Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  She looked up at Tasha. The rhythmic swaying was unnerving to see. Like a clock being wound too tight, eventually it would snap. “Hey,” Amy whispered to her. “Tasha, you all right?”

  The young woman didn't respond.

  Amy touched her arm and Tasha flinched. She softened her tone. “You still with us?”

  “It's too noisy in here,” Tasha muttered.

  Amy listened. Aside from the chirp of crickets outside, there was no sound at all. “I don't hear anything.”

  “There's so much death. They're all screaming at me, wanting to tell their stories. It's too much.”

  Amy watched the woman press her palms over her ears. She didn't know what to make of Tasha's abilities. She'd been raised a skeptic but the woman seemed to be in physical pain from something Amy could neither hear nor see. “Why do they want to tell you their stories?”

  “It's what the dead want, the ones that get stuck here. They need to tell their tragedies to anyone who can hear. And their stories are awful.”

  “How so?”

  “The misery. Some were torn apart by wolves, others were cut down with axes after being accused of being in league with the devil. Some were burnt alive.”

  Amy groped for something to say, something that could help, but she was in over her head. “Can't you shut them out? Turn off your radar, whatever?”

  “Normally I can but not this time. There are too many of them and they know I can hear them. There's something wrong with this place.”

  Amy rested her hand on Tasha's shoulder. “No kidding.”

  The woman's eyes snapped onto Amy's. “No, something else. Beyond the ghosts and the misery and that weirdo preacher man. There's something else here, Amy.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don't know. I can't see it. I can just feel it's here. And it scares me.”

  “Okay.” Not knowing how to comfort the woman, Amy changed topics. “Is Jay doing any better?”

  “He seems okay.”

  There was still flecks of dried blood on the man's arms and neck. “Maybe we can clean him up a little?”

  Amy turned to get the bucket of water when a clang of iron rang through the cell. The sound of a bolt sliding back and then the heavy door swung open on its creaky hinges. The young man who had brought them food earlier stepped into the room.

  Silas looked at Amy as she rose to her feet. “Come with me.”

  “Are letting us go?”

  “I need your help,” he said. “Please.”

  Amy took a step back. “Why should I help you?”

  “My brother is getting worse. Will you save him the way you saved your friend?”

  She looked down at Jay then back up at the young man. “I didn't save him. I didn't cure him.”

  “But he’s not suffering anymore. Jacob is only a boy. Please.” His lip was quivering and he clenched his jaw to bite back the tears. “I know I am already indebted to you for saving my life and I have no right to ask for anything from you. But Jacob—”

  Amy watched his face twist up as he pushed down his tears. One spilled over and ran hot down his cheek. “Okay. But you have to help me.”

  “I will do what I can.”

  “Where is Lara? The woman who was with us?”

  “She is locked in the penance hole.”

  “The what?”

  “It's a dungeon,” he said. “An awful place.”

  “You have to help me get her out of there.”

  He shook his head. “It's guarded by the watchmen. There's no way to get her out. But you, alone, I could slip out.”

  “And leave them behind?”

  “And get away from here. Go to the English. Bring the authorities.” He took her hand. “Will you help my brother?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a bundle of material draped over his arm. He held it out to her. “Put this on.”

  Amy unfurled the garment. A heavy cloak and a bonnet like the kind worn by the women in the village. “You gotta be kidding me.”

  “Disguise yourself as one of us. There's no other way to get you across the square.”

  Amy hated the very idea and said so as she flung the cloak over her shoulders. It hung heavy and smelled of woodsmoke. Sighing loudly, she coiled her hair up and fitted the bonnet over her head. She turned to Tasha. “Will you be okay?”

  A slight smile broke over Tasha’s face. “That look really suits you.”

  “Oh shut up.” She turned to Silas and followed him out the door.

  ~

  The bonnet didn't sit right and Amy fought the urge to tear it away as they marched across the square. A few men milled about near the door to a blacksmith's shop and two women hurried past with baskets tucked under each arm. Amy scanned the thoroughfare and clocked two watchmen at the main gate and a third manning the crow’s nest perch above the garrison wall.

  “Keep your eyes down,” Silas hissed at her. “And walk behind me.”

  “Behind you?”

  “That is how it is here. Just do it.”

  The watchman on the stoop turned in their direction and Amy quickly drew her gaze to the ground, letting the folds of the bonnet hide her face. Had the guard seen her? He must have, for he called out to them.

  “Keep walking,” Silas whispered. He stopped and called back in the same tongue. Amy kept marching, head down and straight ahead. Which house belonged to Silas? She had no idea. Slowing her pace, she listened to Silas banter with the man, their words punctuated by laughter. What they were saying was beyond her but it didn't sound threatening or antagonistic.

  “Straight ahead,” he said coming up behind her. “The house on the left, with the twin gables.”

  Spotting it, she corrected her course and kept her head down. Silas drew up alongside her and she slowed to let him take the lead. He went past the front entrance, down the side to the back porch and ushered her into the house. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by two lanterns over a double woodstove and chipped porcelain sink of a rustic looking kitchen.

  Silas put a finger to his lips for her to be silent. When no sound issued from further inside the house, his shoulders slackened in relief. “I'm sorry. Our ways are different to yours. I couldn't risk drawing attention.”

  Amy tore the ridiculous bonnet from her hair. “So the women keep to the shadows, head down and no talking.”

  “Yes,” he said flatly, as if there was some other possible way. “Jacob's room is upstairs.”

  “Hold on. I need silver to treat your brother. Do you have any? And a knife. A sharp one.”

  He reached into a pocket and held up something pinched between his fingers. A sharp triangle of silver. He dropped it into her outstretched palm.

  “What is it?”

  “Tip of a halberd,” he replied. “It broke off the weapon during the fight with the wolf. Will it do?”

  She said it would. He took her hand and led her upstairs.

  The bedroom was stuffy and the air reeked of something sour. Flies buzzed against a window of crown glass. The boy in the bed was still and pale. At first glance, Amy thought they were too late.

  “You see the state he is in.” Silas drew the curtain to let the sun in, scattering the flies. “Hurry.”

  Amy flattened her palm over the boy's cold brow. “I need a knife and a cloth. And something to bandage him up with.”

  He placed a small knife on the bedside table while Amy peeled back the sheets. She looked over the boy's small body wondering where to cut. Somewhere fleshy and safe or closer to the heart? She settled on the belly. The cut didn't need to be deep but the metal had to touch the bloodstream. She gathered up the knife and hovered the blade over the soft flesh of the boy's abdomen. Her hand trembled.

  “Are you certain?” Silas knelt at her side with a linen at the ready.

  “It'll be safe. He might react to it. Hold him down.”

  Silas clamped his hands over his brother's arms and Amy cut the blade into the skin. The boy flinched an
d jerked. Amy fumbled the silver on her first try, scrambling to pick up the piece again.

  “Hurry. I can barely hold him down.”

  “Almost there.”

  Blood welled up in the wound she had sliced, making it hard to see. Pressing down, she slid the pointed end of silver into the cut and thumbed it deep. The boy went into spasms, his teeth chittering in some guttural moan, then he fell limp under Silas's hands.

  They watched the color bloom back into his face and his breathing become steady. Amy thumbed back an eyelid to reveal a perfectly normal pupil contracting against the sunlight from the window. No telltale amber color or unearthly glow.

  “You did it,” he gushed, almost pushing her aside to see into his brother's eyes. “You cured him.”

  “It's a band-aid.”

  “A what?”

  “It manages the symptoms but not the disease. There is no cure.”

  He wasn't listening to her, the elation spilling over his face. “You eased his pain. That’s what matters.”

  “Well—” Her words were cut short when he caught her up in an embrace and squeezed her tight.

  “Thank you,” he whispered into her ear.

  Amy stiffened up. Silas released her and they stood facing one another with their eyes bouncing off everything in the room. Neither spoke and the moment tipped over into awkwardness. Relief came with the boom of footfalls on the stairs.

  His face fell. “My father.”

  There was no time to act, no escape save leaping through the window. The door flung open and Silas's mother and father entered the room. They both startled at the sight of a girl in the room.

  Herr Hostetler sputtered. “Who is this girl? What is she doing in my house?”

  Amy felt her cheeks flush hot as Silas stepped in front of her, as if to protect her from a blow. “I brought her here. To help Jacob.”

  “Help? Help how?”

  “Look.” The mother rushed to the bed and smoothed her hand over the boy's face. “His face. His blood is back. He's warm. Feel him!”

  The father bent closer and touched his boy's cheek. Disbelief broke over the man's face and his mouth corkscrewed with anguish as the mother uttered prayers of thanks.

  The man composed himself and turned a harsh eye first on the stranger, then his son. He snapped something in German to Silas.

  “I had to do something,” Silas replied in English. “Jacob was dying. She knows how to help.”

  “She's an outsider. She has no place being in our home.” The father clasped a hand to his brow. “What have you done? Do you have any idea the laws you've broken by sneaking her out of the keep?”

  Amy broke in. Even in a different language, she understood the scolding. “Please. Silas just wanted to help.”

  The woman turned and said something to the man. He clenched his fist and motioned to the door. “Wait downstairs.”

  Entering the kitchen Silas motioned for her to sit and poured water from a pitcher into a tin cup. He set it before her on the table. “Are you hungry?”

  “No,” Amy said. “Wait. I'm starving.”

  She watched him open the larder and come back to the table with a brick of cheese and a plate of biscuits. Taking a paring knife, he sheared wedges from the cheese and pushed it towards her. “It's not much.”

  “It's fine. Thank you.” The first taste of it roused her stomach and she tucked in. The biscuits were hard but she polished it off in seconds. Amy nodded at the stairs to the second floor. “How much trouble are you in?”

  “Enough.” He swept the crumbs from the table. “Jacob is better. That's all that matters.”

  “Are you two close?”

  “Close?” His brow furrowed, as if he didn’t understand the question. “He's my brother. Do you have siblings?”

  “No, just me. I always wanted a sister.”

  “I find that sad. Everyone should have siblings.” He turned the knife in his hand then laid it back down on the table. “It must be lonely sometimes.”

  Amy shrugged. “I guess. I don't have anything to compare it to. Do you have other siblings or just Jacob?”

  “There were more. I had two brothers and a sister.”

  “Had?”

  “They died.”

  “I'm sorry.” She watched his eyes dim. Old grief breaking the surface. “How did they-- I mean, was it a wolf?”

  He shook his head. “No. One brother fell during a barn raising, the other died in a fire. Mary was taken by the fever.”

  “Three siblings. I can't imagine what that’s like. I can see why you'd brave your neck to save Jacob.”

  She ran a hand through her hair. It felt dirty and tangled in her fingers and she suddenly wanted to shower. She caught Silas watching her but his gaze shot away when caught.

  “Brave? Says the girl who faced down a wolf. Where did you learn to shoot a gun?”

  “My father taught me.”

  His eyes widened. “Your father lets you run the forest stalking monsters?”

  “He died.”

  “Oh.” Taken aback, he watched her eyes glisten up. Without thinking about what he was doing, he placed his hand overtop hers. “I'm sorry for your loss, Amy. It wasn't that long ago, was it?”

  “No. I keep waiting for it to get better or not hurt so much. You know?” She was surprised at her own frankness. Grief was something she never discussed. It seemed different now, in this place. With him. “Maybe there’s just something wrong with me. I can’t seem to move on. It’s confusing.”

  Silas almost laughed. “You don’t move on.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It doesn’t happen,” he said. “My father would get frustrated with me. He’d tell me to move on, not to linger in grief. But there is no moving on. You just learn to live with the absence.”

  Amy watched his hand laid atop hers. His thumb grooved over her knuckles as if tracing a pattern. Something deep down was rumbling and threatening to burst the dam. It took all she had to hold it down. She wished he would stop talking.

  “You will see him again,” he said in a soft tone. “Some day. Take comfort in that.”

  “Please stop,” she whispered.

  The pounding on the stairs shut everything down and Amy had just enough time to wipe her eyes dry before his parents entered the kitchen. The mother and father towered over them and Amy girded herself for the coming reprimand. She gaped in surprise when Silas's mother threw her arms around her and buried Amy's face in her dress. The woman prattled on in a language Amy could not understand, kissing the top of her head. The words were foreign but the meaning was not.

  Silas leaned forward. “She's thanking you and asking God to bless you.”

  “Oh.” Amy was released from the embrace and looked up at the woman. “Thank you. I mean, no problem.”

  The woman smacked a kiss on Amy's brow and patted her cheek, prattling rapidly in German. She straightened up, said something curtly to the father and hurried out the door.

  A husband dressed down by his spouse is universal in any language. The man glowered but said nothing as his wife ran outside. He looked down at his son and the English girl seated at his table. He folded his arms, his face a wither of dismay.

  “How is Jacob?” Silas said in English.

  “He is peaceful.”

  Silas nodded his chin in Amy's direction. “She did it. She saved him.”

  “I didn't save him, Silas. I told you that.”

  The father glared at her. “What am I to do with you? Or you, Silas? The Bishop will flay your hide if he learns that you let the girl out.”

  Silas bowed his head. “I know. Will you tell him?”

  The father rubbed his eyes but made no reply.

  Silas pushed his chair back and stood, waving at Amy to do the same. He turned to the patriarch. “Father, I'd like you meet Amy...”

  “Gallagher,” she added.

  “Amy Gallagher. Amy, this is my father; Abram Hostetler.”

  P
rotocol demanded that Herr Hostetler welcome and protect anyone under his roof. He bowed curtly, omitting a handshake before turning a sharp eye on his son. “You must take her back. Quickly, before anyone notices her missing.”

  “I promised I would help her,” Silas said.

  Herr Hostetler grimaced as he looked at Amy. “I am truly grateful for helping my boy, I am, but if the Bishop finds out what Silas has done, I will lose him. Do you understand?”

  “I do,” Amy said. “But they can't keep us locked up like prisoners. We have to get out of here.”

  “You know she's right, father. Keeping them against their will is wrong—”

  Hostetler raised a hand, interrupting his son. “I know that. I will talk to the Bishop but for now, the girl has to go back.”

  Amy felt like a child, spoken of in the third person while in the room. She could see Silas struggling to keep his head up. He clearly wasn't used to disobeying his father. Patriarchal rules were ironclad in this anachronistic place.

  The father clasped a hand over his son's shoulder. “I'm sorry. Take her back.”

  Silas wavered, caught in a shaft of sunlight from the window. A thin sheen of sweat broke over his brow.

  Silas's mother rushed into the kitchen, clutching hands with another woman. This frau looked no older than Amy but she wore her bonnet and shift in the style of the other married mothers. With her eyes red with tears, the woman rushed in and clasped Amy's hands. She spoke rapidly at Amy, pleading with her about something.

  Hostetler barked at his wife but she waved her hand at him. The frau panted rapidly and Amy looked to Silas for help. “What does she want?”

  “Her husband was ravaged by the wolf too. Frau Goerzner wants you to save him the way you saved Jacob.”

  29

  A SMALL CRACK IN THE window pane let a breeze into the study, fluttering the wick of the candle on the table. The Bishop sat propped in a chair with a finger pressed to his lips studying the guttering taper. He hadn't stirred in almost an hour, his eyes narrowing to slits. What thoughts burned behind those lidded eyes only God knew.