evil within our food. We are Draugar in ancient fables. Sometimes known as, eaters of the dead. Simple really.”
The doors burst open and two whelps gambolled into the room, poised like two savage Picts. Their claws were out, as if swords drawn and ready to carve some bodies. Jacob screamed at them. “Get out. Don’t. They’re…”
Full of bravado, the youngsters filled their chests with air, pointed straight at Jacob and roared from the bottom of their lungs.
The Draugar opened their mouths wide with a hiss, before they shredded flesh from the werewolf. They smeared his blood over their faces, while others crept behind the two whelps.
The werewolves raised and extended their claws for attack. Jacob heard them howl and growl. When he opened his eyes, they were covered in a throng of naked, scrawny and spike-toothed Draugar. His eyes closed, and heard his body slump to the ground.
Jacob regained consciousness to five people stood over him, no smell to revolt, only the stench of human. He heard a heavy Gaelic voice in the distance, before he passed out again. “Throw that one down the cellar with the rest of the waste. We’ll feast on its rotten flesh later.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Andrew stopped writing again and pointed the feather toward Jacob then waved it from side to side. “Where did the Draugar come from?”
“I don’t know. The Elders may know, but it’s hard to understand if they do know Draugar”
“So, you think the Elders lied about their lack of knowledge.”
“Well, aye. This would show the kin to be weak. They’d be open to slaughter from an unknown enemy. If you’re not werewolf then you’re enemy.”
“I guess you survived the Draugar then? How did you manage to…I guess they sleep during the day?” Andrew persisted.
“How the f…how should I know? I got out of there alive, and human. Why would I care for my kin or Draugar? Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite yer heid off. You know whit I mean though, eh?”
“Aye, I think. I won’t pretend to fully understand, but I now know what you are, were. It’s all behind you now, you have a new life here.”
“My life can change at any moment. If they search for me, I’ll need to flee for my life, or be torn apart. Many innocent people would be slaughtered if I didn’t run. We need to get on with this tale, can we get started again?” From what I saw, I think I’m the only one to escape the den of Draugar.
~~~~~~~~~~
When Jacob awoke in the basement, he noticed a pinhole of light in the distance, and the dust constantly broke its solidity. He crawled toward the little light of hope. He stemmed the need to retch as his hands and knees pressed into cold, sticky softness of the carcasses, which rotted on the floor. He heard the dirty flies buzz around with excitement, while others spewed on their food then sucked up the liquefied meat. Jacob’s urgent need to puke would breed another multitude of maggots. He forced his mind to ignore the putrid filth, and concentrate on the route to freedom.
He held his palm in front of the light, and let the warmth of the bright salvation caress his hand. His fingers passed across the beam, and broke its length. It lit his small finger, reached the far wall then another finger; long, short; long, short as if he’d never seen daylight before. Jacob shuffled to the light’s aperture, placed his left hand on the wall, and steadied his weary body. The rough texture of wood rubbed against his hand as the smell of forest air seeped into the stench of the basement. He pushed his finger into the hole and blocked the light. The wood crumbled at his touch. Jacob laughed, continued to pick at the wood, and increased the light beam’s width. The voice in his head screamed ‘Escape’; it grew in volume as the hole enlarged.
He looked over his shoulder, to ensure no disruption. He caught a glimpse of rancid bones, which covered the floor, and a mass of bugs scuttled from the light. He turned around to continue the escape, but came face to face with a blood streaked hoary image. Jacob jumped back and kicked out at the ugly vision. The glass shattered and he sniggered at his own reflection.
~~~~~~~~~~
Jacob’s throat dried, he coughed then gulped his ale. Some overflowed down each side of his mouth and trailed down his beard.
Andrew’s body trembled with the verbal terror he experienced. His nature is to defuse and lighten a situation he was uncomfortable with. He forced a nervous grin. He tipped his inkpot and raised an eyebrow. “I hope this tale isn’t much longer, the ink’s getting low. I can’t afford to buy the stuff, I procured from Mr. McGregor’s office.”
Jacob slid a small brown bag of coins over the table. “Use this however you need. It’s all the savings I have so, I trust you, my friend. People need to know of the monsters around them.”
Andrew lifted the bag, weighed it in his palm then stuffed it in his pocket. “Don’t worry, Jacob. I’ll use it wisely. Are you happy with the title, Nobody’s Inn?”
“I don’t care,” Jacob said impatiently. “It’s up to you. I just want folk to know. Warn them.”
“If the clan were such mindless killing beasts, why are you so learned?”
Jacob contemplated this question for a few seconds. “The Elders taught us to read and write, so we could interact with humans, when needed. I wanted to know what the signs meant in th
e village shops. I craved to know what the words were in books. I stole books from wherever I could. It’s hard to learn in this way, and maybe not perfect, but at least I eventually understood the written words of humans.”
“So, why don’t you write this yourself?”
Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “I never got the chance to writing. The words that humans use, express so much emotion; with feelings in a way my kin didn’t, couldn’t. I needed to rid myself of a savage clan and live with humans, a normal life. Surly that’s the right path to learn?”
“You’re right there; you done well to learn on your own. So, where were we with this story? Och aye, you escaped from Nobody’s Inn, but how did you end up here in Duddingston, near…”
“Aye,” Jacob interrupted. “I fled south then stole a boat. I crossed over the Kincardine water, and wandered into Glasgow. I tired quickly of the noise; the stink of fish and the law were everywhere. I headed east and stopped at Leith for a time in lodgings. I then backtracked to lose myself in Auld Reekie. The streets were darker, and the law ignored the poor. I managed to blend into the overcrowded streets of old Edinburgh.”
“What did you do in Edinburgh?”
“Not much, same as Leith. I ended up a rat catcher through hunger. After years in Edinburgh, I moved here cause the law asked too many questions.” Jacob’s hands caressed his flagon, lowered his head, and gazed at the contents. ”After a while living in Duddingston, I met a drunken old man; a dirty old letch. He’s a kind man though, who laughs in the face of fear. Now, I call him friend.”
Andrew smiled at Jacob and nodded gently. He would never say the words, which choked his throat, or show the extent of his bond. A trusting friendship didn’t need explanation, and why Andrew continued to sound impervious to the hideous tale just told. He fought to control his nervous body movements as he verbally cleared his throat, and sidestepped his fear.