Rob Echosoul And The Moon’s Terrible Children
-from the notes of Dr Whenson
During my time working with the man I knew as Rob Echosoul, I learnt more about the dark side of this world than any sane person would ever wanted to. He told me stories that kept me awake at night, stories that made me buy both a gun and a crossbow, and stories that I could simply not believe no matter how many times I heard them. As part of my efforts to chronicle his life, I have recorded a few of his tamer tales. This is one of them, and has to do with the cause of both his terrible injuries and incredible endurance.
I had found Rob, dying, outside my house. For reasons recorded elsewhere, I took him in and cared for him. His injuries were extensive, and he should have died. In fact, I think he did for a while, but his recovery was remarkable. It was only a week later that he was sitting in a chair out the front of my house, enjoying the sun and slurping his way through a bowl of chicken soup. I spent years of my life working in an Afghanistan field hospital, and I had never seen anything like it. Nor was this recent disaster the closest he had come to leaving our world through violence.
“I came even closer once, Doctor, if you would believe it,” he said to me, enjoying my constant surprise at his steady improvement.
I did believe him, although it defied all I knew about medicine. As part of my treatment, I had examined every inch of his body. The terrible lacerations that had brought him to my notice were my first concern, but once I had stitched these up and cleaned the blood away I noticed older, deeper scars. The worst were around his side where it looked like he had been savaged by a great white shark. I never mentioned these scars to him, for there was much about his life that I did not want to know.
My ignorance was shattered when he finished eating his soup, turned to me and said:
“I bet you were wondering what kind of animal left such large tooth marks on my side?” he asked, as if reading my mind.
“Not really,” I lied.
“Of course you were, Doctor. Professional interest, am I right? You would be a poor doctor if you hadn’t noticed them, and a poor mind if you had not wondered at their origin. Those scars are souvenirs of my first adventure as a freelance hunter. They also mark the first time I met Feather, and the first few millions I ever made. I was young, so the money didn’t last, but my friendship with Feather did. Pull up a chair, Doctor, and let me tell you about it.”
I had a recorder sitting in my pocket, as was my recent habit, and I carefully switched it on while fetching a second chair. At the time, I didn’t think he had noticed the recorder, but of course I found out later that he had known all along. I also brought out some medical supplies, because it was time to clean his wounds again. He grimaced when he saw what I was carrying, but gave me his first arm to work on.
“That first real adventure was very nearly my last. I was tough back then, but you can see that the bites would have finished a normal man. Luckily they healed well, as all my injuries do.”
I remember nodding at his comments and said, “Incredibly well, possibly even unnaturally well.”
“As a surgeon you would know, of course,” Rob agreed, “and I expect that I have as robust a body as any you have healed, but even then this is something more, much more. Things are seldom what they seem in the clandestine world of supernatural espionage, and those scars are more valuable than you might believe. They are one of the reasons I’m still alive, although they do have their drawbacks occasionally.”
I told him that they looked like bear bites, or possibly a shark. It was hard to tell, as I had little experience with animal bites. I did know that it looked nothing like the common or even uncommon marks I had seen during my years of education and practice.
“Werewolf,” he told me proudly, lifting his shirt and tracing the bites down his side.
I snorted, he grabbed my hand and made me trace the scars.
“You see the deep marks that show a triple line of canines on both the upper and lower jaws? Not made by a dog, but unique to the werewolf. You don’t believe me? It will take you a while to change my dressings, so let me tell you how it happened. It all started in a little French café in a small village somewhere south of Paris. I had recently left my home country in less than happy circumstances, so I was trying to keep a low profile until the storm of consequences blew over. I had just left my first employers, who were also in many ways my makers. They had given me many gifts, and believed I owed them a debt of loyalty. I thought they were manipulative devils who would happily send me to my death to benefit their own schemes. Perhaps we were both right.”
I think he had been expecting me to ask him who his employers had been, but I had found that the answers to such queries upset me and my view of the world. I knew that he had worked as some kind of government agent before going independent, and that was enough. He looked a little disappointed at my silence but carried on.
“The reasons for my leaving are a story for another day, but it won’t surprise you that my bosses weren’t very happy when they found I had quit. They scoured the whole of Britain for me, checking every hideaway and safe house I had ever used. They even went as far as stopping international travel for two days so that I couldn’t escape by plane or boat. However, it never occurred to them that I might take myself out of the country on my own steam, and I was halfway across the Channel before they even suspected I was gone. I was young, so I thought France would be far enough to hide but close enough to keep an eye on things. In hindsight, I was naive to believe that anywhere in Europe would be safe.”
“And how was the Channel?” I asked, checking his heart rate and blood pressure.
His heart beat dangerously slowly, but he assured me that this was normal for him. His blood pressure was fine.
“It was cold. And dark. I was happy when I could finally climb out, and I found myself in a small village in the countryside. I was looking for a quiet spot, but that wasn’t to be. My employers were keen to find me, and even the French countryside isn’t as peaceful as you might hope. You might ask why, if they wanted to find me so badly, didn’t they televise a picture of me?”
“It had occurred to me,” I admitted.
“In part it’s because I’m not the only man to wear this face. I was being tracked by men who looked like me, and so putting up wanted signs would only disadvantage their own operations. Besides, they didn’t exactly want to advertise that they had lost control of one of their agents. Even having such agents is illegal, although of course all countries do.”
I nodded, not understanding a word of what he was saying. My confusion was characteristic of our conversations, and it was only later that I could work out what he had meant.
“I was sitting in a chair by the window,” Rob said, “drinking a rather excellent cup of coffee while I watched the world go by. I was expecting trouble, and was holding my little silver knife beneath the table as I sat. The same knife that your daughter stole, remember? No, I don’t want you to make her give it back; a knife like that chooses its own master. I was merely setting the scene. Imagine the rich smell of coffee, the sweet smell of jam on pastries, the soft sounds of the French countryside, the slightly irritating beat of my foot tapping excitedly on the wooden floor.”
Rob was normally so in control of himself that it was hard for me to picture him as a young man, on the run and nervous.
“I was worried, Doctor, scared even,” he admitted, “you probably felt the same way the first time you cut into a patient. The adrenaline of new independence; the dread of dire consequences. I kept glaring over at the shop’s other customers and switching back to staring out the window. This isn’t unusual behaviour for me; people of my profession are either extremely cautious or extremely dead. Sometimes even both, if their luck doesn’t hold out. It was also my fourth cup of coffee, as I hadn’t slept in days. I doubt that the caffeine and lack of sleep improved my state of mind. I was finally settling down a bit when a stranger sat down next to me. His motion was so smooth and
so quiet that it surprised me even though I had been waiting for someone to try it. His speed was my first clue that something was wrong.
‘You seem nervous, monsieur,’ he said in perfect French.
‘Non, it’s just the coffee’ I replied, trying to wave him away with my free hand.”
Rob winced as I adjusted one of his bandages.
“Carefully now, Doctor, careful!” he protested, and then said, “I knew I was in trouble, in the café. The newcomer was over two metres tall and had a classic Greek nose. He was bald and had dark blue eyes filled with deep wisdom. He was big, lean and built like a cage fighter. I began picturing how our fight would go down, how he might attack and how I could defend. Like I said, I’m cautious. I can hold my own against most men I meet, but I knew that this Greek titan would be a challenge.
‘The moon is full tonight,’ he said conversationally in English.
I ignored him, shifting slightly so that I could get to him easily with my knife.
‘You are a stranger here, yes?’ he asked, smiling kindly.
‘Just passing through,’ I muttered, standing up as if to leave.
The Greek’s hand moved faster than a snake as he grabbed my wrist, just as I expected. His grip was pure iron, but I knew what to do about it. I brought my forehead down hard against his huge nose in a move you won’t find in any martial arts textbook. I had learnt it from a Welsh sergeant who enjoyed the reputation of being the deadliest pub fighter in the UK. It has floored more men than any other technique I’ve ever been taught, so I was a little surprised when the man barely flinched.
He stood up, kept his tight grip on my arm, twisting it awkwardly upwards so hard that he dragged me out of my chair. He was strong, but you know that I am, too. I slashed at his arm with my knife and lashed out with my foot. I cut the ligaments in his arm and broke his kneecap, Doctor. You know how painful that can be, but he hardly seemed to notice. He punched me in the jaw, and my vision began to blur. His fist was like a freight train, and it was all I could do to keep awake. I stabbed upwards into his belly and felt my knife scrape against some form of armour. I was beginning to panic; he was too strong for me. Then I saw his fist fly towards me again like Thor’s hammer and my whole world went white.”
It was hard for me to imagine Rob losing a fight. His body was so strong, and his reflexes faster than any I have seen.
“The Greek was Feather,” I realised.
Rob nodded.
“When I woke up the next morning I had the worst headache you can imagine. I was securely tied up in a manner I instantly recognised as highly professionally. The lashings were the kind that would tighten the more I struggled, and the knots were small and well dressed. Getting out would have taken me at least ten minutes, even if I could get to one of the small blades hidden across my body and clothes. I didn’t move, pretending that I hadn’t woken. My eyes were still closed, but I opened them just enough to peer under the eyelids and see something of the room.
The room was small and windowless, lit only by a bare electric bulb hanging from the ceiling. The Greek titan was standing with his back to me, his hands clasped behind his back. We were alone.
‘I wonder if I might apologise,’ the titan said to the air, ‘because we clearly got off on the wrong foot. You weren’t what I was expecting.’
I gave up on my unconscious act and opened my eyes. I began moving my fingers slightly to find the knife in my sleeve. It wasn’t where I had hidden it. Neither was the small blade I hide under my thumbnail.
‘What were you expecting?’ I asked, talking to conceal the sound of my movements.
‘A werewolf, of course’ he said, his surprise evident.
His surprise surprised me. I wondered who he was, and what he was going to do with me.
I have hunted werewolves before, naturally, but why my abductor was expecting to find one in a French café escaped me. He turned towards me and stepped up to my knots. He had a knife in his hand, and my heart stopped for a second. The blade flashed and I felt my bonds fall slack.
‘This is yours, I believe,’ he said, and handed me the knife by the handle.
It was my own little silver knife, and I was exceedingly glad to get my hands on it again. I had flattened the man’s nose in our fight, but now his face looked fine. He stood in front of me in perfect health despite the damage I knew I had inflicted, so I knew I was dealing with some kind of magic, and powerful magic at that. If you think my recovery is good, Feather would knock your socks off.
‘Your collection of tools,’ he added, passing me a tray holding all the tricks of my trade.
It was a humbling experience. He had found all my little blades and saws that I was planning to use to cut my bonds. He had also found my cheese wire and the tiny set of poisoned pins I keep for the direst of emergencies. When I saw my false tooth on the tray, I knew I was dealing with a master. Nobody knew about that tooth except me and one very frightened Swedish dentist.
‘A silver knife, so you are no wolf-spawn. I assume you are here for the hunt?’
‘No’ I said, slipping my tricks back into my clothes.
‘No? But the bounty is huge! Every freelancer in Europe in searching for the wolf-spawn.’
I had never heard of the supernatural freelancer community before, although of course my ex-employers must have known about it. My new acquaintance told me that a twenty-million dollar bounty had been placed on a dangerous werewolf.
‘The wolf-spawn made the mistake of stealing drake eggs from the elf mafia,’ he explained, ‘and broke a few necks into the bargain. The Elves have deep pockets, as you know.’
I didn’t know. I had no idea, having never even heard of the elf mafia. I had been told about drakes, but they were meant to be long extinct. I began to wonder if perhaps my companion was dangerously insane. I know you understand how that feels; I am sure you feel that way about me at times.”
I didn’t disagree with Rob, because so much of what he said seemed like pure fantasy.
“I told the Greek that I didn’t want to be involved. I needed the money, but not the trouble. He ignored me, and began outlining his plan of attack.
‘Any good with a bow?’ he asked, smiling.
His question shocked me, although I did my best not to show it. I am excellent with a bow, as are my brothers. Anyone one of us could have taken home the Olympic gold, but we were meant for bigger and dirtier things than simple competition. I’ll show you my skills sometime. Prepare to be amazed. I could even shoot an apple off your daughter’s head... or not. There’s no need to be rude, I’m sure she’s brave enough.”
I slapped him across the head and told him to get back to the story.
“The Greek recognised me, although I had never seen him in my life.
‘I met your sire once, you see,’ the Greek explained conversationally, ‘although you are taller and healthier. Your teeth are much better, too. But you still have the same eyes, the same classic English features. I wouldn’t have expected you to be alone, though. Your sire was always surrounded by a band of such happy men?’
His English wasn’t quite as good as his French, but I let it slide.
I told him that I preferred to work solo, which was only partly true. At the time I had no other choice, having few friends or allies. I wondered what he wanted from me. I was still alive, which meant he wasn’t working for my old boss. Nor was I being dissected, which meant he wasn’t working for my boss’s enemies.
‘I normally work alone, too,’ he agreed, ‘but this wolf-spawn is proving unexpectedly cunning and hard to kill. He is one of the old ones, the bad ones, and there is something more to his speed than I can explain. He tore off my arm and left me for dead the last time I tracked him down.’
The Greek still had both his arms, Doctor, both of them. I looked at him in disbelief. I was about to challenge him on this incredible statement when an alarm began to beep loudly, and his mood changed without warning. He became worried, scared even. He walked qui
ckly to the side of the room to a large metal chest, which he flipped open. He pulled out a large military shotgun, the kind favoured by Special Forces teams that shoot first and never ask questions. He held the huge gun in one hand like it was a toy. Then he reached into the chest and pulled out a small flamethrower, which he held in the other hand.
Thus armed, he huddled in a corner, facing the door. The door itself was a heavy wooden thing, reinforced with metal bands and locked in place with three bolts and an enormous padlock. I assumed that whatever my abductor was worried about must have been terrifying, so I looked into the chest to see what else was in there. I found an automatic rifle and loaded it quickly. I dislike guns, but they do have their place. I assumed we were waiting on the wolf.
‘Silver bullets?’ I suggested, pointing at his gun.
‘Buckshot, because that damn bird has been getting cocky after it found me dying in the forest’ he replied.”
“Buckshot?” I asked Rob, confused.
“Buckshot,” Rob confirmed with a smile, “because we weren’t waiting on a wolf. You see, Feather hates dawn. Normally the worst dangers fade with the rising sun, but for Feather dawn is the worst time of day. He becomes frantic, almost paranoid. It would be funny if he hadn’t been so serious about his preparations. He sat there, tense, his fingers resting lightly on his triggers. It worried me. The weight of the rifle in my hands was comforting. I wondered what would happen if I shot the Greek and left. It occurred to me that even a head shot might not be enough to stop whatever magic protected him.
Besides, there was something outside that was scary enough to reduce this monster of a man to tears, and I didn’t want to face whatever it was alone. I sat tight and watched the madman hold his vigil. He sat in silence, apparently listening for something. The only things I could hear were the birds and the faint sounds of early commerce coming from above us. I assumed that we were in a basement, the lowest and safest part of the house.
I asked him what we were waiting for, but he shushed me and continued listening intently. The Greek was finally beginning to relax when we heard a scrabbling noise somewhere above us, probably on the roof of the building. It sounded like a big rat in the ceiling. The scuttling worried the Greek. He swore under his breath and shifted uncomfortably. We remained like that for about an hour until the scrabbling above us faded. The Greek jumped up, put his weapons away and turned to me with a smile.
‘I have a business opportunity for you. Breakfast?’ he asked cheerfully.
I considered shooting him again, but I refrained. I was starving, and curious. He unlocked the door, and we climbed the stairs behind it until we emerged into an empty room with two large windows overlooking the street. The natural light made me squint in pain after the darkness in the basement.
‘Do you have a name?’ I asked my companion as he unlocked the doors.
Before he could reply, a flash of colour floating in the air caught my eye. It was a large blue feather as large as my hand.
‘How did a feather get in here?’ I wondered aloud.
The affect the feather had on my companion was startling. His bronze face became white, and he pulled a sawn off shotgun out from beneath his shirt. He spun around erratically, waving the gun as if expecting to see a monster creeping up on him.
‘No names,’ he whispered to the empty room, spooked and sweating.
‘I think I’ll call you Feather,’ I told him, patting him comfortingly on one massive shoulder and trying to keep away from the gun’s barrel.
It was almost ten in the morning before I managed to convince Feather that it was safe to go outside. I bought him a pastry for breakfast, although I myself was limited to coffee and fruit juice, a diet I do not recommend to anyone. I told him my name was Rob, although at the time this was an alias, as I had no real name. We shook hands and normality returned to the day as we talked about the weather, the French, and the best polish to use for silver.
Then Feather explained that he was assembling a team to hunt down the werewolf and was a man short.
‘This wolf-spawn has better smell than its kin who, as you know, are remarkable in that regard. It seems he can smell gun oil from a mile away, so we can’t use guns. That was my mistake last time. Without guns, we have to resort to the old methods. Bows, spears, swords. You know, the classics.’
I had only ever hunted wolves using guns, which was relatively easy as long as they didn’t close too quickly. Hunting without guns sounded dangerous and challenging. I was intrigued.
‘You get a quarter of the cash if we get him,’ he offered.
It was a lot of money.”
“A lot of money,” I said to Rob, “but why did he pick you? Weren’t there hundreds of freelancers to choice from?”
“I asked him that,” agreed Rob, “and he just smiled knowingly, which is one of his more annoying habits. I asked him who the other members of the team would be.
He said, ‘I’m meeting them for a late lunch. Join us if you are interested.’
The offer was exciting. I prefer bows to guns, but mostly I prefer to out-think my opponents rather than out-fight them. I prefer my victories quiet and bloodless, and this looked like it would be neither. It was on this basis that I determined to leave town as soon as possible.”
Rob waited patiently as I rubbed disinfectant over the cuts on his face. I knew his story wasn’t finished.
“I had decided to leave town,” Rob continued, “and was therefore very surprised to find myself standing outside the restaurant Feather had mentioned. I honestly don’t know what had drawn me to the place, but perhaps I was just at a loose end. It wasn’t like I had anywhere else to be. I took my time to check that the building wasn’t being watched. I walked in, and saw Feather sitting at a corner table. He waved me over, and I took the spare chair next to him, wondering why I was there.
Feather’s only companion was a small man with long dreadlocks. He wore a tweed suit. The man’s skin was of the deepest black-blue, but his face was covered in thin, horizontal white scars. They looked to me like ritual scarring, but I couldn’t be certain. He greeted me with a dazzling white smile. One of his teeth was tipped with silver. He shook my hand but said nothing at all. He was vaguely familiar. Feather introduced the man as Stripes, our magical strongman.
The waiter arrived, and we ordered a round of drinks.
‘Rob here is going to help us,’ said Feather.
‘Aye,’ said Stripes in a thick Scottish accent.
He must have noticed my surprise, or maybe he was just used to explaining his accent.
‘My daddy, Gods-rest-him, grew rich by smuggling weapons. He said he wanted to buy me the best education the world could offer, so he sent me ta’ the kingdom to live with my uncle. I grew up in Scotland before heading back to the jungles of my ancestors.’
I didn’t ask Stripes what kind of weapons his father smuggled, or what had happened to him. I had the sinking feeling that I knew all too well. You see, Doctor, it had been only a few years before meeting Stripes that I had been part of the operation that brought down a group of Congolese smugglers in Scotland. At the time I had been proud, because the things they were smuggling should never have been allowed out of the cave they were found in. Our actions saved lives, but the cost had been a number of deaths on both sides.
‘Do we have a fourth?’ I asked, keen to change the subject from who might have done what to whose father.
The fourth chair was empty. Feather waved at it for a second, and spat out a long name in a language I didn’t recognise. The phantom of a man dropped into it from the ceiling, falling quickly and then stopping suddenly when he hit the wood. The man was short and thin, with elegant features and long ears. I realised I was looking at an elf. I had never seen one before and had heard only nasty rumours about them.
‘As I said, the wolf broke a few elfish necks. Sithere was an unlucky bystander, so he chose to haunt the wolf to get his own back. His spirit has been keeping tabs on the wolf, which i
s why we know he will be passing through this town soon. This puts us ahead of the game, I would say.’
The spectre of Sithere was pulled back into the ceiling and disappeared. I didn’t know what being a ghost was like, but judging from Sithere’s face it must be unpleasant.
‘What does the ghost plan to do with his share of the money?’ asked Stripes.
‘Buy a new body,’ answered Feather.
‘Aye,’ said Stripes, as if this made perfect sense.”
“Is that even possible?” I demanded from Rob, who just shrugged.
“Don’t ask me, Doctor, I don’t know much about Elves. I do know how to hunt a werewolf, though, and there is only one way it can go down. At full moon our target would be fully transformed into his animal form, and his animal instincts would be at their strongest. Werewolves are always hungry and have an excellent sense of smell. An animal carcass would attract them, but the smell of hunters would scare them off. I went back to the room I was hiring and took a long shower, washing myself thoroughly with unscented soap. My next stop was at a local farm, where I bought a sheep. We met that night in a nearby forest. Feather killed the sheep quickly and humanely, and then handed me a vial of its blood to spread on my clothes. Macabre, I know, but it would overpower my own scent.
The rest of the carcass he left in the centre of a forest clearing. Feather had supplied me with an excellent yew bow and twenty arrows to go with it. He was armed with an enormous bronze shield, helmet sword and spear. He looked every inch the hoplite. Stripes was hovering around the outside of the clearing, doing whatever it was he did. I had my reservations about him, both personally and professionally, but Feather trusted him. The plan was for Stripes to attack the wolf with nets while Sithere distracted it, and Feather and I used our blades.
The moon hung above us in all its glory that night, like the eye of God keeping watch on us. We waited in the woods for hours, the smell slowly getting stronger and worse. We were all patient hunters, content to wait in the shadows until our prey revealed itself, so the waiting was no trial. A pale flash of light heralded the arrival of Sithere. The phantom seemed to arrive at speed and then stop suddenly in front of us, hanging in the air. He gave us a quick nod and was gone again. The gigantic wolf burst into the clearing a second later. Have you ever seen a werewolf, Doctor? I would guess not. They are incredible beasts, a nightmare mix of all that is worst of the wolf and ape and horror. This one looked much like a huge baboon, but with clawed feet and long ears. It wore the tattered remains of human clothing, including a thick belt holding a number of pouches. The creature also had a trail of wet blood spilling down from its mouth onto its chest, and I found out later that it had already fed on an unlucky farmer who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The beast was still hungry, as its kind always are.
It was the biggest wolf I had ever seen, but it still wasn’t as big as I was expecting. I knew that anything capable of taking down Feather would have to be something special, but this creature didn’t seem so terrifying. It jumped at the meat, ripping the sheep to shreds in seconds.
Then Stripes yelled out a word, and the forest floor jumped upwards, and the beast was hauled into the air by a net. A second net fell from above, trapping the beast even further. It roared, ripping at the thick rope and tearing it as if it were nothing more than wet tissue. I sent my first arrow into the bundle of net and fur and was rewarded by a roar. I sent a second, a third, a fourth in quick succession, aiming for the animal’s head. The wolf was shredding the nets, but more nets were dropping from the trees and grasping the beast like hands of rope and knot, wrestling the creature and slowing it. I learnt later that these were enchanted ropes, a creature made of rope, a rope monster of sorts. No normal net could hold a werewolf, but these were doing well.
Feather ran at the net, stabbing at it with his spear. The creature stopped struggling, laying limp in the net. Werewolves are notoriously hard to kill, but can be subdued with enough violence.
‘That wasna so hard,’ yelled out Stripes from somewhere in the forest.
‘Don’t-’ warned Feather, but he was too late.
The creature surged back to its feet, ripped through the nets and leapt into the air. Its speed took us all by surprise, even Feather. Stripes hit it with a fireball, but I swear it just made the creature angry. It turned towards Stripes, but Feather stabbed it in the legs with his spear, and so it turned towards him instead. Feather only had a second, but he managed to drop into a crouch and take the animal’s weight on his shield.
I sent an arrow right into the monster’s eye, and it roared in pain, clawing chunks of metal out of Feather’s shield. Feather twisted his body, sending the werewolf rolling off him. I sent another arrow at its head, sinking a shaft into its other eye. It was blind, but such things hunt by sound and smell more than sight, so our advantage was not as great as it might seem. We quickly spread out, surrounding the creature to prevent it escaping.”
Rob scratched the scars on his side thoughtfully, remembering the pain.
“It seemed like a good plan, at the time. The creature was hurting, and we thought it would be easy. The creature lashed out, sending dirt and leaves flying everywhere. Feather shoulder- charged it heavily, sending it flying again. To give the beast its due, it was tough. Tougher than its brothers and sisters, tougher than should have been possible. It soaked up the punishment, shrugged it off and continued. It fell, it bled and it hurt, but it got up again. It was unstoppable.”
Rob shivered again, despite the warm afternoon sun. I told him that he didn’t have to continue, but he ignored me.
“It was on its feet before we knew it, sending Feather flying with a wild swing. It stopped, reached down to the belt still hanging around its waist. It pulled something up to its mouth and crunched down on it. Whatever it had eaten gave it new strength and it roared. It tried to run, hitting a tree and falling awkwardly. Stripes laughed aloud, a terrible mistake to make as it revealed his position. The creature stopped its flight, and started moving towards Stripes, swinging wildly as it did so. Stripes roared another spell, but it only angered the creature more. All of Stripe’s defences relied on him speaking, but every word he spoke gave away his position. I whistled a long, loud, painful whistle that hurt the ears. The wolf turned to me, disorientated but furious. I had saved Stripes, but had put myself in terrible danger to do so. I cursed my attempt at team work and shot another arrow at the creature. It leapt over the arrow and smashed into me so fast that I barely saw it move. All I could see was its red, red eyes coming towards me. All I could feel was cold terror gripping me as I was sent head over heels, my side numb. I blacked out.”
For the first time since I had met him, Rob looked worried. He had begun to sweat as he talked, his eyes glazed and his voice far away. He didn’t notice as I tightened his bandages and rubbed antiseptic solution over one of his deeper cuts.
“I wasn’t expecting to wake up, but I did. My body was a world of pain, and I was trapped by it. Stripes was standing above me, and I could feel him drawing on my torso with something. He gave me a piece of leather to bite down on, and I gripped it gratefully. He twisted my leg beneath me, and I remember screaming until I passed out.
I awoke under the starlight, and for a second I thought I was in heaven. Then I saw Stripes’ face above me. Angels don’t smile like that, so I knew I was still on Earth. He had lit a fire next to me, and the warmth was comforting. I felt surprisingly good, and I managed to sit up without any trouble. The pain of the fight was just a bad memory, and I even wondered if I had just dreamed it. Then I saw the ruins of my trousers and saw the bloody flesh beneath them. I twisted enough to see the wreckage of my side where chunks of flesh had been torn away. The pain came flooding back, a tidal wave of sensation that made my head swim.
‘Don’t look at it!’ ordered Stripes, and as soon as I looked away I immediately felt better.
I could see the silvery outline of Sithere floating next to Stripes. The ghost appeared to
be meditating, or praying.
‘As long as you don’t look at it, you can’t feel pain. It’s an elf trick that Sithere taught me.’
‘I was told that Elves don’t share their spells with humans,’ I managed, remembering what I had been taught in training.
‘Aye, but Sithere isn’t exactly an elf anymore. ’Sides, we are a team, and we need to look after each other.’
We sat in an uncomfortable silence as he finished his work. His healing wasn’t nearly as skilled as yours, Doctor, but Sithere and he had enough knowledge to keep me alive. He stitched me up as best he could, using what bandages he had and could make. I had saved his life that night, and he had saved mine.
‘What happened last night? Last thing I remember, that thing was carving me up like a Christmas turkey,’ I said.
‘Sithere distracted it, an’ Feather drove his spear right through it. We managed to change it back into a human, ready for delivery. Was no easy feat, an’ Feather didn’t get off too lightly. He copped it even worse than you did.’
‘What? Is he dead?’ I demanded.
‘Dead? Dead?’ Stripes laughed, ‘The old man is dead, aye, but he will be fine.’
I tried to argue, Doctor, but I was so tired. I woke up to the sound of Feather’s alarm ringing through the forest.
‘Wha’ the hell is this?’ Stripes complained, holding up the alarm.
It was covered in blood, but there was no sign of the arm it had been wrapped around.
‘It’s his watch,’ I muttered, trying to sit up.”
“So where was Feather?” I asked Rob, “and why on Earth would Stripes think he would be OK?”
“He had been dead, and then he was OK, Doctor, he was. He came running through the forest completely unharmed but screaming like a madman, crying out for his shotgun. We had no guns on us, as you may remember, but there was no telling Feather that. As he raced towards us, I saw an eagle swoop down towards us. He reached for the bow at my side, but the eagle was too close. I kicked out at Feather’s legs, managing to trip him over just as the bird’s talons glanced off his skull. I threw my knife, but it was an awkward angle and it barely snicked its wing. The bird spiralled upwards into the trees and disappeared.
Feather was on his feet straight away with the bow in his hand, screaming abuse at the bird and firing arrows into the sky at random. It took Stripes and I nearly twenty minutes to calm him down, but there was nothing we could do to convince him to put the bow down. He sat with his back to a tree trunk, muttering to himself.
‘Elves be here soon,’ Stripes said, ‘an’ then we get you both sorted.’
I was wondering if I had been hallucinating, but then a giant blue feather spiralled gently out of the sky and landed by my hand. I picked it up: it was real.
‘What’s the story with that freak of a bird? It was the biggest eagle I have ever seen, and it made straight for him like it wanted to tear his head off!’ I said.
‘Aye, ’tis his liver the creature wants. It hunts him at dawn, so it does. Every dawn, and its children spy on him all through the morn’. He is ready for it most days but sometimes it still takes him by surprise. The man and the eagle, locked in a battle of eternal hatred. Sometimes the man wins, sometimes the bird does. ’Tis none too pleasant when the bird wins. You made a friend today, yes you did. And one last night, by saving me.’
But I wasn’t thinking about Feather, nor Stripes. A terrible thought had occurred to me, and there was only one question I wanted answered.
‘Why am I still alive, Stripes? Surely-’
‘-I been looking for a partner, me,’ he interrupted, ‘an’ you seem a likely lad.’
‘Pretty sure I killed your father,’ I muttered, because being killed by Stripes was looking like the best possible alternative.
‘Da’ be silly! I did the deed myself years ago. Ye might ha’ killed my uncle, but he was a nasty piece of work and deserved it.’
Stripes launched into a long story about his varied family and their many misadventures. His grandfather had been an infamous shaman, his mother a witchdoctor. His brother was in I.T., the white sheep of the family. It was pretty obvious to me that he was trying to distract me. I wondered if I would die before the wolf’s bite changed me into one of the moon’s children. Time passed, and nothing happened.
The Elves arrived an hour later. Feather was better by then, and he had a quiet word with one of the magi. They took the now-human body of the werewolf with some enthusiasm, and I felt almost sorry for it. Almost. A few small items seemed to change hands, and then the Elves were gone and we were alone in the forest. Feather ambled over to me and sat down.
‘Sorry about this morning,’ he said, but I waved him away as graciously as a half-dead casualty can.
He showed me a couple of empty glass cylinders. A couple of oily red drops remained in them. I didn’t recognise the drug, as it was the first time I had ever seen it. Did I feel cold dread in my stomach that first time? Did I see my whole life changing because of them? I should have, but there was no way I could have known at the time how that red drug would cause so much pain in my life, so much damage. It is the reason I am sitting here today, but the story of the Red Canary will have to wait for another day. I watched as Feather sniffed the cylinder, pulling an ugly face at the acrid smell.
‘This is what that thing was on. This is what gave it such power, and damn near drove it mad. It’s a drug of some sort, but I’ve never seen the like.’
‘Neat,’ I muttered without much interest, ‘I don’t suppose it doubles as some sort of miracle cure as well?’
Feather shook his head.
‘Nah, I wouldn’t let you touch it. But don’t worry, I got a present for you. I traded in part of your payment, and got these,’ he said, passing me a bag of what seemed to be marbles.
‘OK,’ I said, unimpressed.
‘You got bit by the wolf, boy, and we all know what that means. Even so, you are going to need a help if you plan on seeing tomorrow, as even wolf spawn can die. Now, eat up!’
‘Aye,’ agreed Stripes, and I ate up.”
“Marbles?” I asked Rob. I had found a bag of white marbles on him when I had found him, but there were only three left in the bag. They had looked like tiny moons, glowing luminescent even in the daylight. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen them in a few days.
“I did as I was told, and I survived,” Rob said, “Feather took off the next day, but Stripes stayed around and made sure I healed up. We formed a pretty successful partnership before he headed back to the Congo to get involved in politics. I still run into him from time to time. I had a lot of learning to do, those early days. The scars of that night have saved my life a number of times, and my resilience waxes and wanes with the moon. Luckily, my powers were pretty high during my recent encounter.”
“Oh, damn,” I said, thinking about the date.
“Yes, I was wondering when you would realise. I didn’t bring this story up for no reason. This curse has saved me, but a curse it is none the less. We have two days until the full moon, and we need to be prepared. You need to go down to the local hardware store and buy chains. Lots of them.”
Those next few nights were the worst of my life. I sent my daughter away, of course. The thing that Rob became terrified me; it was a monster that strained against the chains and tore deep scratches in the concrete floor of my garage. He grew stronger as the full moon drew nearer, and he almost escaped me, despite my precautions. I thought I was going to die but, just when things were at their worst, a silver phantom appeared over his head and whispered calming words in his ear. Perhaps it was Sithere, still waiting for his body. Perhaps it was a friend sent by Feather or Stripes. Rob never mentioned it again, and I never had the courage to ask him.
The Origami Dragon And Other Tales Page 10