by Ymir A Lethe
“Now!” August shouted.
The blacksmith’s door opened and a giant bolt flew out, struck Green-Eyes in the side, and lodged there. Black blood spurted from the wound. It fell to one knee, howling, and another inquisitor rushed in, axe raised, and swung at its neck. But the head of the axe came off the hilt.
Green-Eyes grabbed the man by the throat. “I am the protector of this town,” it growled.
August’s eyes bulged and his face became pale, as the inquisitor suffocated in its grasp. It clutched the man’s throat tighter and tighter, and blood began to spill from his mouth. Every inquisitor stood in terror as their brother’s neck was crushed by this beast’s hand.
It took the enormous bolt and pulled it from its flesh. Blue smoke rose from the wound, and it struck another inquisitor across the face. His head flew off, sailing about thirty feet, and splattered against the front of the White Hart Inn.
Green-Eyes stood upright, raising the bolt like a javelin, and aimed straight for August. A howl rolled through the hills in the distance, causing Green-Eyes to pause a split second before he hurled the javelin. The distraction gave August just enough time to leap aside, and the beast bounded down Bronzeglade’s main street, towards the source of the howl.
Everyone stood with wide eyes and open mouths, gasping for air. Uvire turned to see that the others had fled as they were told, and he looked back to see that August hadn’t dodged the bolt—he’d fainted and was lying in a heap.
Uvire sniffed. Something smelled like the fruit Eratta had once given him. Figs, he remembered they were called.
He shuffled back, turned and sprinted.
Eratta
The Suitor
Miss Shade looked especially beautiful today, in a flowing blue dress. She’d taken the lift in Eratta’s carriage, offered by Mitz, Eratta’s black-skinned driver. Milla climbed out of the carriage, smiled at Eratta, and let him take her to his study, where she asked to see his paintings. He was known for being a mad artist, and decided to show Milla the painting he’d done of her. She was on the back of a giant black stallion, in her black riding leathers, her flowing bronze hair the same shade as the leaves floating around her. An image of her arriving in town.
“It’s amazing!” Milla beamed. “I’m glad you appreciate the leathers.”
“Practical, pretty. They suit you.” Eratta held out a finger for each of the three reasons.
She blushed.
“How are you? I heard what happened last night.”
“I’m used to that kind of thing. They’re not.” She sighed. “I think Uvire got shaken up. He saw the whole thing. Said Green-Eyes spoke. Which, I should note, is undocumented. Whatever turned him into a high lycanthrope, it must’ve been a powerful miasma, or… whatever.”
“August was looking for Solace,” Errata said. “No one’s seen him, have they?”
“From what I heard, Tubiel thought he kidnapped a child. My guess is he’ll return the child tonight and say he was tending to the child’s wounds. Still, he might get scorched for witchcraft.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t a safe world for a deist, let alone a pagan.”
Deism, Milla thought. That’s—
“I am a Deist,” Errata said. “I see creation, not a creator. That said, I still pray. I’m just waiting on God’s light, I suppose.”
“Makes sense. Was your father a Christian?”
“He pretended to be, I think. I’m not a lot like my father, you know. He was a proper warrior. Taught me to use a sword and an axe. But I was always better with a rifle. And now, I’m good with neither.”
“Looks like you need a strong woman.” Milla smiled and nudged him.
“Hopefully I’ve got one. What do you think of me so far?”
“Well, if this Lycan business goes over smoothly, I think I might stay. As long as you allow me to continue being a huntress, of course.”
“Controlling you? Impossible!” Eratta laughed. “And if that’s all I’d have to worry about, that’d be fine by me.”
“That’s fair.” Milla giggled.
They strolled into the drawing room, and he fixed two glasses of whiskey. Then they sat in the pair of armchairs. From her seat, on the third floor, Milla could see beyond the walls and out over the Grey Hills. She stared at them with wanderlust.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it,” Eratta said. “Sounds to me like you’ve been far and wide.”
“I have.” Her expression became sullen. “The Shades were a great family of hunters. But a decade ago, all the young men—my cousins and uncles—went on a hunt in South Germany to find a werewolf that was… well, it turned out there was a whole pack of them, and the leader was able to control them. The men of my family fought well, but word of their deaths came to us soon after. Apparently, every beast had been mortally wounded, except the Originator. The alpha. So I took the next boat to Saxony and began my hunt. I went as far as the Ottoman Empire and found them before they could make another town of beasts. I avenged my family and that was my third kill.”
“What were the other two?”
“We take part in group hunts of five or six before we’re allowed into the world. I probably wasn’t ready to face him in Saxony. I’m lucky. I discovered who he was, in a town in Brittany. So when I found him in his human form, he was easy enough to put down.”
“That must’ve been—”
“Hard. Yeah, it was, losing so much of my family. And I loved all of them. Great men. But after that, who was left to carry on the legacy? I was told a woman couldn’t, but I pointed to Queen Mary and said, ‘But we have a queen.’ They would argue that royalty was different, but I don’t believe them. Which is why I refuse to marry a man who’ll treat me as his property.”
“Society—it sucks, doesn’t it?” Eratta sighed. “Humans. Sometimes I wonder how much divide there really is between us and wolves. Perhaps, if there is a God, this is his joke to show that people do as much damage as monsters. That we’re not so different. We’re just as reckless, really.”
“Did something happen?”
Eratta sat back in his seat and lowered his head. “Yeah.” He gulped his whiskey, then put down his empty glass.
“Tell me.”
Eratta poured a second glass and was quiet. Silence hung between them.
Milla put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if—”
Eratta held up his hand and sighed. “Okay, just… yes. When I was a boy, I grew up in this land. My father had begun turning it into a prosperous town, but at the time people were fearful. They were superstitious, and the legends of the Danish were still strong in their hearts. It was said that demons lived in their hearts and that they fed on human flesh. We convinced most of them, in time, and we thought we were safe.
So I met a girl who’d come from the next fief, and we fell in love. It was young love, but we loved each other. On the day she became a woman and started to bleed, she began suffering from seizures. Her father had a physician see her and the physician said her heart was weak but that she would live. I was committed to her and we loved each other, we really did. And then late one night, a lone man got into the manor. How? I’m still not sure. But the two of us were talking in the gardens, and this man—his name was Tobus—he came with an axe and insisted that the demon inside me had possessed the poor girl. When he advanced on me, she stepped between us. She was so calm and gentle at all times. Opposite of you, really. And she held out her arms and declared, ‘He is my love. He is no demon!’ And this man cursed us both and put the axe… put it right into her neck. I cried out and a guard found us. The man was executed by hanging three days later, in the largest town square of her father’s fief. I still love her, but not in romantic way. I love her in spirit, knowing that while evil people in this world exist, pure people live also.”
“What was her name?”
“Teff. Teffly. Funny name, I know. But it suited her.”
“She sounds like a good person. Nothing like
me.”
“I know.” Eratta smiled. “You’re both beautiful, but in different ways. We’ll eat and then you should return to your safe place, wherever it is. We don’t want Green-Eyes showing up again.”
“He’s going after August tonight. It’s the last night of the full moon, and I think he knows August is the imminent threat.”
“Makes sense.” He nodded. “I’ve got amazing food ready.”
“I have to meet your chef. He’s so good!”
“He is. Bottoms up, dinner’s ready.”
“How do you know?”
“I’m the one facing the door.” He grinned.
Milla downed the whiskey. “You know, Eratta,” she set the glass down, “a warm heart in a man is the most under-celebrated thing in our society. It’s funny that your last name is Winters.”
Tubiel’s Lost Memory
Tubiel had never been so such a warm place. Even now, as the full moon glistened, it was warm. Spain, the fatherland of inquisitors. All inquisitors followed the teachings from here, and Tubiel was there among the Order of Nox Formadus, the most elite. It was hard to contain his excitement. Fourteen purple-robed inquisitors and three in red robes, honing in on a castle inhabited by werewolves. A difficult mission. The moonlight was useful, but the only path of approach to the island’s fort cast a shadow, so it was impossible to see. And they were hunting not just one lycanthrope, but at least four more which had turned at the hand of a second-generation Lycan. Tubiel had proven himself worthy of this expedition by killing the one that sired them, but that wasn’t the true test.
He calmed his ego and gripped his mace tighter. The inquisitors stopped advancing, maces ready. A few of them had silver-tipped crossbows, but they were keeping to the rear, with a few white-robes to protect them. A shadow fell over the battlements, and a man stepped out to meet them. The moonlight gleamed off his silver bracelets.
“Inquisitors, welcome,” he boomed. “My name is Octavius. I kindly ask that you leave us be. We wear bracers every night. We are of no risk to you.”
“You are a blight,” said a red-robe. “You must be purged.”
“We will not leave and we will not back down,” Octavius said.
“Good. Then we can kill you,” the red-robe hissed.
“Very well.” Octavius sighed.
Three men and two women stepped up beside him. One more than anticipated. They took off their bracers.
“Fire!” the red-robe shouted.
Crossbows were fired, but they fell wide. The crossbowmen reloaded as the lycanthropes backed away from the edge. First came the cries of the wolves’ minds, and then the howls of the Lycan bodies.
Then there was silence.
It was a common phenomenon. The closer to the sire they became, the more influence they had with the other wolves. Octavius had clearly joined the group later, because he seemed the natural leader, and even with Lycan minds, they were like a pack. Staying in the darkness, ready to strike.
Tubiel felt something and smelled something sweet. He looked toward the source of the smell and saw objects had been tossed at the inquisitors, and they had only glanced at it. A piece of blue amber. Tubiel crouched down and picked it up. He turned over its smooth surface and looked deep into it, and something wretched at his heart. He looked up at the terror hanging high in the sky, gleaming white. Beautiful, alluring.
“No,” Tubiel gasped, shaking his head. “What…”
The other’s ignored him. The battle had begun. The six lycanthropes were crashing in. His body began to shake and twitch. His mind writhed as something unknown began pushing in. Something that had always been there. And without meaning to, Tubiel wailed, and then it seized his mind. He opened his eyes, gasping. His face was against the dirt and blood pooled around his nostrils and lips. A dead lycanthrope lay a few feet away from him, with serrated claw marks on his throat. Tubiel rolled onto his back, sat up, and looked around the scene. It was morning. Bright, warm light dawned on the bloody scene. He looked around and realized there was only one person left standing. The red-robe who’d spoken, except he wasn’t standing. He was sitting on a pile of rubble from where part of the castle had collapsed, nursing a wound.
He looked up at Tubiel. “You, lycanthrope.”
“I don’t… it was that blue amber, I swear,” Tubiel said.
“I don’t care how. You’re a lycanthrope. But your mind, not lycanthrope. Your mind was still human.”
“I don’t remember a thing.”
“Hm, no difference. The only things you killed were lycanthropes. That said, you can’t be a lycanthrope and an inquisitor. You are exiled from the Order.”
“You can’t! I earned—”
“You can keep your robes, your texts, your weapons. But you can’t keep your rank in the Holy Orders. If you wish to be werewolf hunter, you can be. Otherwise, you can take your vast wealth and become a merchant or gentry man.”
“I fought—”
“I thought you dead, but you’re not. You showed that God’s light blessed you even in your blight. You saved my life. We would’ve surely lost had you not turned. So I’ll take it as a sign from God and decree you disavowed from the Order but let you live and serve as a hunter.”
“Fuck you. Fuck the Order.”
“Do not insult me. I grant you a mercy. You cannot defeat me. I have God on my side.”
“Try me.”
The red-robe shook his head. He got to his feet and lifted his sword, but Tubiel realized he was simply cleaning the blood off of it. Red-robe lifted one arm and put his armored gauntlet under the blade, kept his sword pointed forward.
He advanced toward Tubiel. “I was wrong. God didn’t save you. Satan did.”
“So who won out of those two?” Tubiel looked at the mace in his own hand. “You’re full of shit.”
“No, I’m—”
Tubiel threw the mace and it smashed into the red-robe’s face. He cried out when his nose and cheekbones shattered, and Tubiel rushed forward. The red-robe recovered, blinded by the blood, and swung with his sword in a wide arc. Tubiel ducked below the swipe and pulled his dagger from under his sleeve. He pulled up and plunged the knife into red-robe’s throat.
“They’ll think I fled after surviving the battle. Fuck you and your Order. You’re nothing but scum.”
“They’ll know.” The red-robe gasped. “They’ll see the claw wounds on the other lycanthropes and know it was you. You… will die at their hands.”
The red-robe died with a smile on his face.
A bronze leaf brushed against Tubiel’s face as he looked down at the dagger which had been so important to him. It had always served as a reminder, and he didn’t know how he could forget something so key. But he had. He couldn’t even remember why it had ever been meaningful at all.
Tubiel petted his wolfhound and put the dagger back under his sleeve. The Bronzeglade was strange. The trees whispered among themselves and he could hear them tonight. He could hear the orange that flowed through them, and they were whispering dark omens.
Tubiel stood and peered through the canopy. The full moon was going to remain for one more night, and this time it was blood red. A terrible omen and an even more dreadful gift to the lycanthropes.
He tapped his mace, thinking. The lycanthropes would probably go after their greatest threat—the Inquisition. Tonight, they were at the Winters estate to discuss plans with Eratta. Most of them would be waiting in the gardens. Tubiel wasn’t worried about Green-Eyes destroying the Inquisition. He didn’t care for them much, anyhow. No, he was worried for Eratta, because Fire-Eyes was the most destructive lycanthrope Tubiel had ever encountered.
“Come on, boy!” He began jogging.
It was hard to navigate the darkness under the dull red light of the full moon, and Solace burst from the darkness, his cloak flapping about, rifle rattling on his shoulder.
“I see we thought the same thing!” he shouted. “Double time.”
Tubiel could see it. He c
ould smell the smoke that wafted through the trees. He bounded from the forest, lost his footing as he vaulted down the slope, and crashed down on the grass. Solace slammed into the wall, shoulder-first, and then they opened the side gate. Tubiel rushed through to see that the inquisitors were in chaos—their usual order and form lost in the throat of battle. In the center of them was an ashen wolf in a deadly brawl. The heat coming from its flesh meant that it was in pain, and every blow that landed caused agonizing burns.
“Stay, boy,” Tubiel said to Golden.
The manor was wreathed in flames.
“Has anyone seen Eratta?” Solace shouted.
“He’s still in there!” Nathaniel yelled from the other end of the gardens. “I can’t… he takes medicines to help him sleep. He won’t wake up, not even for this!”
An inquisitor rushed for Fire-Eyes, who turned to meet him. The young man used a long spear to keep his distance. Jab, jab, jab, and the other inquisitors stood ready to attack the moment Fire-Eyes let down its guard. One jab too far and Fire-Eyes slammed a hand on the top of the spear and pinned it to the ground. It looked up at the inquisitor and smiled, then leaped and ripped his throat out with its teeth, tossing his lifeless body aside.
Tubiel gasped. “It’s intelligent. Like Green-Eyes.”
“Yeah, I guessed that much.” Solace yanked his rifle off his shoulder. “But not as strong, I can assure you.”
An inquisitor’s dead body slammed into Solace and trapped him under. The rifle clattered to the ground and Solace pulled the body off, but it was too late. Fire-Eyes was bounding on all fours, towards them. Tubiel stepped in front and knocked it aside with his mace. The beast crashed against the wall, then rolled back and turned. Solace aimed his rifle and shot it. The round went through its shoulder and it roared. Solace loaded another round and fired again and again. Four shots and it fell to one knee, growling. Solace went to load another round, but it gave one last howl before charging through the wall next to it and into the night.