ASIM_issue_54

by ed. Simon Petrie

  I picked up the clothes and shoes and walked on. The dog Cafal whimpered, but followed me. The passageway was icy and I began to wish I’d gone with my cousin after all, but I was terribly curious. There was a prickling in my spine which told me something strange was happening.

  Cafal slipped ahead of me, sniffing some more. The dog stopped suddenly. As I nearly tripped over him, I dropped some of the bundle. Shoes and breeches tumbled to the floor. I was startled when Cafal snapped up the breeches and ran ahead, dragging them along. Dragging or not, he was much faster than I. I hurried after, losing him, but there was only one way he could have gone.

  It was several minutes before I caught up and when I did, I pulled up abruptly.

  Philippe sat huddled on the floor, his dog licking him. He wore only the breeches Cafal had snatched from the pile.

  “Philippe?” Slowly, surprised, I walked over and crouched beside him. “What’s wrong? How did you …?” I stopped, not sure I really wanted the answer to my question. People do not usually throw off all their clothes in a cold corridor and run away.

  Philippe’s dark eyes looked into mine. “I—I don’t know. I don’t remember! One moment I was walking to our quarters, the next … I was here, naked, with Cafal dropping my breeches next to me.”

  “Are you still unwell?” I asked. “Perhaps you’d better go on to your quarters, then, and I’ll send you a hot drink?”

  “It’s strange,” he murmured, “but I feel much better. I could almost go on the hunt after all!”

  “Too late,” I laughed, relieved. “But perhaps you’d best put on the rest of your clothes before you freeze to death?”

  He stood, taking them. I rose with him. “I’ll join you all in the solar presently … Will Eglantine be there?”

  I pushed down my resentment. “Yes. She’s there now. We’ll wait for you. I’m glad you feel better.”

  As he turned for his quarters, he rubbed his face. “I’d better shave first. It’s strange how quickly my beard grows!”

  Very strange, I thought. He was only fifteen, but his beard was coming in early. I had noticed that.

  Later, I watched the two of them flirt under their parents’ approving eyes. This was a suitable match. His parents’ lands were extensive and would be more so, one day, if their son married Eglantine. She would have a huge dowry.

  I saw their heads, dark and fair, together, laughing and talking.

  When the hunting party returned, and we all moved to the hall, the men teased Philippe for his sudden illness, hinting his real reasons for staying home were to do with a certain pair of blue eyes.

  Midwinter feast approached. We heard about a bold lone wolf that was helping itself to the few stock left in the village homes for the winter. My uncle and his men, with some of the visitors, searched nearby, but found nothing except a slaughtered, partially-eaten deer in the naked woods. Whatever this beast was, it was smart. And it hadn’t done much damage; wolves did come close when they were hungry, so we could be glad there had been only one.

  In the castle, we prepared for the feast. The hunt had provided plenty of extra, fresh meat for the night. It would be a fine event, and the local villagers were invited to share it.

  Eglantine fussed about her new gown. It needed extra work, she decided, and nothing would do for her but that I stopped cooking and stitched some more decorations onto it. She, on the other hand, fretted about what Philippe would think, when she wasn’t with him, listening to him play music and sing. He wasn’t much of a musician, but that mattered little to Eglantine, who gazed admiringly up at him from her sky-coloured eyes.

  With the help of the villagers, we prepared everything for Midwinter Night.

  Chief Priest Henri de Nomes came from a men’s community endowed by my uncle’s family, both to bless the feast and because he was a cousin. Eglantine’s priestess aunt, herself about to travel to the Djarnish Isles to take charge of a women’s community, also arrived. I liked Dame Blanche; she was a comfortable, kindly woman who loved learning and could not only read but wrote treatises about herbs and the human body and composed holy music. Her women’s house would be worth living in.

  It was she who calmed down Eglantine when she fussed over Philippe’s absence.

  “He’s been away all day!” my cousin whined. “Why doesn’t he stay with us?”

  “He will be here soon, child,” Dame Blanche said. “He can’t be with you every minute. Now, straighten your gown and your hair so you can look fine for him.”

  Eglantine surprised me by obeying. And he was there when we entered the hall—pale, but smiling. He approached us to bow over Eglantine’s hand.

  The entire keep was noisy and full of people. We had hired some musicians, but as they hadn’t been able to get through from the city in all the snow, anyone who could play any instrument had been recruited. They were rehearsing noisily in a corner of the hall. Savoury smells were coming from the kitchens; some of them came from food I had prepared. There was to be a subtlety which would incorporate the devices of my uncle’s family and Philippe’s. It was not quite as spectacular as it might have been in a larger household, where they could afford a specialised baker to prepare it, but it would certainly deliver a message to all about the plans the two families had.

  Henri blessed the feast, praying that this darkest night of the year would soon be followed by the light of the sun’s return. We sang a song to the sun and to the hero Yeshu, who came from the lands which the sun never left and had been born at this time.

  The feast began. Dishes were brought and removed. Music played for each course. The subtlety was brought on to cheers; Philippe and Eglantine smiled at each other.

  When we had finished the sweet dishes of dried fruits cooked with spices, space was made for dancing.

  After the first pairs dance—I danced with a cousin, Eglantine with Philippe, of course—someone called for a farandole. We all joined in as the music became swift and cheerful, forming a line to dance around the hall, clasping hands. The older folk dropped out, laughing, first, and the rest of us danced on. The musicians were willing to keep playing as long as we were prepared to dance. Like a snake, we wound around and around the hall. I held hands with my younger brother on one side and Philippe on my other. He held Eglantine’s hand and she was the last.

  One moment, Philippe was laughing and looking back at Eglantine; the next he was crying out and breaking away. As he ran from the hall, the music stopped on a jarring note. Eglantine stood, shocked, and, as usual, began to cry. Dame Blanche hurried forward to comfort her and said, “Yvonne, find his parents and see if you can help.”

  His parents were as confused as the rest of us. His father was apologising to my uncle for his son’s bad behaviour.

  “He’s been strange the last few weeks. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I will make sure he apologises tomorrow.”

  The dancing continued, but Blanche and I took the weeping Eglantine to our quarters and Blanche brought her a hot posset with a sleeping draught in it. She had told Eglantine’s mother firmly that she was hostess and must look after her guests. And because Blanche was the elder sister, she was obeyed.

  I tossed and turned, wide awake. The music and dance continued for some time, but finally everyone went to bed and silence descended on the keep, a little at a time. Men below chatted as they moved the tables and prepared bedding. Footsteps went by.

  Hearing a passing guard on his way to his night shift, I opened the door a crack.

  “Robert? Has Philippe returned?”

  “No, lady. No one has seen him since he ran out. Even the villagers near the doors haven’t seen anything and you’d think if he was leaving the keep they would have noticed. His parents are terribly worried, since he never came back, so we looked all over the keep, every last inch of it.”

  “Perhaps he went out through the secret passage?”

  Robert chuckled. “We don’t have one. That story about the evil ancestor and the siege is a family fol
ktale. I was brought up here with the young lord before he wed, and we looked all over for it. Now, go to sleep. I have work to do still before they let me sleep, protecting you from evil invaders and such!” Making a gesture of respect, he continued on his way.

  We were sharing our room with two of my younger sisters and Dame Blanche, who shushed the giggling children and ordered them firmly to sleep.

  There was no telling how long Eglantine’s sleeping draught would last. I lay open-eyed, hoping it would last till morning, which would give me some peace. If she woke, she would shake me and whisper her troubles. Finally, I did sleep, but not for long. Something woke me.

  Dame Blanche was by the door. She was leaning out, whispering, “No, the children are asleep. I won’t wake them. No, we have seen nothing tonight. Do you want me to come down?”

  I couldn’t hear the reply, but she glanced back at us and, seeing us apparently asleep, tossed on a cloak and left, shutting the door quietly.

  I rose and covered myself, finding my shoes by feel in the dark. Then I followed Dame Blanche. Something was happening and I wanted to know what it was, however frightening it might turn out to be. Dame Blanche was not going out there for a pleasant chat.

  Below, the hall still had some light from the dying fire. Sleepy warriors sat on their bedding or stood around. My uncle was speaking to one of his hunters, a man called Gerard, and the village headman, Bertrand.

  “Are you sure?” he was asking.

  “The prints led straight to the keep, my lord. It hasn’t been snowing tonight, so they were quite clear. There was blood. And …” Gerard hesitated, but continued, “there were prints coming out. The beast came from here earlier tonight.”

  “So it was wandering around the keep?” my uncle said. “Well, we knew there was a wolf around the villages. There was a feast going on. It must have smelled—”

  “My lord, did you hear me? The tracks came out before they went in. They were melted somewhat.”

  “There could be any number of reasons for that,” Dame Blanche said.

  “That is true, but, Madame, I am a hunter; this is my job. I know what I know.”

  “There is a possibility we have not discussed,” said Chief Priest Henri, who was standing next to Philippe’s father, Sire Marc. In the flickering flames, I could see Marc’s face. There was something he knew, or suspected; he had said nothing so far, but his whole body showed stress, his fists clenched, his arms and legs stiff.

  “Loup-garou?” Blanche said gently, but not quite believing it. Who among those we knew could have made a pact with darkness to gain the powers of a werewolf?

  “It is possible, and would explain the intelligence of the beast that has been killing stock. Or perhaps it is a born man-wolf who didn’t even know what he was. Either way, if he is caught, he must be dealt with. Or she …”

  No, I thought with a sinking feeling. He. One who had definitely not known what he was. Did he deserve to die for it? No one had been harmed—so far. No one need be harmed, once he was aware. He would control it.

  “Dealt with in what way?” Blanche asked.

  “You know the law,” he said sternly. “There’s only one way.”

  “If we can find him,” said the hunter. “And even then, we have nothing to prove this if he has changed back and cleaned up, so I suggest we start now.”

  My uncle nodded. “Do it. Try not to wake my guests, but do what you must. Take some of my household warriors with you.”

  I turned to go back to my room before anyone noticed I was up.

  As I opened the door, Eglantine lifted her head, murmuring, “What’s happening?” Her voice was groggy.

  “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

  “Have they found Philippe?”

  “No.” Which was true. “Maybe by morning.”

  Please sleep, I thought desperately. I prayed she hadn’t woken the younger girls.

  She lowered her head again.

  I lay down, but knew I would not sleep. From outside, I heard the sounds of men’s boots and the rattle of weapons as they passed the room on their search.

  The noise became louder. My sisters awoke and squealed.

  “Let’s go out and see what they’re doing,” suggested Eleanor, my youngest sister.

  “No!” I said sharply. “Stay where you are.”

  From the corridor, there was a recognisable bark: Cafal. I sat up, listening. Cafal barked again, from further away, growled and yelped with startlement and pain.

  The door was flung open. In the dim light from the passageway I recognised Philippe. He threw himself inside, panting and gasping. Before the shadows took over again, I could see a splatter of blood on his arms and face. He was dressed in the clothes he had worn earlier that evening, but they were crumpled and damp, as if they had been left outside for some hours.

  Automatically, I fumbled for my fire-making things and had lit a small lamp before it occurred to me what idiocy that was.

  The children were babbling excitedly by now, and Eglantine had sat up, staring at him wide-eyed.

  “Please,” he begged, stretching out arms that had held her in the dance and were hairy, so hairy. “Hide me! Eglantine, hide me!”

  But she had seen his wild looks, seen the blood, before I blew out the lamp.

  Seen his ears, not yet changed back, the pointed, furry ears of a wolf …

  “Hush!” I hissed. “Under the blankets—here! You and you—down! Shut up! Eglantine?”

  Even in the darkness I could see her round eyes, her hands clutching her mouth with horror. Before he could do as I asked, she had screamed. Screamed long and loud, again and again …

  I wish they had simply stabbed him then and there. It would have saved him—and those who loved him—much pain.

  But he was kept imprisoned until witnesses had been heard and Chief Priest Henri, who was an expert in the signs of a werewolf, had examined him. To do them justice, I think they believed they were giving him a fair trial, for the sake of his grief-stricken parents. His father admitted that there had been an ancestor who might have been one of the race of born werewolves known as bisclavret. There was no way of telling to which family member it would happen—and it did not strike till after the victim had reached young manhood or womanhood. The family had lived with it for generations. No wonder he had looked so stressed that night.

  By this admission, he was guaranteeing that no one would marry a daughter to either of his other sons, even though neither of them had shown any signs of the hairy curse.

  Philippe said that he did not remember what had happened the first two times and that then he had been unable to prevent himself from changing. He pleaded for his life.

  Dame Blanche, who was at the trial, told me later, “I tried, Yvonne. That boy was no danger to anyone but himself. Once he knew what he was, if he was supported instead of threatened, he could have learned to control. In Armorique, it isn’t even illegal! If he’d been born across the mountains or even sent there into exile, he would have been allowed to live, maybe even valued as a hunter or army scout.” She sighed. “I will, of course, go to his execution so that at least one person is there to comfort him … Will you come?”

  I shook my head.

  “Of course not. I’m a fool. It would distress you too much.” She squeezed my hand. “Go look after that fool of a cousin of yours.”

  “No,” I said sharply. “She has enough people looking after her.”

  And in the end, Eglantine went to see him die. I think she wanted to be sure.

  * * *

  We arrive at the temple, Eglantine escorted by her father. The village priest is there, ready to perform the ceremony. Green boughs decorate the square and the temple doorway. The vows will be taken outside, where everyone can enjoy—and, most importantly, witness. Her new lord’s parents being gone, his own witnesses, who will mark the papers, are his steward and closest friend, Gilles, and one of his king’s younger sons, with whom he was fostered in his childhood.
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  Geraint is a tall, powerful man who has a body well-muscled from fighting. His country, unlike ours, is constantly at war with would-be invaders. I do sometimes wonder how her doting parents could possibly let her go to a country so dangerous, but if anyone can protect her it is he—and he is rich, after all. Their descendants will bring the family great lands and connections in the next kingdom.

  I have seen and spoken with him a few times and liked him. He is kind, a gentleman in more than rank. He is amusing, but never coarse. From what his men have told me, he is brave; his king trusts him, with good cause.

  He smiles as his bride arrives and she gazes up at him with adoration, despite having met him only recently. He is dark, in contrast to her pale beauty—and hairy. Far more hairy than I had noticed at first. And a few times since his arrival, he has excused himself to go hunting alone, refusing all offers of escort.

  I can’t help wondering …

  If what I think is true, I will pray for him. Pray, for his sake, that she never finds out.

  The Fox’s Child

  …Nike Sulway

  She caught the train across town, changing lines at Central. The train out west only seemed dirtier. The ads above the seats were the same, the graffiti, the rubbish, the mysterious black grime that collected along the windowsills. But the people were different. More exhausted, less well-dressed. She had a timetable in her hand, and checked the name of the stations as they flew past, counting them off like rosary beads. For a long time, the train stopped in a tunnel between stations. The lights flickered off, then on. The passengers smiled at each other reassuringly before checking their watches. A short delay, the driver announced. Technical difficulties. She had heard somewhere that this was a euphemism the state rail authority taught their drivers to use when someone’s body had to be scraped off the rails.

  From the station it was a short walk past stores with barred windows, then up a flight of stairs almost hidden between a video store and a newsagent to the clinic. Green linoleum patterned to look like marble, the faint smell of stale cigarette smoke and bleach. The waiting room was small, the magazines at least ten years old. There was a woman with a toddler there already, and another woman, younger than herself, with that particular, haunted look she had seen in the mirror before she left the house this morning.