“Help me!” Galeren called out as he saw Parsifal emerge from the cottage to greet them.
“What happened?” Parsifal asked, hastening over to help his master as he threw Red’s reins aside and eased an unconscious Catherine out of the saddle and into Parsifal’s grasp. She lolled to the side and Parsifal lurched with her, he quickly steadied himself and pulled her close to him. It was still raining and both were wet through.
“She’s like a rag doll.” Parsifal commented nervously as he struggled to keep her upright, he had never held a woman so close before and the experience was beguiling while also awkward. Galeren leapt from the saddle and took Catherine from him and gathering her into his arms effortlessly, he strode toward the cottage’s entrance.
“What happened?” Parsifal asked again noting the blood stains that covered both his master and his charge.
“It’s beginning.” Galeren said plainly. Parsifal knew to what he referred but it didn’t explain the state they were in.
“And the blood?”
“We were attacked by a group of mercenaries. The blood is all theirs I can assure you.”
Inside the cottage, Galeren looked briefly around taking stock of supplies and then took the few steps up to the loft which contained a rickety bed and a wooden chair. Parsifal followed, both eager to help and satisfy his curiosity. He had never before seen the battle between body and blood, as one fought to overcome the other. If one defeated the other then the outcome was always death. To live, a compromise had to be reached where both had equal standing and thus the symbiosis between wolf and human came into being. It was a powerful union that could never be undone. Before that was established however, there was a painful transition where death, eager to take the weak, was never more than a heartbeat away.
Galeren laid Catherine upon the bed and as her body made contact with the straw mattress her eyes shot open suddenly and filled with bemused horror, she began to struggle and lashed out at him.
“No!” she cried, her arms flailing. “Let me go!”
She went wild, her strength quickening. Galeren swiftly grabbed her arms and pinned them beside her head, using his weight he leant over her to still her writhing body, his knee pinned her legs fast to the bed.
“Catherine,” he said when he felt she was sufficiently secured, “it’s Galeren, remember me Catherine.” She stopped at the sound of his voice and a wave of recognition flooded her face.
“Galeren?” she said bewildered.
“Yes, Galeren. Remember me Catherine, remember.” He repeated more gently feeling the tension of her resistance leave her arms. They relaxed under his grip and confident of her calm he released them. Still looking at him, her hand slowly reached up and rested gently on his face. It was as soft as a lover’s touch.
“Galeren,” she said again with breathless relief. Galeren instinctively placed his own hand over hers and found himself staring back at her forgetting all else. Parsifal watched with avid fascination at his master’s response, but feeling as if he were intruding on something he should not, he slowly took a step backward in order to leave the room. A floorboard creaked intrusively, Parsifal grimaced and Galeren snapped back to his senses. He looked round to see Parsifal teetering by the door and quickly removed Catherine’s hand from his face and placed it across her chest.
“She’s delirious.” He said self-consciously and looked back at her to find that she had once again lost consciousness. He placed her other hand upon her chest and said, “I need lots of water. Go to the creek, fill the buckets to the brim and fill the tub. Did you get plenty of linen?”
“Yes,” Parsifal replied quickly, “plenty of food and –”
“Good,” Galeren cut him off abruptly, “’tis a long road and this is just the beginning. Go to it and see to Red when you are done.” He finished curtly indicating that the conversation was over. Parsifal nodded but raised his eyes heavenwards as he turned away, disgruntled at the terse dismissal even though he understood the reasons for it.
When Parsifal was gone Galeren looked back at Catherine. She looked peaceful now as if in a glorious slumber but he knew it wouldn’t last. He sighed heavily and rubbed his face. He had administered many transitions over the years and had lost only one man. However, all of the successes had been those who had been marked willingly and there was a lot to be said for mental preparation before the process of transition took hold. The man he had lost had been bitten in a fight and had no foreknowledge of what was to come. Under such circumstances the body and mind fought in unison against the invading infection and this often resulted in madness before death. This was why the Temple preferred to pre-empt this outcome and end the torment quickly and mercifully before it even took hold.
Galeren looked back at Catherine, her face now glowed with mounting perspiration and her chest rose and fell quickly as she battled for breath. If only he had had time to explain, to prepare her, he thought, angrily. It should have been the first thing he’d done when he had taken her from the convent. However, explaining that she was about to undergo a battle from which, if she emerged alive, would leave her burdened with a wolf half life, had not seemed appropriate while riding pillion on an abandoned road to Ashby. But when was such news appropriate?
Parsifal had accused him of being unforthcoming, delaying until the right time or place presented itself, and now his reticence may prove to be to her detriment and his own. He cursed but then quelled his concerns with reason. She was strong and she wasn’t stupid. Some part of her knew what was going on, he was sure of it, even if he had not told her in so many words. He could not, would not lose her and he vowed that whatever it took he would get her through the transition.
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 11