Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  He was not naive. He'd been in love before. Marta Heninger had stolen his heart when he was fifteen and he remembered acutely how he had burned to touch her. But Marta was two years older and when her time came, she was scooped up by the widower Frankel. The old man had lost his last wife during childbirth and at the age of seventeen, Marta found herself mother to five children that she didn't much care for. In public, Marta stole furtive glances at Silas but her eyes were sad and dim. As if she wished events had turned out differently but was powerless to change anything. Silas tried not to think about how lonely she must be in that old man's house.

  He had loved Marta and continued to long for her, even though that was a sin. But all of that had vanished the moment he saw this strange girl. He thought her rude and brash at first and was confused by how she snagged his every thought. He lied to himself that he simply felt obligated to her for saving his life. It was more than that. In his idle moments, he indulged in silly daydreams about being with her. The two of them stealing away into the night.

  He was an even bigger fool now. Did he think that she would leave her world behind and stay with him here in his? How backwards and foreign his life must seem to her. Could he survive in her world? Neither option would work. He pushed the image of her face from his mind and scolded his heart to let her go. No more foolishness. Use your brains.

  It was useless. He bent over the basin on the dresser and splashed cold water over his face. Foolish or not, he had to see her.

  A new sound came through the window as he pulled on his boots. The bells pealed a second time but these pealed a different chime, the notes calling the faithful to church. It wasn't even Sunday.

  ~

  Amy was awoken by a boot nudging her back. She leaned up, trying to orient herself in the unfamiliar space. Still on the rough floor of the Bishop's study. She had spent the night chained to a post like a dog. A watchman stood nearby, the one she recognized to be Keisler. He loomed over her with a perverse grin that made her shudder.

  “Get up,” he said.

  There was no one else in the room. “Where's the Bishop.”

  Watchman Keisler knelt and unlocked the manacle on her wrist. The iron thumped heavily to the floor and Keisler rose, drawing a black lacquered truncheon from his belt. “Get on your feet, witch.”

  Her legs were stiff and her back ached from sleeping on another hard floor. The sound of a bell was ringing from outside the door. “What is that?”

  “The church bell. The Bishop is calling.”

  Amy blinked against the sunlight as she was escorted outside, the watchman's grip locked onto her elbow. The dirt road was filled as plain folk traipsed out of their homes and shuffled towards the town square. Keisler shoved her forward and they joined the stream of people beckoned forth by the bells. The men and women around her cleared a path to avoid coming too close to the English girl. Amy searched the faces for someone familiar but the plain folk averted their eyes from her and pulled their children close. She was being shunned.

  Two more watchmen drew up alongside Kiesler with the other two prisoners. Griffin was haggard and wouldn't look at Amy. Tasha was a frightened bird pushed on by her keeper.

  “Tasha,” Amy whispered. “Are you all right?”

  Tasha's eyes darted about. “Where are they taking us?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Shut up,” Keisler barked, prodding Amy away from the other prisoners.

  Around the last house they marched and the town square opened up. A small gazebo formed the epicenter of the plaza and here the crowd gathered. Next to it stood a pole fashioned from a newly lumbered poplar erected by the watchmen. It rose twenty feet into the air, its base packed into a mound of freshly turned earth.

  Amy was pushed along to the edge of the crowd and then halted beside the other two prisoners. The watchmen bound their wrists with horse rope and lashed all three of them together. Keisler and Hess pushed forward, leaving them to the care of the third watchman. The people near them shuffled aside to keep their distance.

  Amy whispered to Tasha. “Where's Jay?”

  “They took him away last night.” Tasha took a second look at Amy's bruised face. “What happened to you?”

  “I got kicked around. What's wrong with him?” Amy had tried to get Griffin’s attention but the man's eyes were lidded as if drugged.

  “He's not dealing well.” Tasha looked out over the assembled crowd. The grim faced men in their beards and the women in their bonnets, their eyes downcast. “Amy, I don't think we're gonna get out of here.”

  “Don't say that,” Amy admonished but the look in the Tasha's eyes held little spirit, as if already resigned to a worst fate. Amy wondered if Tasha had seen the outcome already and almost asked if she had but then chose to remain mum. If their fate really was doomed, she did not want to know beforehand.

  She heard her name hissed over her shoulder. She turned to see Silas draw alongside her, his hat pulled low over his eyes.

  “Silas—”

  “Don't look at me,” he hissed. “Eyes on the gazebo, like everyone else.”

  Moments ticked by, the two of them shoulder to shoulder like complete strangers. Without taking his from the platform, he said “Why did you lie to me?”

  “It's complicated.” Amy whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to keep it from you.”

  “Your friend is one of them,” he hushed. “What does that make you? Its keeper?”

  “Lara's not a monster. She's fought hard to keep it under control.”

  “No one can keep the curse in their control.”

  Amy fixed him with a hard glare. “She can.”

  She clocked the hurt and betrayal in his eyes and he seemed so much younger in that instant, like a boy, and something caught in her throat.

  “Look at me,” she whispered to him. “Lara's not a monster. Neither am I. Can you trust me enough to believe that?”

  “I don't know what to believe anymore.” He finally looked at her, seeing the busted lip and bruised cheekbone. “Good God, did they beat you? Are you in pain?”

  “I'll survive.” She nodded at his purpled eye. “They did a number on you too. At least we match.”

  A light returned to his eyes, a smile almost breaking across his mouth. “Amy—”

  A murmur rippled through the assembled townsfolk, people craning their necks to see what was happening up front. Amy raised up on her toes but still couldn't see past the throng in front of her.

  Something dark rose up over the brimmed hats and bonnets of the congregation. The lean figure of the Bishop came into view as he climbed onto the gazebo. His head swiveled round as he looked over the assembly . He raised a hand to still the crowd.

  “Brothers and sisters, the Lord is testing us once again. The horror has returned and this time, it is woeful. The evil has sunk its teeth into us. We must be strong and cast it out.”

  There was a commotion upfront as two watchmen struggled up to join their Bishop upon the stage. Caught between them was the limp figure of the injured outsider. Jay’s wrists were manacled behind his back and the watchmen forced him to his knees.

  “No one member of our church is stronger than the whole,” the Bishop exhorted. “As individuals, we are weak but collectively we are invincible. Together, we can can cast out the evil within our midst.”

  At that, the Bishop gestured to the man on his knees. “Our grace extends even to the infidel and unbeliever. Pray with me now as we exorcize the evil that is poisoning his soul.”

  Amy felt a tug on her wrist from the rope binding her to the other two. Griffin and Tasha had both surged forward at the sight of Jay, the urge to help their friend instinctual and strong. Their faces fell hopeless as the restraints held them back.

  Turning to face the prisoner before him, the Bishop began reciting a prayer in German. Jay shook his head as if refusing the prayers but the spiritual leader only bellowed louder, his voice carrying out over the ears of the faithful.

 
; She glanced at Silas.“What is he saying?”

  “He's demanding that the unclean spirit leave him.”

  The Bishop ceased his barking and motioned to the watchmen. Keisler and Hoffmann threw Jay flat on his back, pinning his arms and exposing his belly. The Bishop reached down and tore the bandage from the man's ribs, then plunged his fingers into the wound. Jay screamed and blood ran down his side and when the Bishop straightened up, he lifted a bloodied hand into the air. Although it was too small to make out, Amy knew it was the silver she had slipped into the man's wound.

  The Bishop flung the piece away and resumed his bellowing prayers. He screamed at the injured man, spittle flying from his lips and when he reared back and struck him sharply across the face, a hush went through the crowd.

  Jay flailed, shaking his head crazily and twitching in a fit. Each tremor a challenge to the Bishop who shrieked his prayers louder and struck the man again and again. The crowd surged forward, craning their necks to see the ritual play out. Amy stretched up but couldn't see anything more than the tip of the Bishop's hat. Then a pike came into view, followed by two more. The long spears favored by the Bishop's watchmen.

  A snap broke over the air, loud and sharp, like that of a bone breaking. Then another and another, popping and breaking and the noise sent a shiver down Amy's neck. Jay's screams distorted into low grunts, then growls. Amy felt her stomach drop the moment she realized what was happening to the injured cameraman.

  The Bishop never broke stride, shrieking his German prayers and swinging his long arms like some frenzied buzzard.

  The crowd surged backwards to get away. Jostled hard by the retreating horde, Amy elbowed her way forward, dragging the other two with her. She heard Tasha and Griffin both gasp at the sight of the thing on the wooden stage.

  Jay was gone. In his place squatted a grotesquerie of teeth and claw. Its newborn fur was plastered red with blood as the man they knew jerked and twitched into a wolf. The manacles on its limbs snapped away and its great snout reared up, flashing jaws of teeth.

  The Bishop stepped back on the small platform and held out his hand to the guards. Keisler slapped a double-headed axe into the man's palm and the Bishop gripped it firm in both hands.

  The wolf shuddered under the last spasm of transformation then swung its head in the Bishop's direction and coiled back to spring at him. When it leapt, the long pikes were ready. The weapons arced forward, impaling the beast against its own velocity and it raged in pain. Skewered against four pikes, it was momentarily stuck, unable to rampage forward or back.

  The axe whistled through the air. Bone cracked and blood flew and the Bishop became a blur of frenzied swings, butchering the wolf under his blade.

  The howls ceased and the thing fell to the planks and didn't move again, its massive head stove into a dark pulp. The Bishop's hands dripped red and his face was twisted into a mask of fury.

  “Stop!” He turned to address the withering crowd. “Come back. Look on this thing. This was another test of the Almighty and its candidate was found wanting.” He swung the axe twice more then reached down and lifted the severed head of the wolf.

  Amy heard another gasp as the bloodied mass twisted in the man's grip. Griffin went pale and fell to his knees in the dirt.

  The Bishop bellowed on, shaking the gory mass in his fist. “This man failed the Lord's test because his heart was poisoned and without faith. His soul was found wanting and he succumbed to the evil. The others will not fail. The plain folk are pure and the exorcism will purify their affliction. Go to your homes and bring forth your injured to me. All shall be purified this day. Amen.”

  The Bishop's edict rippled through the assembled congregation like a wave cresting and falling. The townsfolk stirred, glancing nervously at one another as the orders settled home. People broke away from the gathering and shuffled mournfully to their homes.

  “Jacob.”

  Amy turned to Silas. His face fell white as he uttered his brother's name. His eyes goggled into saucers as he searched through the crowd for his parents. Amy saw the Hostetlers hang their heads in despair. They shambled back through the crowd towards their home like two condemned for the gallows, obeying their Bishop's edict.

  Amy's first instinct was to reach out to him but her wrists were bound. She nudged her shoulder into his. Silas flinched, turning on her sharply. “He'll never survive that torture,” he uttered. “It will kill him.”

  “You have to stop him,” she said. “Or hide Jacob somehow.”

  “How can I do that?” Silas jerked back. “What do you care?”

  She stepped on his toe so he couldn't get away. “Snap out of it, Silas. I'm trying to help you. You know the exorcism won't work.”

  “How can I stop it? They'll put me in chains if I try to hide Jacob.” His hands trembled as he gently pushed her back and slid his foot free. “Why did you ever come here?”

  Her mouth gaped as she groped for an answer but no answer came.

  A low rumble went through the congregation. A commotion at the platform tore their attention from one another to a gruesome display in the center of town.

  The carcass of the malformed wolf was hauled from the stage, leaving a smear of blood over the unmilled wood. Keisler went at it with the axe, hacking the misshapen limbs of the thing that used to be a young man named Jay Kenilworth.

  The Bishop raised a hand to gather their eyes to him. “God, in His infinite mercy, has revealed the source of the evil that has diseased our community. It's form is that of a woman. The English witch.”

  The crowd east of the gazebo parted as two watchmen marched forward, ferrying the last prisoner between them. They stood the body against the poplar pole and snaked her arms around its trunk. Lara's head rolled lazily on her neck, as lifeless as a cadaver. When the watchmen finished binding the wrists they snaked a thick rope round and round her, lashing her to the trunk. With that accomplished, they scurried to gather the collected briars and kindling to stack under the unconscious woman's ankles.

  “This outsider, this trespasser against our ways, brought her curse into our midst. She is one of them. A wolf in woman's clothing. The first step in cleansing its blight is to destroy it. There is only one way to cauterize the depravity. The woman will be burned at the stake. May God purify her stain of blood upon us.”

  Amy fell against Silas as her knees jellied. Lara didn't stir nor waken as the watchmen piled the wood around her and the Bishop plucked a box of wooden matches from a vest pocket.

  33

  WHEN SHE WAS TWELVE, Amy had read a magazine article about how, under great duress, some individuals were capable of extraordinary feats of strength. She prayed that in this moment when her friend was about to be burned alive, she would prove to be one of those rare people. She pictured the thick ropes snapping away from her wrists as adrenalin flooded her system, boosting her strength to super-human levels.

  She was not that person. The ropes would not budge, let alone snap and she remained bound and helpless. All she could do was watch as the Bishop dropped from the stage and knelt before the newly erected pole to hover a match under the kindling around Lara Mendes's feet.

  A woman to her left gasped out a prayer while others shouted out their Deutsche curses. A stone was hurled, missing Lara by an inch. An electric charge sparked the crowd as they surged forward again. A sense of chaos hovered over their heads of all.

  Silas remained fixated by the tableau before him. Amy rammed her shoulder into his. “Silas, cut the rope.”

  He turned, eyes clouded with confusion. “What? No.”

  “They're going to burn Lara. Undo this!”

  “So you can go save her?” He shook his head. “They will kill you.”

  “I can't stand here and watch. Cut it!”

  The pleading in her eyes was more than he could take. A quick glance about showed the watchman nearby was too preoccupied to notice. He slipped his knife from his pocket and sawed at the hemp. The fibers frayed until Amy could w
orm one hand out.

  “Give me your knife.”

  He flattened his hand, the small blade resting in his palm. “Amy, please—”

  She snatched up the instrument and sprinted away at a dead run, weaving through the shoulders of the onlookers. Screaming at Lara to wake up, she crashed up the mound of kindling and attacked the rope with the blade.

  The Bishop took no notice of the intrusion, so caught up in his own prayers that he seemed possessed himself. Watchman Hoffmann was a different matter, standing south of the flames with the medieval pike in his hand. Startled by the sudden rush of the girl brazenly hacking at the prisoner’s bonds, he swung the lance level in both hands and prepared to drive the blade into the girl's back. A blow to her backbone would drop the girl without killing her.

  Something hammered him from behind and his face dove hard into the dirt, the pike pinned under him. He rolled over in a rage to see the Hostetler boy standing over him, shrieking at the girl to get out of the flames. He scrambled to get up but a bootheel came down with force onto his face.

  One tendril of rope split away under the knife but there were still two more to go and Amy could feel the heat scorching her legs. Lara didn't respond no matter how loud she screamed at her. Sawing frantically at the next rope, she caught sight of Silas kicking down one of the watchmen but she didn't have time to warn him about the other one rushing up behind him. He was thrown to the ground and kicked mercilessly.

  What she didn't see was the third guard crashing through the flames behind her. An arm locked around her neck and she was spun and hurled away. The knife fell from her hand as she collided into the hard earth. A knee slammed into her back, flattening her to the ground.

  The fire popped as the kindling went up fast, spitting sparks overhead. A scream shrilled the air. Amy swiveled around to see Lara blur against the shimmer of heat rolling from the flames like a highway mirage. Lara's eyes were bald with terror, the scream issuing from her gaping mouth was heart-stopping. Wavering in the heat shimmer, her form blurred and then the ropes snapped. Lara Mendes leaped from the fire as woodsmoke clouded the air but it was the wolf that landed square in the barley on its massive paws, the pale wolf with its hide smoldering in orange flames and its enormous maw of gargantuan teeth.