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Catherine awoke with a start and gasped for air as if she had been starved of it. She was immediately aware of the pain that racked her body, which felt bruised and broken. With great effort she managed to raise her head and look about her. She was momentarily disorientated but immediately recognised the figure slumped in the chair across from her. Her memory slowly restored itself, but as she recounted events, she knew some things were missing. She could remember the visit by the Templar, her escape with him from the convent, the mercenaries on the road approaching them and then nothing.
The room was dark and bare but stiflingly hot despite the fact that the small and only window was flung wide. She recalled that she had been terribly cold as last she was aware. The tiny amount of energy she had used to lift her head from the pillow was quickly drained and her head slumped back down upon it and she again gasped for breath. Galeren stirred and opened his eyes, sleep quickly left him as he saw Catherine was awake and he hastened to her side.
“Catherine,” he said smiling down at her. She looked up at him and returned the smile, though she noticed that he looked as exhausted as she felt. His face seemed ravaged by days of sleeplessness and worry, yet she also saw relief in his tired eyes. Catherine wondered what had happened though she sensed it had something to do with the man who had killed the tanner. Her breathing was erratic and desperate as if she had just climbed a mountain. Every limb was heavy, immovable and full of a crushing pain like she had been trampled by hundreds of horses.
“How do you feel?” Galeren asked brushing a wisp of black hair from her forehead.
“Like I have been crushed in a battle, though I have never been in one. What happened to me? Was I gripped by a fever?” she said short of breath. He smiled gently at her and pulled the chair close to the bed so he could sit beside her.
“Catherine, you have just undergone a great battle and thankfully have emerged victorious.”
It took every effort to frown quizzically at his remark and she opened her mouth to speak but he put his fingers to his lips to silence her. “Save what energy you have. Your body desperately needs it for its recovery. I will explain as best I can what has occurred.” He breathed in deeply and began, “I should have told you as soon as we left the convent but I thought we would make it back here in time.”
She didn’t speak but Galeren could tell by the look in her eyes that he needed to get to the crux of the matter. There was no point in dampening the facts, best to tell her outright. If she didn’t believe him now, she soon would.
“The man who attacked you and murdered the tanner did indeed change form, from that of a man into a wolf, just as you described. He is a werewolf,” Galeren said, “a creature that can live as both human and wolf. I too, am such a creature. You may have heard of werewolves in tales told to frighten children, but we exist. You were marked, bitten, by him. Therefore, now that you have gotten through the transition, you too are a werewolf.” He looked at her to determine her reaction. Catherine’s eyes suddenly widened as an image flashed in her mind; a white wolf and bloody carnage.
“The mercenaries,” she looked at Galeren for confirmation.
Galeren shook his head regretfully. “I am sorry you had to see that. It’s hardly the best introduction to the life.” He sighed. “It must all seem pretty savage, first being attacked by one of us and then to see what I did.”
“You promised to let him go.” Catherine said reproachfully, as more of that day’s events came back to her.
“I was very angry.”
“But you gave your word.”
“Believe me, I am a good man Catherine, but not a saint. I told you, I’ll do or say anything to protect you. The world is better off without their sort, they’d only hurt another.”
Catherine slowly nodded and Galeren continued. “We’re not savages though, just not to be crossed. If a member of our pack is threatened –”
“Pack?” Catherine interrupted him. “Jesu you really are wolves.”
“And now so are you.”
“’Tis strange but I felt something from that moment, when he bit me, and afterwards things felt different, even how I viewed the world.” She sighed. “One knows their own mind and body and when they are changed, as you do in illness. Even when I first saw you there was recognition but I couldn’t quite fathom what it was.”
He smiled. “’Twas the wolf you recognised. You will notice more how differently you sense things as time passes. You will perceive things more clearly and you will have advantages over others that are not like us.” Catherine attempted to sit up.
“Easy,” Galeren said, “you’ll have to be patient, your body is exhausted of energy.”
“Please,” her eyes pleaded, “just help me to sit up, I can't bear to look at the ceiling. At least while we’re talking.” He nodded and helped her into a comfortable position. She thanked him breathlessly but despite her exhaustion he could tell by the look in her eyes that she had many questions.
“What exactly are you . . . we?” she asked croakily.
He smiled and stretched his arms above his head. “A union of the natural world, of beast and man, and of course, woman.” He added raising his eyebrows, “In fact, women were the first of our kind according to our legends, but that story is for another day. In most cases, both entities have equal standing, neither dominates the other. In some, however, one will be stronger than the other. The spirit of the wolf, or the spirit of the human.”
“Do you know whether you are dominated by one or the other?” Catherine asked.
“Yes, but first you have to settle into your skin.” He smiled. “It is possible to live as either, the choice of which remains with the individual. However, most reside in their human form only changing to nurture the other which is a necessity, but not an evil one. I cannot explain how it feels to run as a wolf, it is something amazing which you will have a chance to experience soon enough. There is a magic in seeing the world through the eyes of the wolf.”
“Do you know yourself when you are wolf?” Catherine asked.
“Yes,” Galeren said, “and others. You are aware of everything. Your mind is not changed, only your form. Change comes when desired and can be controlled. However, fear and pain can bring about change. It is a defence mechanism. Our power comes from our wolf half and so sometimes we will change involuntarily if we are in jeopardy.”
“But you are in control of your wolf-self.”
“Totally. There is no lack of control or unmanageable savagery. It may be hard for you to believe, after what you witnessed, but as a rule we are not killers. However, as I said, the defence of ourselves and others in our pack comes above all else. We strive to protect the innocent from the harm of others and for those who would cause harm, our judgement is severe.” Galeren said seriously.
“We do hunt, but when we hunt as wolves, our prey is the same as that which we hunt as men.” A light returned to his eyes as he spoke of this.
“You see it as a gift don’t you?”
“I do. But it is really neither a blessing nor a curse, rather a form of existence and a power which, as in the case of all forms of power, should be wielded with caution and ideally for the good of others. But you have seen firsthand how some use it for ill.”
“When will I change?” Catherine asked, her voice had an edge of eagerness. Galeren smiled, both relieved and amazed at the ease of her understanding and acceptance of the monumental change that had occurred to her life.
“Not for a time, not until your body has recovered from the battle it has undergone.”
“It’s so hot,” she said her breathing was still heavy, “it was raining before was it not?”
“It was,” he agreed and then added to her dismay, “a week ago.”
“I’ve been unconscious for a week?” she said incredulously. Galeren nodded. Catherine sighed, her head thudded synonymous to the beat of a drum, “You haven’t slept since then have you?”
“Is it that obv
ious?” Galeren said rubbing his hands over his face.
“You look like you need some rest.” She said sympathetically.
“I had to see you through it. I wasn’t sure you’d make it. I hadn’t prepared you for it.”
“What happens?” she asked curiously. She had missed a week of her life and was eager to find out how she had spent it.
“The bite introduces a foreign element into your body, your blood. ’Tis like an infection, in truth. The body naturally rejects the invasion. As the infection attacks, the body fights back. There can be no winner though. I have tried to study the process and I think that the compromise reached between body and infection is the werewolf. ’Tis a split of nature that is fused in battle. The union is harmonious thereafter, if you survive the transition.”
It was difficult to pinpoint what happened when someone was bitten and had thus far lived a proportion of their life as a human. Galeren had administered several transitions and tried to understand the process. Likening it to an infection was the most satisfactory explanation he had and that mental preparation was key to survival. Even afterward, the change was hard to come to terms with. Some didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with the situation and this was why the Temple preferred to cull those who had been marked, seeing it as the kindest and safest option. Galeren disagreed and believed everyone deserved a chance. Catherine, he knew, would adapt easily, he could tell just from the look in her eyes and by the fact that he knew she was strong in mind.
“So I made it then,” she smiled.
“Yes, you are out of the woods,” he smiled back, “so to speak, but you will still not be right for a few days.”
“And then what?” Catherine asked.
Galeren shrugged, “Well, then I have to help you through the change, make sure your adjustment is smooth.”
“And then?”
“And then what?” Galeren knew what she was asking but he delayed in order to think of a convincing answer.
“Well what becomes of me? Do I go and live in the forest and howl at the moon? I can’t go back to the convent even if I wanted to.”
“Don’t worry about any of that now. You won’t be abandoned. You are under the Temple’s protection now.”
“The Temple?” She looked at him quizzically and then her eyes widened in understanding, “The Knights Templar are werewolves?”
Galeren nodded earnestly.
“All of you?”
Galeren nodded. “Not all, just the hierarchy, the knights mainly.” He was to say more when Parsifal burst into the loft.
“I heard voices, is she . . . ?” he stopped and met Catherine’s grey eyes with his own startled brown ones.
“Sister Catherine!” he said sounding overjoyed. “You are back with us.”
Catherine beamed a smile at the youth, “Catherine, please.” She corrected gently and then added, “I am well and fortunate to be in your care.”
“Master Galeren did not leave your side,” Parsifal said enthusiastically, “not even to rest his eyes such was his concern he –”
“Thank you sergeant,” Galeren interjected swiftly. “Catherine needs not hear of our attention. We are pleased she is well, but still she needs her rest.” Catherine shook her head, with great effort, to show that she was not bothered by the intrusion.
“My sergeant, Parsifal Bondeville,” Galeren said as way of introduction, “who has need to get on with his duties.” He tilted his head at Parsifal and fixed him with a serious gaze.
“Yes, master.” Parsifal said quickly, “Be well Catherine.” He added and turned to leave.
“I will with thanks,” Catherine smiled and watched him go. Galeren turned back to her and shrugged.
“He is sweet,” Catherine said, “a werewolf too?”
“Aye,” Galeren nodded. “He is as needy as a hound though. But he is a good lad.”
“He is young.” She said.
“As are you,” Galeren pointed out, wondering how old she really was.
“I think he is younger, I have eighteen or nineteen winters. He cannot be older than sixteen.”
“You would be right,” Galeren said hoping she would not enquire after his own age.
“And you,” she said immediately with a mischievous light in her eyes.
“Older,” he said smiling secretly.
“Older, meaning you will not tell me?”
“Precisely.” He gave her a curt nod.
“You know my age,” she pressed, “what harm is there in it?”
He shrugged, “I have thirty two winters under my belt. You’re surprised.” He said noting her reaction.
“’Tis not flattery but you do not look more than five and twenty to me.”
He smiled. “We age well. ’Tis an advantage.”
“Were you bitten?” she ventured.
“No, I was born of it. There are three kinds of us. There are the pure bred, begotten by parents who are both werewolf. Half breeds, such as myself, are the product of a werewolf’s union with a normal man or woman. My father was the werewolf, in my case. Then there those who have been marked, like you. Some choose to be marked but this is usually by their mate,” he looked down and then back at her with eyes that attempted to be unreadable, “others have it forced upon them.” He stood up abruptly and said. “Are you hungry?”
She didn’t want him to leave but suddenly realised that she was in fact starving.
“Very,” she said smiling up at him. He nodded and turned to leave the room and as he did so, she sensed anger within him and knew that it was to do with her.
She slept for a time after two hearty portions of a tasty potato and ham pottage that Parsifal had kindly prepared. Galeren had not returned to sit with her, sending the excuse that she needed to rest with Parsifal, when he served the food. He was right, of course, and she did fall into a deep sleep. It was intense and riddled with strange and vivid dreams. She dreamt of the moon, swollen and full and that it was so bright that the night was like the day and she heard the call of the wolf. A wild cry, piercing the night, carried upon a cool breeze, yet she could not answer it.
“I don’t know how!” she called out feeling distressed but someone took her hand. She could not see them but she sensed Galeren, “Come,” he said reassuringly, “it’s easy.”
She was then in another place, it was dark and full of dread. She smelt fear and pain mixed within the pungent scent of freshly spilt blood and death. Cries rang out but not of the wolf, they were of human torment and she could hear the grisly deeds that caused the pain. Her hand was once again taken but it was cold and she turned to see malevolent green eyes which chilled her soul. It was a featureless monster but she knew him well and recoiled, but his grip was like iron, “Come, it’s easy.” He hissed and she cried out, waking herself from the nightmare to the sound of a wolf’s howl.
Sweating, she sat up and was immediately aware that she felt stronger. The wolf called again and she wasn’t sure whether she was yet in another dream. Curious, she pushed back the blankets and swung her feet out of the bed. Drawn to the cry she went to the open window and look out onto the barmy night. The moon was not full, like in her dream, but its waning light still lit the landscape with a silvery radiance. Not a cloud marred it and she noticed that the cottage was set in a wooded area, secluded and safe, as Galeren had described. The wolf’s cry had stopped but ensnared by its mystery she ventured toward the loft’s doorway and down the tiny set of stairs.
The downstairs was empty and she quickly found herself outside and moving towards the edge of the wood, suddenly a wolf crashed through the thicket and stood but yards from her. Its cool blue eyes she recognised and stared in awe at the rest of him. She had seen him before, but then he had been covered in blood and wild with rage. Now, however, she could see his beauty.
Never before had she seen such a magnificent creature. She wanted to touch him, to bury her hands in his thick white pelt. As she stared mesmerized at the vision, a second wolf joined him. Par
sifal, she recognised him too. He was a little smaller and his grey coat was mixed with patches of brown to compliment his eyes.
The white wolf padded closer to her and trusting what Galeren had told her about the wolf’s conscience she did not back away or feel threatened. She smiled and started towards him, yet as she took the first step a searing pain suddenly shot through her midriff. Catherine collapsed to the ground doubled over in agony. Again she lost consciousness, the silvery night merging with the white wolf’s approaching visage.
Chapter Seven
The Wolves of Solomon (Wolves of Solomon Book One) Page 12