Lady Shade

by Ymir A Lethe

  Finally, they arrived at the monastery, a massive structure, three floors made of white stone. There leftmost side had fallen into a crevice, so an entire side of the building was open, like a shocked mouth. Above the main double doors was a balcony to the second floor, and Solace was sitting on the wall surrounding it.

  “The monastery with no origin!” Solace called. “Welcome to one of my humble abodes. I’m not currently staying here at night, but so much to learn.”

  “All right,” Daniel said. “We’re going to find out why she came here. Move it, men!”

  “Daniel,” Solace said, in a sing-song tone. “I’ve got something here you might be interested to see.”

  “What?”

  Solace smiled. “Staircase is straight ahead.”

  Father Blossom

  Father Blossom had received word they’d received a letter two weeks ago. Tubiel had been exiled from the Order two years ago, and the reason why was still unclear. But they answered his call to the town and they would be arriving that morning. Father Blossom had been at odds with the Inquisition before. During his short time away from the town, he saw them in the small port town of Duston, and they burned a witch alive. He didn’t know if the man was a witch or warlock, but he knew for sure that killing a man for any reason wasn’t the answer.

  The militia were off investigating the murder in the woods, and Eratta and Milla had just returned to the estate. So when Father Blossom watched the first horse-drawn carriage come over the hill, he bit his lower lip before muttering a prayer to God and gesturing for the locals to go on their way. The men, women, and children scattered for their home. Mr. Portsman locked the door to the inn, and Mr. Offle closed the door to the brewery. The blacksmith, Mr. Loke, just kept doing his thing, such was the nature of Mr. Loke.

  The day was dark and cloudy. Playwrights often wrote about pathetic fallacies—that bad weather heralded dark times—and Father Blossom was almost able to smile at God’s little joke. He made sure his robes were properly fixed. Tubiel, in his regal purple robes, with silver mace and a silver dagger on belt, walked out alongside him and stood in silence. The first carriage came to a stop and the door opened.

  “Tubiel, it’s been a while!”

  A colossal man climbed out. High Inquisitor August. An ancient and strong man with a Scottish accent. He stopped, dusting off his purple robes, and knocked his knuckles against the hilt of his monstrous silver hammer before turning to Father Blossom.

  “You must be the local holy man, Father Blossom.” August bowed. “Come on, men!”

  “Welcome to Bronzeglade,” Father Blossom said. “I’m interested as to why Tubiel called you here.”

  August said nothing and looked at Tubiel, with a grunt, then looked back as the other inquisitors dismounted, in their purple robes. Several in simpler white robes climbed out the back of a wagon and gathered behind the ones with purple robes. All were armed with silver weapons.

  “Tubiel is not at liberty to talk about such things,” August said. “He is below the whites in our order.” He didn’t even turn back to face Blossom, but instead counted his men. “But be assured, we come with good reason. Tell me, is the name of the local lord, one Eratta Winters?”

  “Yes,” Blossom said. “And he will not be happy about having armed men in his town square.”

  “We’ll be on our way soon enough. Once we’ve solved our little problem. We received the letter two days ago. Has much happened since it was sent, Tubiel?”

  “A lot. We’re dealing with… ahem… an Originator.”

  August gestured for him to continue.

  “Our usual methods did not work.”

  “So we’re dealing with an old beast.” August turned to Blossom. “I’ll tell you straight. We believe a high lycanthrope lives in your town. A man whose mind became that of a wolf, and his body followed.”

  “If one of those existed in our town, the bodies would be piled high,” Blossom said. “Assuming such beasts exist.”

  “Oh, they exist,” August said. “I’ve slain eight myself. I used to have a crossbow designed specifically for the job, but it was stolen a week back. Tell me, Father, do you know anything that could assist us?”

  “Legends of a green-eyed wolfen that protects this town have existed since the town was built fifty years ago. My predecessor called the Order of Hunters to find it. He believed the myths, but nothing was found. No dead bodies, either. All this was triggered by a death in the forest, which we’re not even sure was a murder. And it was probably during the day, because they were riding horseback. I apologize, August. I know of the myths, and they’re simply not true. Here in Bronzeglade, anyway. I beg you to leave. I don’t want armed men in front of my church!”

  “I understand why you’re defensive, but we have work to do.”

  “Do you now?”

  Eratta Winters arrived, with a red-haired woman beside him.

  “Just the person I wanted to talk to,” August said. “I—”

  “The green-eyed beast is real,” Eratta said. “Miss Shade here is a huntress, and it came for her only two nights ago. We fought it alongside a pagan who lives in the forest, named Solace, and your friend Tubiel. I think if you wish to learn more, Solace knows more than he lets on.”

  “A pagan?” August said. “The exact kind of person lycanthropy would take—”

  “We know he’s not a beast,” Tubiel said. “Unless he knows some way to stop himself from turning, that we don’t.”

  “And a huntress?” August said. “Usually the men—”

  “I’m an only child.” Milla spurred her horse forward. “What’s your kill count?”

  “Eight.”

  “Seventeen,” she hissed. “The one we’re dealing with now is far too strong for us to deal with. It’s an Originator—incredibly intelligent and unkillable. The best we could do was blind it.”

  “By—”

  “We shot it over two dozen times with silver bullets,” Tubiel whispered.

  “Don’t interrupt me!” August shouted.

  “There are two beasts in Bronzeglade,” Tubiel said. “Two lycanthropes, both of them Originators.”

  “Three.” August turned to Milla. “Well, Lycan hunting is hardly a woman’s job, but if your record is true, then you’re smart. What do you say we do?”

  “Find out who they are. Keep ourselves secure and safe at night. I’ve been investigating. He may be a pagan, but you can trust Solace. It’s just whether or not he trusts you. And he won’t.”

  “Then I’ll—”

  “Hurt anyone and my men have orders to kill every one of you,” Eratta said. “From all my fief, they’ll come and they’ll make sure none of you leave alive. Understood?

  August stopped smiling, and started to talk again.

  “Understand that you, August, are nothing more than a vigilante,” Errata said. “You are not ordained by her majesty, and I am. I swear by the Danish blood in my veins and the English spirit in my heart that I will ensure you understand your place,” He turned his horse’s ass to August, and it swished its tail. “And you are not taking the homes of anyone in this town.”

  “We’ll be paying to stay at the White Hart Inn. The white robes will be camping.”

  Eratta began riding towards his home.

  “You underestimate your situation, August.” Milla followed Eratta.

  “Making a fool of me,” August muttered.

  “Act a fool,” Blossom said, “speak foolish words, boast foolishly. You are a fool.” He turned on his heel, strode home, and slammed the door shut.

  He took a few deep breaths. August was going to get people killed, and he wasn’t a man of God. He was a man of prideful folly who thought he could hand out God’s judgement. And God’s judgement is only God’s to give.

  Atur

  Atur noticed the pretty lady on the hillside writing in a notebook while sitting on the stone wall which ran along the road on one side of his father’s field. She wore black riding leat
hers that seemed expensive, and her curly hair fell to her shoulders. Artur took a moment to catch his breath. Then he walked over to her.

  “Hey, lady!”

  She looked up and smiled at him, then returned to writing. Artur rolled his shoulders and sat close to her, on the wall.

  She had the grace and decorum of a woman, and every one of her movements was purposeful. She sat with one leg over the other. Her writing was neat, though Artur couldn’t read it.

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m Miss Milla Shade.” She didn’t look up from her notes. “I’m in town visiting Sir Eratta.”

  “What’s that?” Artur pointed to the thing on her leg.

  “That’s a pistol. Works like a crossbow.”

  “Doesn’t look like a crossbow.”

  She shrugged. “It’s better than a crossbow.” She looked up at him. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Artur.”

  “You should know better than to talk to a lady you haven’t been introduced to, or to disrupt someone while they are writing. Remember that.”

  “But you don’t care about that.”

  Milla’s chuckled. “True.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “London. It’s a horrible place.”

  “But it’s where the Queen lives!”

  “You know, in some places they wear stilts because the filth runs so deep on the streets. And it’s full of thieves. There are so many people, you can’t just stop somewhere. You always have to keep moving, or they think you’re a thief if you’re a man, or a whore if you’re a woman.”

  “What’s a whore?”

  “People don’t like women who are whores. But a whore is not for you to speak of or ask of yet. Understood?”

  Artur nodded.

  “What are you, fifteen?”

  “Yeah. I was named last year.” He beamed.

  “Are you getting married?”

  “To a pretty girl.” Artur sighed. “Though I don’t know who yet. Are you married, Miss Shade?”

  “No. I was a nurse over in France until not long ago. I’m seeing if Sir Eratta is worth my time.”

  “In France? During King Henry’s rule?”

  “Yes. It’s where I learned to keep a pistol with me. It’s been a few years since then, I guess. I just haven’t found a man worth me.”

  “But aren’t women supposed to marry?”

  “And aren’t men supposed to be worth my time?”

  “Are you worth their time?”

  Milla laughed. “Trust me, I’m worth their time.”

  Artur was silent for a moment. “You’re pretty. Lots of men would want to marry you.”

  “And it makes them forget I’m more than my looks.” She put her notebook into her satchel and stepped onto the road. “Take care of yourself, Artur.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To hunt a wolf.” She turned to face him. “I’m a huntress.”

  Artur laughed. “Men are hunters.”

  “You know, in the ancient city of Sparta, women were the hunters. I suppose you could say I’m a Spartan.”

  Tubiel

  The Golden Wolf

  Most sightings of Green-Eyes had been in the Bronzeglade. It had been said that the beast was hard to see because its gleaming white fur blended with the silver trees. The forest stretched across three towns. Bronzeglade was the wealthiest and largest, with a vast marketplace that took an hour to walk. It was also the furthest out, so it much easier to reach.

  Gratche was a town was on the other side of the Grey Hills, where the forest stretched along one side. An absurd amount of lumber was produced here, and the wood was coveted for its beauty. But from Tubiel’s estimation, Gratche, the third town he’d visited, wasn’t the home of the beast. Most of the people who went to that town were labor men from the surrounding towns, and the shadow of the hills meant that the moon wasn’t ever-present at night, which greatly reduced the chance of lycanthropy. So Tubiel had resigned to drinking at Gratche’s brewery, the Wise Wag. Many gave him odd looks and asked if he was one of the outsiders, because the other purple-robes who’d rolled through that morning wore immaculate purple robes, but his were tattered and dirty. Tubiel told them he was an exile who’d lived in Bronzeglade for years.

  He finished his ale and sat back in his seat.

  “Are you… are you one of them?” a lady asked.

  Tubiel sighed, and when he turned to her, he saw sheer panic on her face.

  “Yes.” He stood. “What’s happened?”

  “A giant wolf attacked our house!” she cried.

  He looked out of the window. The full moon gleamed through a hole in the grey sky.

  “It was big and wreathed in—”

  “Fire.” He nodded and walked into the center of the brewery. “Any men in here strong enough to wrangle a beast with me!”

  “Why?” one of them asked, and then saw the sobbing woman behind him. “Let’s go!”

  “Take us to your home,” Tubiel said to her.

  He followed her into the town. Her home was past the lumber mills and was the town’s granary, owned by her husband. Except, the granary was now a pile of cinder and rubble, and there was a path of burnt and broken trees leading up to it.

  “It took my son and ran off into the forest!”

  Why didn’t it kill the child? And why would it return?

  Solace.

  “Does anyone know the way to the old monastery from here?” Tubiel asked.

  One of the men shouted that they did and Tubiel gestured for them to lead the way.

  “Why?” the woman asked.

  “Did you see it take him?” Tubiel said.

  “No, but… he fell and the beast chased me, and when I managed to get back, he was gone and couldn’t have—”

  Wind rushed through the forest. Many men armed themselves with sticks while they trekked. The dark clouds had rolled over the moon, and Tubiel knew they were no longer hunting a beast. The forest finally gave way to open ground and they came out on the other side of the ravine.

  Tubiel stared at the side of the monastery and the white bricks that had fallen into the divide.

  “Solace, where are you?”, Tubiel asked, and he was only answered by silence. “I know you’re in here.!”

  He said he didn’t stay here at night, but this would be where he’d retreat to.

  “I’m in here!” Solace called. “But I’m… I’m a bit busy.”

  “Let the child go, Solace,” Tubiel said.

  “I saw the burning wolf!” Solace replied. “I saw that this child was hurt!”

  Tubiel reached into his robes and pulled out the silver mace. “Find the pagan,” he said to the mob. “Do not hurt the child. Do not kill the pagan. Bring them both to me. I know medicine.”

  The mob rushed to either side of the ravine and stormed the monastery. Tubiel made sure the moon wasn’t in the clouds and then joined them.

  Like Solace had said, the monastery was colossal. The rooms were furnished, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to how it was built. And as they swept through all three floors, it was clear that Solace knew something about this place they didn’t. He’d hidden some place, or—

  “He’s escaped!” Tubiel shouted. “Go out into the forest. Find him!”

  The men hurried out of the monastery, shouting.

  “Bring them to me. Unharmed!”

  Tubiel stayed in the old monastery and sniffed. Now that there was silence, he could smell something. A rich, sweet scent. He followed it back to the divide and peered down into the ravine which the monastery had fallen into. He stood on the edge and wondered if he smelled Solace’s medicines. Then he jumped down the rubble and skid to the bottom of the crevice leading into a cave, when his vision was flooded with orange light. He staggered backward and opened his eyes to see a wall of glowing amber, in front of which, Solace was crouched over the injured boy.

  “Let him go,” Tubiel said.

&nb
sp; “You won’t stop me. You can’t stop me.”

  “Who are you? You’re not… you’re not entirely human, are you?”

  Tubiel looked down at the child, who was laying with his back, with a huge bite wound on his shoulder. Around it, Solace was waving orange smoke. Tubiel gripped his mace and stepped forward, raising his mace. He swore to never abide to witchcraft. Solace was only a pagan, but…

  Tubiel stopped once he’d glimpsed past Solace, into the amber, to something within. Solace and the boy were encased in it, elevated. Their black hair went down past their ankles, and their skin was pale. They were dressed in ancient Celtic garb. It was Solace with gleaming green eyes. Tubiel’s heart wrenched when the Solace on the outside looked up at him, and he realized he wasn’t in a room with just a pagan or a witch. This was worse than any demon.

  “I’ve taken the affliction from him,” Solace said. “He won’t be a werewolf.”

  “What are you!”

  “I’m a spirit. Diluted to a simple man. I can only channel the powers within this amber.”

  “Or in that ring.” Tubiel gestured the blue one on Solace’s finger. “What are you? Some kind of witch alchemist?”

  “No.” Solace sighed and stood as the orange essence sealed the child’s wound shut. “Now to deal with you.”

  Tubiel stepped forward and Solace’s eyes glimmered. Tubiel stopped advancing when he felt his body began to wretch. Solace looked at his forearm as his bracers fractured and began to break. He gasped, staggering back.

  “There’s no moonlight,” Tubiel said. “What… are you the cause of all this?”

  “No. I’m here to undo the actions of another who is like me.”

  “You won’t kill me,” the Golden Wolf growled. “You won’t even let my body turn.”

  “No, but in this form, your human mind is weak,” Solace said. “So I take from you your memories of this day. You will awake in your bed in the cabin. And in payment for the taking of his memories, I give him a gift.”

  “What could that be?” the Golden Wolf asked.