Son of hell: Blood of wolves

by Michaela Burdová

  The crowd dispersed in all directions with frantic screams. There was no one in the village, not even a hunter, who could have inspired them to have the courage to take up their rakes and axes against him. No, these people were on their own. Neran was a werewolf who had come to eat his food.

  He spoke to Talem only briefly: "They mustn’t see you talking to me. You are exonerated. Have a good life. Now, get out of here."

  Talem gave him a grateful smile and then, like the others, ran towards his home. For a while, Neran stood on the deserted square. He listened to the silence and sensed the horror. Then he disappeared.

  Chapter 5

  Shadow

  Turn around

  As darkness falls

  Fear that breaks bones

  Take your breath away

  Of demons nothing say

  Just over the hill Neran glimpsed his first sight of the River Syren. At the peak stood tall, white stones with greyish grass brushing against them. Thin, green tendrils with dark blue flowers crept over them. It almost seemed as if someone had planted the stones there.

  Neran stood next to one of the stones that was as tall as him. A strong icy gale blew, ruffled his hair and tore open his shirt. A steep rocky slope stretched out below him. Beyond it lay the river which looked like a calm, dark sea – it was the widest and longest river in Velwetia.

  It was late afternoon when Neran arrived in Harken, the largest port town in Arnnolen. It was on his way to Breetia, even though he had continuing doubts about the journey.

  The town was located under cliffs on the banks of the river, and from afar one could see lots of ships anchored in the harbour. Harken was an important trade centre. Traders, merchants, and especially fishermen from around the world came here. In addition one of the king's knights resided in Harken. However, Sir Dainkar spent most of his time at the king´s court as part of his entourage.

  Neran had visited Harken a few times before. The hustle and bustle of the crowds and the shouting vendors did not surprise him.He only lost his patience when someone accidentally pushed into him for about the fifth time in five minutes.

  The town was full of bright colours. Orange three-story buildings, red roofs, yellow flowers... Everything was decorated, polished, and perfectly tidy. The local charm was distorted by the smell of fish and the damp salty air, brought by the fishermen from the northern seas. They sold all kinds of fish, even shark. Neran´s nose was bombarded by all these smells and more, including roasted sausages and sugary sweets.

  He finally got away from the shopping street and headed along a paved path directly to the harbour. He wanted to find a clean inn where he could sleep in peace. It had been a long day´s travel and he was tired.

  In the harbour, Neran saw long piers with huge commercial ships and fishing boats moored at their sides. He forced his way through a crowded street and continued along a narrow path that ran parallel with the river. Sailors and fishermen were loading and unloading goods, supplies and big boxes, shouting and laughing as they did so. Some rushed happily into the nearest tavern to celebrate their return to the mainland with drinks or went to a brothel to have fun.

  Neran walked along the waterfront listening to the water splash against the rocky water´s edge. Fishermen were sat all along it having cast their fishing rods in the hope of catching a free dinner. Neran knew that a short distance away there was a famous tavern. He was looking forward to having a delicious dinner.

  The Singing Siren Tavern stood just opposite a large pier where three ships were docked. Neran went inside and was glad to be away from all the noise.

  This place was not quiet either, but no one was shouting about their wares and trying to get him to buy the biggest, tastiest fish. More importantly, the stench of fish was replaced by the smell of roasted meat from the kitchen.

  Neran sat down at a vacant table near the wall above which hung a figurine carved from wood in the shape of a siren. She was half seductive woman and half aquatic monster. The river had got its name from these mythical creatures. Legend had it that sirens supposedly lived in it.Some people believed it, others did not.

  A blazing torch in each corner of the room and a radiant ceiling lamp gave the tavern a tranquil feel.

  When they brought him his order of beer and chicken in sauce garnished with baked apples and potatoes, he went straight for the food.

  As he sat there he was intrigued to overhear a strange conversation at the next table in the corner. Three tall figures, draped in grey robes with hoods over their heads, sat there. The torch above them had gone out and only a candle provided light for their table. They were almost shrouded in darkness.

  "We should go to Yldiel, like I said from the beginning," a voice, smooth as velvet, declared.

  "We can’t, Elgias, satree, understand. We can´t take him there. He wants us."

  "The Queen would protect us!"

  "Aktias wëy, quiet! Tia de lïen."

  Neran frowned. He looked at the mysterious strangers and wondered what elves were doing there. He could recognise Elvish anytime and anywhere, but this was the language of the Royal Elves of Ollewan.

  Apparently they were trying to go about their business unnoticed or recognised, even though the presence of elves in any human town was usually a great honour. Neran guessed that these elves were hiding here from something. Yldiel was the capital of the Ollewan Kingdom. Someone was obviously after them. Who?Who would want to get at these elves?

  He did not understand the other words because they spoke in the noble language of the Highest. Unfortunately, Neran had only learned to speak common Elvish, and then only for a short time. He could say a few things, but would then have to rely on sign language to make himself understood.

  He shrugged his shoulders and looked towards the window. It was getting dark. After dinner it was off to bed. Tomorrow, he would walk all day again.

  "Eile’n?" Neran heard the elf's voice again. He knew the word eile’n. It meant hear or listen. But Neran heard nothing unusual.

  "I can smell something ..." the other elf whispered. Neran turned around and looked at them. One of them stood up whilst the other stretched out his slender hand to indicate that he should wait.

  BOOM!

  The tavern door burst from its hinges!

  The people turned in horror and fell silent. There wasn´t a murmur. They watched as the door flew across to the other side of the tavern.With an enormous thud, it hit the back wall, broke into two pieces, splinters flying in all directions.

  A thick, swooping darkness, similar to rippling tentacles, crept inside. It rolled over the threshold and slowly began to crawl up the walls and along the ceiling. The torchlights flickered and went out. Neran sat mesmerized, his eyes fixed on the advancing darkness. He could feel the tension in the air go through his entire body.

  Something horrible was coming.

  A huge black shadow appeared in the doorway. It was dense, as if it was formed from a living, rising darkness, and shaped like a twisted figure. Instead of legs, the darkness just seemed to tail away, and it had claws like foggy smoke. It glided over the threshold, ducking to get through the doorway.

  The room was filled with a deadly silence. Everyone stared on in horror. The monster emanated such an excruciating evil that Neran could taste it in his mouth. His teeth tingled and his bones twitched. The evil caused his stomach to tighten. The stench ... sulphur and tar, fouled the air until it was acrid. It had to be a demon.

  Neran had already met one of the Thirteen Demons in the past.

  He had hoped that he would never encounter another one again.

  The demon raised his smoky claws and from somewhere came an ominous, squeaking, thunderous roar. It sounded like a rock breaking and falling down a cliff in the middle of a storm.

  The people broke into terrified screams and darted from their tables. There was confusion all around. They bumped into each other, yelling and screaming, running back and forth, trying desperately to get to the doorway, but al
l to no avail. The exit was blocked, the people were trapped.

  The demon ignored them. His attention was firmly focused on the place where Neran sat. He sat stock still and did not move. To panic and run would do no good. On the outside he tried to stay calm and cool, but it was not easy, for when he looked at the demon and sensed the evil emanating from it, he felt turmoil inside.

  The shadow began to move towards him. Neran did not understand why it had picked him. By chance he looked over at the elves. All three stood behind their table, completely motionless, observing the demon. Then Neran remembered their conversation... He wants us...

  The demon had come for them.

  The demon began to shrink. His shadowy silhouette narrowed until a male figure with skin as shiny as black metal stood in front of them. A long smooth robe resembling raven’s wings subsequently wrapped itself around him, the hood covering his face.

  One of the elves stepped forward. Neran noticed that none of them had any weapons on them. Were they crazy or naive? The Twelfth Demon was chasing them and they were unarmed?

  One elf slipped the hood off his head. Neran's eyes widened. Impossible! Three blue pearls shone on his forehead. They were the Royal Priests from the sacred Temple of Weimerill! They served the highest elven deities such as Saynilos, Ektannu or Goddess Alwiäné. No humans had ever had a chance to see them with their own eyes because they lived only in their temples. It was widely known that they had helped to chain up the thirteen demons.

  "Our death will not solve anything, Gariel," the elf said calmly. "Revenge will only make your hatred greater and it will gradually destroy you."

  The demon burst into hideous laughter. "You are wasting your words, priest! I was created from hatred! It fills me with strength. Your blood will make me even stronger!"

  The demon stepped forward and stretched out his arms. Neran was tense, if the rumours were true, .....

  There was a flash of golden light and a turquoise blue glow. The elves had teamed up to use their combined powers. The demon responded by stretching out his arms shattering the light with a black shield. From behind it he drew a long serrated sword.

  The elves did not have enough time to scream.

  The demon slit all their throats with one single swipe. Their bodies fell to the ground like limp puppets. The onlookers trapped in the tavern broke into even greater screams than before.

  The demon bent over the bodies of the elves. His hand turned into a claw and with it, one by one, he dug into their chests and ripped out their hearts. Neran looked on as the human shape changed back into a huge cloud of darkness that stretched up to the ceiling. It then opened its enormous mouth and swallowed all three hearts at once.

  As the darkness dissipated, the light in the tavern returned. People were crammed in the very back corner, clinging to each other, weeping with fear and relief. The dark cloud left, twisting and rippling as it did so, taking the demon with it. All that remained of his visit was a heavy silence and the stench of death.

  So one of the Thirteen Demons had escaped. From the stench of evil the demon had left behind, Neran guessed that it was the Twelfth. He wondered if the Thirteenth was on the loose as well, and...

  No. He quickly chased the idea from his mind. They had caught the villain and Neran would never meet him again!

  It had been a few hundred years since the demons had nearly wiped out the Elven Nation. They were eventually all chained up and put to sleep by the Elven Gods and the Spirits of the Land. The elven priests had helped them. Everyone knew that the Thirteenth was the worst because he had gained enormous powers. Neran had heard that he had broken loose of his shackles but had been arrested again.

  If however, the Twelfth Demon was on the loose, this land would face hard times.

  * * *

  Aragen was sitting on a piece of wood next to the extinguished fireplace. She was thoughtfully touching the silver cross around her neck with her fingers. It was baked into her flesh and as she caressed it, it burned her fingers. She had stopped feeling the pain a long time ago.

  They had spent four days on this glade. It had been long enough. It was time to move onto new hunting grounds tomorrow. Aragen knew that things in her pack were getting increasingly worse, though she tried to conceal the fact from the outside world at any price. People still trembled with fear at the mere mention of the word darkwolf. Elves composed ballads about the dangers that Aragen’s pack brought with it. That was good.Nevertheless, rumours began to emerge that the darkwolves were in danger of becoming extinct.

  Aragen hated the suggestions. Her tribe was strong, the strongest in history! She wouldn´t allow them to become extinct like some inferior rats! They desperately needed new blood, and as soon as possible!

  She furiously prodded the ashes of the fire with a twig. Bending over the fireplace, she tried to read the future from the embers. Lately, her powers in this regard were unwilling to comply, even though she felt stronger than ever. She could not see anything in the fireplace, no matter how much she tried.

  Perhaps it was her inner turmoil. Tomorrow would be twenty years since the death of her father. Twenty years since her mother had committed murder and handed over the leadership to Aragen. Aragen still had that night engraved in her memory. As the next day approached, she felt increasingly restless. Maybe, that was why her powers did not obey her?

  Suddenly, she became even more annoyed. She dropped the stick and flung her ebony hair over her shoulder. Oh yes, power. Lately, she had felt a change and subconsciously knew that something had happened, something major, but she could not figure out what it was. Her bones tingled all the time.She felt a dark power building up inside her, luring her away ... to something or someone ... Aragen did not know.

  A skinny girl sat down across from her. Her dirty yellow hair stuck out in all directions. "Still no success, ma’am?"

  Aragen turned her eyes to her. "What do you think, Drel?"

  "Maybe the near future is so important that the forces do not want you to see it," Drel said warily.

  "Maybe," Aragen snapped.

  "Or maybe ..." Drel paused.

  "Maybe what?"

  "How about looking at the present? Maybe you're doing it the wrong way round. Perhaps, you have to first find out what important things are happening now."

  Aragen raised an eyebrow. Drel had not changed much over the years.

  As a werewolf, she was never strong or skilled in battle. However, she had a sharp mind and was completely devoted to her mistress.

  Drel brought her a new twig. Aragen tried to concentrate again and felt that strange tingling in her bones again. A dark power was getting under her skin. Her hand rose completely spontaneously. The twig entered the embers and began circling within them. Aragen stared into the fireplace with fascination. Symbols appeared in front of her, smoothly and clearly.

  "What do you see?" Drel asked anxiously.

  Aragen’s heart pounded. Now everything made sense. "Hope, Drel, I see hope. Do you remember how I told you about our history? About our ancestor, the great Wolfgar."

  Drel nodded vigorously. Aragen plunged her searing gaze into her. "One of the Thirteen Demons has escaped, Drel. I have been feeling his power all this time ... And do you know what the demon desires?"

  "Power," Drel replied.

  "Exactly. To gain immense power, he will need his brethren. I think that I could help him with that. And what about his...”Aragen broke off.

  One of her men suddenly collapsed with a seizure. He was one of the Young. He twitched in silent convulsions. Foam was bubbling from his mouth and his eyes were bloody. Drel covered her mouth with her hand. The rest of the pack desperately circledaround him, helpless to do anything. The man eventually stopped moving and Aragen knew that they would have to dig another grave.

  "Another genetic disease?" Drel whispered.

  "Or a hidden disease that I do not know of. There is always something. We can no longer continue to breed among ourselves.It is killing us, as you
can see."

  "Yes, but…"

  Aragen stood up, her hair sliding down her naked back. "I’ll find this demon and get in touch with him. He can help us."

  Chapter 6

  Wolf on a Chain

  Neran pulled his hood down further. The wind was brutally cold and whipped around his face, stinging his eyes and cutting into his skin like knives. The wailing sound buzzed in Neran’s ears and he had trouble focusing on anything else. Walking was becoming increasingly difficult because the snow was getting deeper and deeper. With each step, he sank into the white deluge up to his knees. Not only his feet hurt, but his entire body as well.

  Breetia lay on the northern borders of the Kingdom of Arnnolen. The Northern Elves had migrated there several centuries before and had formed their own nation. They had formerly belonged to the Royal Elves of Ollewan. When the new ruler of Breetia, Karnelos, ascended to the royal throne, an era of eternal snow and fighting dawned. He did not like the fact that the elves, according to him, had settled in his country. Neran could not blame him very much because he was not fond of elves himself.

  Shortly after his accession, Karnelos had killed the sacred Golden Unicorn on a hunt. The elves were furious and cursed him. From that point on, the fighting between them had never ceased. The elves had subsequently occupied a part of Breetia’s territory, mainly forests, and annexed it as part of their own Neiwlur Empire.

  Breetia was not a kingdom, rather a small country. People in general referred to it as adomain. That was all that Neran knew. He knew even less, nothing in fact, about the wife of Lord Karnelos.

  What could the Lady of Breetia be like if she knew what mere mortals did not? Perhaps a witch? Or did she have a gift, perhaps from the Gods, or from the elves, that made her extraordinary?

  The day before it had snowed all day long and the road was less passable as a result. Today, only the wind was the problem. Neran could not imagine facing the same weather every day. Nothing but cold, snow, frost, and wind ... that was Breetia. The Golden Unicorn was dead and spring would never return here again.