by Ymir A Lethe
Tubiel looked around at the carnage. Fourteen inquisitors were down and the manor was in flames.
“There’s no way in!” Nathaniel hollered. “Eratta! Eratta, wake up!”
The balcony doors above the main doors opened and Eratta stumbled through, disoriented and rushing about. He could feel the fire, hear his home crumbling, but he was still dazed. The pillars began to crack and break, and Solace ran to the steps as the balcony shunted downward. Eratta finally became alert, and while he stared below, his was face struck with terror as the balcony gave way beneath him. Solace was a second too late. Eratta’s head crashed against the steps and he began twitching.
“Eratta!” Nathaniel cried.
Solace scooped Eratta in his arms.
“Where are you taking him?” Nathaniel glanced at the inquisitors.
They appeared not to care at all about the man who was dying. They weren’t even looking.
“I’m taking him to my home, where I can treat his wounds.”
“How?” Nathaniel whispered.
“Science you wouldn’t understand.” Solace rushed off. “No one follow me. That includes you, Tubiel.”
Uvire sipped his drink. Word was, the pagan had dragged Eratta into the forest. His mother once told him that the souls of men were like birds—they fly. Uvire looked for birds, but there were none, so he drank and hoped.
“What’re you doing alone, Uvire?” Daniel emerged from the edge of the crowd.
“You hear about Eratta?” Uvire asked.
“Yeah.” Daniel sat across from him.
“You seem fine about it.”
“It’s Eratta. He’ll pull through.” Daniel nodded, raising his hand. “A drink over here! Make a tab.”
Uvire narrowed his eyes but hid it behind the bottom of the tankard.
Milla Shade
The Huntress
No one knew what Solace had done, but when he returned Eratta was stable and the twitching had stopped. Solace had said Errata would need about two-weeks rest. Nathaniel transitioned from caring for his mother to taking care of Eratta.
After all the searching, the identity of the two beasts was still unknown. Milla was glad she was facing the window. Nathaniel couldn’t see the dark anger that she know was in her eyes.
The nights of full moons was over and the lycanthropes would be able to hide for another month. Then they would come back out. Milla tapped her pistol and realized she was unprepared for what she would be facing. Lycanthropes that could speak were rare, but Green-Eyes and Fire-Eyes weren’t the only ones, contrary to what Milla had believed. And after reading some books in Tubiel’s library, speaking werewolves only occurred with Originators when there was a large amount of the strange amber present, and even then it wasn’t guaranteed.
Regardless, talking beasts couldn’t be tracked down by hunting the man. Milla needed to hunt the beast, and she knew exactly how she intended to kill them both. Fire-Eyes would be far easier, but Green-Eyes wasn’t impossible either. She’d planned the murders of both and begun preparing.
She stepped away from the window and took a deep breathe. She’d forgotten that she wasn’t a tracker.
“I’m a huntress,” she said to herself. “Nathaniel, I’ll be leaving town for a few weeks. I’m underprepared for facing the beasts.”
“You’re going to try!” Nathaniel put a hand to his chest.
“I am. Eratta’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve to have a home in pieces. He might not wake up, and quite frankly he’s the only man I’ve met that’s slightly worth my time. So I’m going to go get the things I need and then return.”
“All right. Take care, Milla.”
Milla smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I will.” She gave him a hug. “Take care of him, Nathaniel.”
“Always.”
Milla strode out of the door. She could take the guilt of killing a lycanthrope. It was the people left behind that she couldn’t handle.
As she passed through the scorched halls of Eratta’s home, down the long staircase, past the craftsmen rebuilding his home, she realized something about Bronzeglade. The people loved their little corner of the world. She walked outside and looked up at the clear blue sky. Perhaps Green-Eyes is just like them.
It was common for a huntress to have these doubts, after such a long time on the job. Milla had had left a trail of bodies so far, including The Grey Wolf, an old lady who couldn’t even change any more. Milla had put on a strong face, but her heart was turning blue. She needed the month away so that she could ready herself for the most dangerous, most ambitious hunt any hunter had ever attempted.
She wouldn’t just find the lycanthrope. She would find the source and end lycanthropy for good. No longer could she believe that the cause was miasma. Her first clue was Tubiel. She’d noticed Tubiel’s bracers a while before, and though she was suspicious, she had no proof he was a lycanthrope. Then he emerged a new man, with a giant wolfhound at his side. He’d somehow cured himself of his lycanthropy. Second clue was the blue smoke that came from Green-Eyes’s wound. Solace had something that let him carry out medical miracles, and the smoke from Green-Eyes’s wound was the same color as Solace’s eyes. No one else seemed to have noticed, but what would a huntress be without a sharp eye?
A servant brought Milla her stallion and she climbed on top of it. Time, preparation, research. She spurred her horse to a trot and looked back to see Nathaniel standing at the window. She kept riding and the features of his face faded until she could no longer see him anymore. Perhaps I should’ve shown mercy. Just once.
“It’s just not the nature of a huntress.”
Act 2
Eratta
The Crippled Lover
Eratta’s eyes fluttered open. Today was the day Milla returned to him, and it wasn’t the right weather for such an important day.
Apparently, Milla had come to visit him when he was unconscious. It was strange to Eratta that his home had been destroyed and rebuilt and he didn’t remember a moment of it. All he knew was that Solace had saved his life. Through what means, he didn’t know, but he was long past believing in God and Satan. Perhaps Solace was a practitioner of dark magic, but Eratta knew he wasn’t the cause of the lycanthrope curse.
Eratta sat up, pulling his bedsheets to the side, and then flexed the muscles in his arms and legs. They were weak from two weeks of inactivity.
“Good afternoon, Eratta,” Milla said, from the corner of the room.
Eratta turned to her. She was sitting in the armchair, holding a glass of whiskey. He jumped out of his bed and ran to her. Wrapped his arms round her and squeezed. She laughed.
“Where’d you go?” he asked.
“I went to prepare.” She looked him up and down. “You’re naked, by the way.”
“Neither of us care.” He laughed and started putting on his clothes. “What’s your plan, then?”
“I think it’s wise to keep that to myself. That said, I will tell you that all my plans are ready. I brought my stuff in the cover of night.”
“Your stuff?”
Milla only grinned.
“I see you got a new pistol. Newer?”
“Rare. Much better craftsmanship and can hold more than one bullet at once.”
“How?”
“A barrel with eight slots. Fire one and the next slot clicks into place behind the barrel. I have more weapons, and my research has been useful.”
“How so?”
“I learned a few things about the nature of the beasts and the possible source of the curse. Do you know of any amber in this town?”
“No, because I would’ve sold it.”
“Huh. Guess you just haven’t seen it yet. Eratta, have you noticed Tubiel’s wolfhound?”
“Golden?” He nodded. “Yeah.”
“I think Tubiel cured his lycanthropy.” Milla swirled the glass of whiskey.
Eratta raised an eyebrow. “How could he have done that?”
“H
e doesn’t remember it, I know that. So either the wolf side cured him, or—”
“Solace cured him.”
“Solace?”
“He cured me of bleeding inside my head. Cured a child of mortal wounds and stopped the onset of lycanthropy. How he does it, I have no idea, but he has a way. I know it.”
“Hm. I didn’t know about this. Solace lives inside that monastery, right? The one that didn’t come from anywhere.”
“Yeah.” Eratta nodded.
“All right. And you don’t think it was witchcraft?”
“He said it was science we didn’t understand. And he’s a Pagan. He’s calling on something, but not the devil.”
Milla nodded. “He won’t know who the lycanthropes are. He wants to stop them, too, I think. But perhaps he knows the cure. And the cause.”
“Perhaps. I’d be careful, though. He’s a valuable ally.”
“That he is.”
“Okay, so what’s your plan?”
“Find the cure and kill or cure both lycanthropes.”
“Good.” Eratta pulled up his coat and checked himself in the long mirror. “You know, there’s a fashion now of getting a servant to dress you? It proves that the gentry have lost all self-respect.”
“They respect their material goods, including people. What’s your plan? It’s a full moon in two days.”
“Two days…” Eratta sighed. “The Inquisition has informed me that they’ll be returning tomorrow. Apparently, August has uncovered some interesting information. I look forward to hearing it.”
“He’s an amateur.” She scoffed and waved a hand in dismissal. “Shall we go down for breakfast?”
Eratta beamed. “I’d like nothing more.”
Tubiel And Golden
Miss Shade considered herself to be a huntress, but Tubiel thought it was a silly idea, calling someone who hunts monsters a hunter or huntress. A man stalking through the darkness, with his hand cusping the wooden brace of a bow, a finger upon a string, and two more holding the arrow—now that was a hunter. Still, he supposed he was a hunter of Lycans, too.
As he followed the tracks of a deer through the woods, Golden prowled close behind. The moon glistened through the trees, and the trees spoke good omens to Tubiel. This would be a fruitful night, so Tubiel was sure of his path as he trailed through the trees until he could hear rushing water. Then he found himself standing before the White Falls, and there was the deer, feeding from the foam. Tubiel offered a prayer of peace to the animal before releasing the arrow, which whistled and struck home. Golden growled and darted for the deer, then leaped and bit through its throat. It hit the grass with a thump, and once again the only sound was the falling water.
Tubiel strolled over to the dead animal and petted Golden. “Good boy.” He stopped and sniffed.
A familiar smell, like sour grapes. He followed it up the dark side of the cliff and saw someone standing on the edge, unrecognizable in the darkness. They looked down at Tubiel and held a large white stone up to the moon. Then the stone become its own little moon.
“Forcing a turn?” Tubiel gasped. “But… oh, you son of a bitch!” He turned and sprinted to town.
Golden bounded behind him, through the forest, crashing through the bushes. When Tubiel arrived at his cabin, set down his bow and quiver and grabbed his mace and dagger before continuing toward the town. As he descended the hill, he saw that a dark cloud had engulfed the sky, and he was soon running through lashing silver rain. It ran down his face and soaked his robes, but he continued, his feet splashing through potholes and cobbles. He darted his gaze around, trying to see Green-Eyes, but he couldn’t. He encountered an empty market square and crept through it, listening, but couldn’t hear anything. He tiptoed to the White Hart Inn and silently opened the front door.
“Tubiel?” Mr. Portsman said. “Sorry, not serving—”
Tubiel put his finger to his lips and moved to the staircase. Mr. Portsman escaped to the back room. As Tubiel ascended the stairs, it was completely silent throughout the inn. He could only hear his footsteps and the rain against the tall windows overlooking the staircase and the wooden walls. One by one, he stepped, slow and creaking.
He finally got to Milla’s room at the top, the best room in the inn, and slowly opened the door. It creaked and Milla dived out of bed. She threw her hand under her pillow and came up with a strange pistol pointed at him.
“What are you doing here, Tubiel?”
Thunder shocked the room and shattering glass cut through the air as Green-Eyes flew through the window. He skidded across the wet floor and banged against the wall. Milla took aim, but Tubiel stepped between them and sprayed mace on the wolf’s face, shoulder, and across the face again. Then a single swipe hurled him across the room and left him in a crumpled heap. He looked up at Milla as Green-Eyes rushed toward her. She fired, and fired, and fired, and fired, and fired, and fired, and fired, and fired again. Green-Eyes staggered back. Eight rounds in one gun, and these hit harder. One of its eyes seeped black blood and he lashed at Milla. She ducked his blow and slid across the floor, where she pulled something out from under her bed and fired it at Green-Eyes. The beast flew backward, slammed through the wall, and went tumbling down the staircase in a spray of black blood.
The sound of this new gun made Tubiel’s ears howl.
“What was that?” He fell to his knees. His stomach and ribs hurt like hell.
“A blunderbuss.” Milla reloaded for another shot. “Sorry, I’ve only got one.”
Tubiel got to his feet, clutching his mace. “Where did that fucker go?”
“He’s quiet and smart. He won’t do anything to risk anyone else’s life.” She turned to Tubiel. “It isn’t a full moon, is it?”
“I saw him use some sort of stone to focus the moonlight but couldn’t make out who it was. I was hunting by starlight.”
“Son of a bitch. Wasn’t expecting to have to fight him here. I don’t have the means.”
“Then we don’t fight him here. We find a way out.”
The thatching and wooden rafters broke open, and Green-Eyes grabbed Tubiel’s arm. He spun, bashing its elbow with his mace, but it lifted him up into the night’s sky, where all Tubiel could see was stars and gleaming green eyes. It studied him, tilting its head. Tubiel swung again and it snatched the mace out of his hands and tossed it into the market square below.
“How?” the beast asked.
Tubiel slung the dagger out of his sleeve and plunged it into Green-Eyes’s wounded eye. It roared, thrashing about, and tossed Tubiel onto the blacksmith’s stone rooftop, where his forearm crunched against the surface. Green-Eyes was then hit again by the blunderbuss, and was catapulted off the rooftop, down to the market square, where the cobbles cracked beneath his weight. Green-Eyes lay still.
“Did she—”
As the beast rolled onto his front and climbed to his feet, Golden charged in and leaped toward it. Green-Eyes turned to the wolfhound, with wide eyes, then howled when Golden latched onto its arm and sunk its teeth in, drawing black blood. Green-Eyes threw Golden off and he landed on his feet. The great white retreated down the street as the townsfolk peered from the shadows.
Tubiel hissed, dragging himself to the edge of the rooftop. “Anyone mind…” He gasped, with a chuckle, “giving me a hand? Mine isn’t working.”
“Tubiel!” Milla climbed through the hole in the rooftop. “Where—”
“Green-Eyes left. I stabbed him in the eye. Think I nearly killed him.” He gasped again. “Milla, my arm is fucked.”
“What happened?” someone shouted. “Have the demon wolves returned?”
“Yup!” Tubiel called back. “Now can someone please get me off this rooftop.”
Blossom
The Priest
Another chaotic night and cold morning. Harvest season was reaching its end, and the wind was frigid. It also rained every other night. Father Blossom returned from the forest with his basket of freshly picked flowers and herbs
.
There was a crater in the middle of the town square and the militia were running about. They’d asked Blossom if he’d seen Green-Eyes, to which he answered no. Everything was going to shit. He could tell the war between man and lycanthrope was about to reach a breaking point. Could feel the devil weaving his trap upon the hearts of the people as they became eager to kill. Tomorrow night, what might happen? Green-Eyes may kill someone. Fire-Eyes could burn down a village. Perhaps one of them would die, and that still wouldn’t be good. Only peace was needed.
It was sunrise and it had stopped raining. Apparently, it had been a nightmare getting Tubiel down, but Milla had seen to his injuries well enough. Still, from what Blossom had heard, Tubiel was the only person hunting the Lycanthropes who wasn’t dogmatic about it. And with him now being unable to fight, it now seemed that the war would not only be savage, but reckless. The collateral damage could be terrible, and several people would die.
“Father!” Milla called, leaving the White Hart Inn. “I haven’t seen you yet.”
“I was out getting herbs, as usual. Did the green-eyed one try and get you through the roof?”
“He came through the window first. Thankfully, Tubiel saw him first. Said he had some kind of… moonstone, and then he turned.”
“Does that mean he knows what he is?”
Milla chuckled. “No.”
“Damn.” Blossom sighed. “I was hoping we could imprison—”
“No prisons. This is the most dangerous lycanthrope I’ve ever seen. He’s intelligent, cunning, and murderous.”
“Why is he hunting you? Why go through the effort of using a… did you call it a moonstone?”
“Don’t think it was effort. And why? I’ve got two dozen lycanthrope kills under my belt. I’m dangerous and I just proved it to him.”