Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale

by Tracy Falbe

  “But they’re really not so boring as that sounds,” Andreli continued. “Some here are literate, and I have a friend who might be able to read the words on your fur.”

  Thal touched his fur possessively. He feared that whatever the words revealed would best be kept private, but he was undeniably curious.

  “We’ll visit here tomorrow,” Andreli said. “And let’s pray that my Devil’s tongue will convince them to share some beer with the needy of the world,” he added with a laugh.

  The throbbing metallic ringing of a bell called the brothers to prayer as Andreli and Thal slipped back into the woods.

  ******

  Thal was excited as he approached the monastery. The thick stone walls encircling the hill overlooking the river beckoned him back to a realm that had become alien to him.

  Strolling toward the main gate, Andreli waved pleasantly to the lay brothers working the land. Fresh soil dirtied the bottom edges of their undyed robes. Simple wooden crosses hung around their necks on leather cords. No one said anything, and only two brothers waved back.

  “No women live here?” Thal asked.

  Andreli rolled his eyes. “It’s a monastery,” he said, and Thal gathered that it was a place of only men.

  The gate was wide open. Two monks in the courtyard spotted Andreli and rushed into a dormitory.

  “They don’t seem interested in your arrival,” Thal noted.

  “Brother Ondrej is a very pleasant fellow. Wasted on the Church in my opinion, but he’s got a nice life here I suppose,” Andreli said.

  When they walked through the gates, Thal paused to take in the scene. A church naturally dominated the collection of buildings. Stone pavers connected all the buildings and green turf filled the gaps. Andreli headed toward a large building opposite the church. Ivy and moss clung to the creamy stucco walls. The main door stood open to let in the fresh spring breeze. The exuberant morning sun fell on the stone front steps and a trio of tabby cats sprawled on the warm stone. They scampered away at impressive speed when the men trotted up the steps.

  “Brother Ondrej!” Andreli boomed like it was his own house. He called a few more times until a scrawny buck-toothed young man rushed out.

  “Who let you in here?” the lad demanded with more temerity than his appearance could lend him.

  “I go where I please. Where’s Brother Ondrej,” Andreli said.

  “He’s not receiving visitors,” the monk said. His eyes strayed to Thal.

  “Ondrej loves visitors,” Andreli protested.

  The monk tore his eyes from Thal and stamped his foot. “He’s got no more alms for you. He should’ve never given you begging Gypsies so much as a turnip. You’ll be hanging on our gate till next spring,” he complained.

  “You awe me with your Christian sentiment,” Andreli said.

  Thal studied the fascinating exchange. He wondered why the Gypsies were disliked. They had been kind to him, and Andreli’s resilience in the face of rejection was inspiring.

  “We have work to do. What do you want?” the monk said.

  “Ah, so you’re willing to give me something,” Andreli said triumphantly.

  The monk stamped his foot again.

  Thal was weary of the confrontation. Gently he said, “I seek a man of letters to help me read something. I mean no dishonor to your God.”

  “You have a letter then?” the monk said, irresistibly curious.

  Thal touched his fur.

  “Nothing for you to read,” Andreli interjected. He barged past the monk and shouted for Ondrej again.

  The monk finally came puffing down a staircase. The black scapula over his shoulders and chest bisected his white habit that draped his bulging frame. Dabs of ink stained his right hand. His round face lit up pleasantly upon seeing Andreli.

  “I should’ve known who was shouting down here,” Ondrej said.

  “Good morning, my good brother,” Andreli said and bowed elaborately.

  Then he patted Ondrej’s tummy. “It seems you’ve not been getting enough hard labor.”

  “Accuse me not of the sin of sloth. My labors are not done with axe and shovel,” Ondrej said.

  The feisty monk was annoyed by the friendly exchange and said, “Brother, we told these Gypsies we’d only help them through till spring.”

  Ondrej scolded, “Be more charitable.”

  “The Abbot will hear of this,” the monk warned.

  “And then forget about it before the next bell rings,” Ondrej said without the slightest concern. He flapped a pudgy hand in the face of his scrawny colleague and the disgruntled monk stomped away.

  “He’s a man truly moved by the example of our Savior,” Andreli noted.

  “Oh hush you troublemaker. You’d be no more pleasant if he walked into your house uninvited,” Ondrej said.

  “I don’t have a house,” Andreli noted.

  “Then join us Cistercians and have a home,” Ondrej proposed but he could not keep a straight face and guffawed at his own idea. Andreli laughed as well.

  “And who is your new rogue?” Ondrej asked, looking Thal up and down.

  “A wanderer,” Andreli said.

  Ondrej lifted his eyebrows. That designation had to mean something coming from Andreli.

  “I am Thal.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Ondrej said a little dreamily, suddenly lost in his contemplation of the young stranger.

  Andreli explained that Thal had something that they needed help reading.

  Ondrej perked up. “That sounds interesting. That’s why I welcome you, Andreli. You’re always interesting,” he said.

  Ondrej led them upstairs. Thal looked around as he climbed the steps. The feeling of the building enclosing him was distracting. The straight lines of cut stones, the wood grain of the door trim, and the creak of the floor boards pressed hard on his senses and herded his brain toward a once familiar pen. He imagined the trees that had once been green and growing upon the hills and now their guts were split and entombed in stone and none of the smell of the forest remained. This complicated structure crafted by the hands of men stimulated him immensely. Being inside was strange yet comforting. It gave Thal an unexpected sense of safety. He supposed this was why most people lived inside.

  A cluttered desk, a table, and two stools furnished Ondrej’s study. Books lay open on the table and stacks of blank paper awaited his quill. Broken wax seals clung to opened correspondence. The man seemed to be in the middle of five writing projects. He hauled a tome off his desk to make room and set it on another table with bang.

  “Oo, watch it,” he muttered in apology to the book.

  Ondrej sat on his stool. His prodigious ass overhung the edges and the situation did not look too comfortable. Andreli grabbed the other stool.

  He leaned over the desk and peeked at what Ondrej had been writing. “Copying some holy scripture?” he inquired.

  “Copying? Get thee with the times. Scripture is done with the printing machine these days. These are of more important matters,” Ondrej said and patted the paper. “I’m recording my latest beer recipes.”

  “Oh, a very sacred subject,” Andreli agreed. “And then you will get it printed?”

  “Yes,” Ondrej said, rather looking forward to it. Then he scowled. “Now how did you bring up the subject of beer so quickly?” he complained.

  “You brought it up,” Andreli said.

  The monk chuckled. “You are such a tricky Gypsy,” he said.

  “He’s very much hoping to get some of your beer. He praised it much while we walked up here,” Thal said.

  Andreli gave him a startled look. Thal’s forthright approach seemed to be spoiling his game. Thal ignored the look. He was curious about beer, recalling that it was a pleasant thing.

  “Ah, Thal the wanderer, you do know that people typically pay for our beer,” Ondrej said.

  “But not always,” Thal hinted.

  “We could help your brewers sample the latest batch and offer opinions
,” Andreli put in.

  Ondrej sighed. “There’s no shortage of volunteers for that duty. Now what about this letter you need read? Or was that just a pretense to gain my audience?” he demanded good naturedly.

  “It’s not a letter,” Thal said. He drew the fur off his shoulders.

  Andreli said, “There is writing on the skin.”

  Turning over the lustrous fur, Thal proffered it to the monk.

  “Oh,” Ondrej breathed, immediately entranced. He leaned over the artifact and scanned the brick red lettering. Gently he took the fur and spread it on his desk.

  “These are Latin letters,” he said confidently. “But…”

  He trailed off and Thal and Andreli looked on impatiently. Ondrej turned the fur around and looked at the letters and then turned it back the other way.

  “What is it?” Andreli asked.

  Ondrej patted his round cheek thoughtfully, obviously a little confounded. Finally, he explained, “The characters are Latin but they do not make Latin words. I can sound things out, but I don’t recognize the words.” He ran a finger along the words and read, “Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu trinostulio. It’s just nonsense. I’ve never laid eyes upon this language. Where did you get this?”

  “From my father,” Thal said.

  “And where was he from?” Ondrej pressed.

  Thal did not answer.

  “He has trouble remembering his past,” Andreli put in. “He wandered out of the Sumava with only this fur. He told me he’s from Prague.”

  “My mother is from Prague but not my father. I can’t think of where he was from,” Thal said.

  Assuming Thal was the bastard of some harlot, Ondrej returned his attention to the intriguing lettering. “Is this written in blood?” he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “It looks like it is,” Thal said. “Can you read it all to me? If you teach me all the sounds of the letters I think that will help me remember what it is. I recognized my name at the bottom.” He pointed to the word and Ondrej saw that it definitely said Thal.

  “But these words are just nonsense,” Ondrej protested, beginning to suspect that Thal was crazy and had probably been wondering the land suffering from fits. Perhaps he had even scrawled the nonsense in his own blood, driven by some strange delusion. Yet Ondrej could not entirely accept his logical guesses about the stranger. Thal looked healthy and lucid. He had no outward traits of a madman, and Ondrej had seen more than a few of those lost souls over the years.

  Thal wanted to overcome the monk’s reluctance and suggested, “The words might be a code. If I hear them all, it will help me remember.”

  “A code?” Ondrej whispered. He had heard of such things. Some scholars liked to correspond in codes, but it seemed a bit devious and un-Christian. And the blood ink was certainly unholy.

  The monk glanced at Andreli a bit reproachfully and then leaned toward Thal. “Young man, I fear this might be the work of some devilry,” he said.

  Thal did not doubt it but said nothing.

  Ondrej continued, obviously wishing to show off his knowledge on the subject. “There’s much devilry afoot these days. A group of Jesuits just passed through here, heading north. They told me how heresy and witchcraft are getting out of hand. Mother Church needs her faithful to set things right. The door to the Devil’s barn has been left open since Luther tricked people with all his lunacy.”

  “Yes, the northern lands have all gone over to Luther’s ways I hear,” Andreli commented.

  “Not all of them,” Ondrej said pointedly.

  “Tell me about this devilry,” Thal said, impatient to get to the heart of the matter.

  The gravity of the subject did not suit Ondrej, but he was honestly concerned about the wanderer.

  “Young man, I fear that you were taken captive by warlocks or witches and who knows what happened to you in the forest. They left this strangely lettered fur as some spell upon you. It’s probably why you can’t remember much. I suggest we burn it right away,” Ondrej said.

  Aghast, Thal snatched the fur off the desk. “It’s from my father,” he insisted. “And I was not attacked by anyone.”

  “You must give it up. Your soul could be at stake. This evil hide must have some charm upon it that will probably drive you back into the forest,” Ondrej said.

  Thal contained his anger. Ondrej meant well. There was no malice in him, and Thal took that into account. He did not wish to be a poor guest. “Thank you for your time. It was kindly given,” he said.

  He stepped toward the door but Ondrej stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Son, stay for Mass and take the Eucharist. You can confess to our priest,” he said.

  “I must think on what you have told me,” Thal said evasively and pulled his arm loose.

  The abrupt conclusion of the meeting disappointed Andreli who saw no way to bring up the subject of beer again. Wishing to leave on good terms with the monk who had always been generous, he said, “Please don’t think ill of Thal. I never expected you to say his fur was unholy.”

  Thal arranged the fur over his shoulders again. The soft hairs caressed his neck. His heart told him it was an exceptionally sacred thing although certainly not in a way that Brother Ondrej could accept or understand. Thal left the room, unwilling to stay near the man who had suggested he burn the fur. Andreli could handle the goodbyes.

  Thal walked straight out the gate and stopped by a hedge to wait for Andreli. He took off the fur again and looked at its lettering. Although the monk had not given him much information, he remembered the words that had been read. He ran a finger along them and said slowly, “Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu trinostulio.” Then he struggled onward sounding out more letters. The knowledge of how to read it was in his mind, but long disuse had left his literacy stuck like stones in a frozen field. As he ground out a few more words, he heard in his mind his father chanting the words. The meaning eluded him but this was a powerful message, and Thal suspected that it was a path back to his wolf form.

  But should he pursue it? He suspected that some spell had yanked him back into the world of men for a reason.

  “Thal?”

  He whirled. Andreli was behind him. The Gypsy flinched because Thal wheeled upon him so defensively.

  Clearing his mind, Thal said, “I’m sorry if I spoiled your chances for beer.”

  Andreli waved a hand. “Not your fault. Our stay in this area is about played out I fear.”

  “So you’ll be moving?” Thal said.

  “It’s what Gypsies do, but I’m not sure where to go. No one is ever happy to see us,” Andreli said. Complaining to Thal felt safe. In front of his people Andreli had to project confidence. He must not burden them with confessions about his weariness of heart. His father had taught him that.

  The two men walked along in silence. They skirted the village and cut into the woods along the river.

  Thal feared that he was the cause of Andreli’s heavy mood. “Do you think I am bewitched?” he asked.

  The Gypsy kept staring straight ahead and walking. “Do you think you are?” he finally asked.

  “I think I’m more than bewitched,” Thal admitted.

  “Oh,” Andreli said. He was quite out of his league he realized. Believing in the supernatural was easy except when it walked and talked and put meat on your plate and was pleasing to be around. Then the supernatural just seemed like a man who had no home and needed some clothes on his back.

  “Do I frighten you?” Thal said.

  “No!” Andreli declared. He set a fraternal hand on Thal’s shoulder to show his sincerity.

  “May I stay with you, at least a while longer?” Thal asked.

  “Yes,” Andreli said.

  “Please don’t tell anyone what Brother Ondrej thought about me,” Thal said.

  “All right,” Andreli said although he was not sure how he was going to sidestep questions about it. His people already talked of Thal ceaselessly and they would want to know what had happened at the monastery.
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  Andreli looked at the clear sky. “The moon will be a little brighter tonight. We’ll have visitors,” he said.

  “Visitors?” Thal said.

  “People from the village or even the castle like to visit us, especially on nice nights. And the curious might come to see you now. Ondrej will be wagging his tongue about you no doubt,” the Gypsy said.

  “I can hide in the woods if it will help you,” Thal offered.

  “No, no,” Andreli insisted. “I either take a man in or I don’t. You don’t need to hide but don’t give anyone a reason to think you’re bewitched.”

  “I won’t,” Thal promised. Although nervous about causing his host a problem, he was excited to see more people and learn why they visited the Gypsies when they seemed to not even want them around.

  Chapter 6. From the Forest

  Thal kept busy when he returned to the Gypsy camp. He helped Petro mend holes in a fish net and then gathered firewood. While hauling back a load of dry driftwood from upriver, he encountered the girl that served Emerald.

  White cloth wrapped her head and a patched up smock hung around her body, but her graceful neck and shiny olive skin revealed the lithe young girl within. Her glass beads caught the sunshine filtered by the green leaves overhead. Their sparkle matched the twinkle in her dark eyes.

  “Thal,” she said with a big smile.

  “Hello.”

  She shifted her load of sticks off her back and plopped down on an old log to take a break.

  Thal stayed in place still holding his load across his shoulders. He was uncertain of what the social situation required of him, but he knew that he liked looking at the girl in the privacy of the riverside trail.

  “I’m Medina,” she said.

  She grabbed a small canteen that hung over her shoulder and took a drink.

  “Thirsty?” she asked.

  He nodded. He set his firewood down and wiped the sweat from his brow. Medina handed her canteen to him. Thal took a small drink because he did not want to empty her canteen.

  “I could use one of these,” he commented and returned it.

  “You aren’t a man of many possessions,” she commented. “Except that nice fur. It’s so beautiful.”