Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (36 page)

Regis stayed on the steps. Another distant
howl pierced the night and he shuddered. The voice of this beast
lacked the sad beauty of the previous night’s song.

Raphael came up behind him and set a hand on
his shoulder. “He’ll come back,” he said.

“I worry he’ll get hurt,” Regis said.

“Then we will help him,” Raphael said.

Regis sighed.

“Sing Thal’s song to bring him luck,” Raphael
said and nudged his colleague back to the party.

******

Thal ran across the Little Quarter. Curious
people kept spilling out into the street or hanging out their
windows. Dogs were barking and baying. Horses squealed in their
stables. People watched Thal’s dark form dart down the streets and
wondered at his solitary mission.

He quickened his pace when he reached the
bridge. A lone rider galloped by him going the other way. Neither
of them paused to investigate the other.

The howling had ceased for a while but then
it resumed with manic savagery. Regis had been right to worry, and
Thal accepted that he could not confront this thing in his man
form.

When he reached the Knights of the Cross
square, its eerie nighttime emptiness was disquieting. During the
day the area was a hub of traffic and vibrant citizenry. But in the
night, the moon shone on its stony emptiness like it was an
abandoned ruin. People on this side of the river were not rushing
outside to listen. They were barring their doors, knowing that a
beast prowled their streets.

The bells in a church tower started ringing
the hour. Thal sensed the dedicated soul in the tower pulling the
rope. Nothing kept that man from his appointed duties.

Thal snuck alongside the church and found a
dark crevice in the foundation to hide his things. Swiftly he
stuffed in his weapons and his clothes.

The night air was cool against his sweaty
bare skin. The silver blue moonlight beyond the ringing tower
beckoned his spirit. As the eleventh hour finished striking, he
held his enchanted fur to his hips and said the words. The world
might condemn him as Devil begotten but the holy ground beneath his
bare feet impeded his magic not at all.

Pistol cringed with his chin on his paws. His
eyes gleamed with admiration. Thal threw wide his arms and trembled
as the spell seized his flesh and connected him to a time when man
was proud to be an animal and thought of nothing else.

The transformation tormented his body but it
took his consciousness to another plane that gradually transcended
the agony. The beast strength overtaking his body triggered a
euphoric thrill. He tossed back his shaggy head, wanting to howl,
but he silenced himself. He was hunting.

Thal stretched his arms and legs and lifted
his tail. He gnashed his jaws, loving his teeth and their bone
crushing power.

Dropping to all fours, he loped away from the
church. The other werewolf howled again, and he turned toward the
sound. When he smelled blood he slowed his pace. The moonlight made
the shadows that much more black and he slunk within their borders.
Guided by the blood scent, he soon found bloody footprints and
detected the signature of Rainer. This comforted him a little. He
did not really consider Rainer an enemy, but he accepted that in
werewolf form the Jesuit might be dangerous.

Investigating the blood, Thal turned a corner
and encountered a frantic knot of human activity. Several men were
in the street with torches and pitchforks. One had a gun. They were
shouting to their neighbors to stay inside. Two dogs were with
them, but they did not follow the trail that Thal knew was obvious
to them. Despite his size, he disappeared easily into the shadows
and watched the men and dogs. When they went farther down the
street, Thal moved in to see where they had come from.

He found broken stable doors and three horses
with their throats torn out. The werewolf must have assaulted the
confined animals in a vicious frenzy. He had fed very little. Only
some choice organs had been ripped out in haste.

Terrible screams in the night drew him back
into the street. The screaming ended abruptly. Thal raced toward
the sound. Discarding caution he ran past the group of men with
torches. Their dogs gave way in submissive silence. The men gaped
in speechless horror, each one relieved that the monster had spared
him. It embodied all their primal fears of the forest and it had
dashed down the street with its tail high.

When Pistol trotted after the werewolf, the
men shook off their astonishment. As the little dog disappeared
into the night, one man finally said, “Did you see it?”

“Yes.”

“God save us, what was it?”

“We need to get more men,” announced a very
practical fellow, and the group fell back to reassess their
chase.

Thal entered the Jewish Quarter and the
unmistakable scent of human blood bit into his nostrils. He came
upon the werewolf in the midst of his slaughter. He had torn into a
camp of beggars. People were screaming and fleeing, and a big furry
beast was mauling a limp body in its clutches.

Thal snarled deeply and jumped in front of
the werewolf. Rainer dropped the body but stood over it
defensively. His black lips pulled back from moonlit canines, and a
growl like an avalanche rumbled in his thick throat. All his fur
lifted and enhanced his size.

Thal bristled as well and confronted the
werewolf with silent supremacy. He felt the nervous uncertainty
within the beast, but admired the transformation of Rainer. The
disturbed man was now powerful and beautiful and free of his human
frailties.

Rainer snarled and snapped but Thal did not
flinch. With ears forward and tail up, Thal approached a little
more, asserting their kinship and diminishing their potential
conflict.

Gradually Rainer lowered his head and eased
back from the sad body beneath his dripping jaws. The man’s clothes
were rent. His scalp was torn open, and his crushed throat drew air
no more.

The Rainer werewolf cringed lower and nudged
the body with his nose, deferring to Thal in the presence of the
kill. Thal snuffled the corpse. Still hot with freshly extinguished
life, the meat beckoned him. He licked his lips as salivation
revealed his hunger. The tender vitals of the man enticed him, and
Thal remembered the long familiar joy of earning the first bite of
a fresh kill. He struggled against the natural impulse to feed. His
powerful werewolf body craved a massive delivery of
nourishment.

His big sensitive nostrils explored the body.
The meaty scent intoxicated him. His tongue licked across the torn
scalp and the salty taste of blood dimmed his connection to his
humanity. The simple joys of living, hunting, and feeding awaited
him. There was nothing to stop him from descending into the
blissful existence of a predator merely fulfilling its function in
the circle of life.

But the face of the man troubled him. The
smooth forehead and nose reminded him of how his face would be when
he changed back to a man. And he would have to change back. Thal
suddenly understood that he could not maintain his werewolf form
all the time. He was not a wolf, like he had been. He was a man
now. Great magic made him a unique man, but a man nonetheless.

As the stiff hairs of the dead man’s beard
prickled Thal’s nose, he recalled the sensation of Carlo carefully
trimming his goatee, and his connection to humanity flared back up
and illuminated compassion. His basic hunger fell back into its
proper place.

He stepped around the body and sniffed
Rainer. The other werewolf growled and slunk away, but Thal stayed
with him, gently maintaining light contact.

Very slowly the tension in Rainer eased and
he sniffed Thal back. Shouting men down the street interrupted
them. Bright torches cast shadows of men and pitchforks, hammers,
and clubs. They yelled bravely and stayed in a tight group.

Thal decided to avoid a confrontation. He did
not want to be in a position to hurt or kill people rightly
defending themselves. And Rainer would obviously kill again if
given any provocation.

Brushing his body against Rainer, Thal leaped
away. He looked back and yelped once to tell Rainer to follow. The
other werewolf hesitated, but the choice between an angry mob and
the open heart of Thal was ultimately not difficult.

Thal led him to the river. He jumped into the
water and started swimming toward an island. Rainer swam after
Thal. Pistol stayed on land. When the men reached the water, the
little dog slunk away and was not seen. Men yelled and waved their
torches. The flowing water reflected the orange flames, but no one
saw the dark heads crossing the water.

Thal sloshed up the muddy bank and shook the
water from his fur. Rainer came up behind him shortly. Thal walked
along the shore until he reached the pointy tip of the small island
that bisected the flowing water. The moon was still high in the sky
and he lifted his head and howled softly.

The long gentle note soothed Rainer. He had
only known the raving difficulty of his transformed state that
commanded him to hunt and kill. But the voice of Thal revealed his
pure acceptance for his animal nature. Again Thal howled. When the
note ended, he stared at Rainer expectantly. Water swished
alongside the island and a fish jumped with a splash.

At last Rainer summoned a sound other than
the murderous yowl that celebrated his killing. He mimicked the
gentle sound that Thal had made. Its beauty vibrated through
Rainer, and the werewolf glimpsed the possibility that one with
lethal strength did not have to be ruled by savage passions.

Thal and Rainer howled together next. Their
blended voices caressed their spirits. Both beasts were overcome by
the companionship.

In time they reached a subconscious agreement
and fell silent. The experience had been very intense for both of
them. Rainer walked away from Thal and hid himself in the bushes
growing around the trees. Thal remained on the bank with the
moonlight glistening on his fur and the profile of Prague all
around him against a starry sky.

The conflict within Rainer was easy for Thal
to sense. The werewolf wanted companionship and guidance, yet
something held back trust. Thal imagined how difficult life was for
the poor man. He had not chosen the forest as Thal had. And he
could not control his transformation.

Giving the werewolf space, Thal lapped at the
river water and then settled on the ground. Separated by a short
distance, they waited through the night in silence. As the moon
sank, Thal wondered when Rainer would shift back to his man form.
Thal longed to talk to him, but he dared not shift, especially
without his weapons handy. The ambivalence within Rainer toward him
was worrisome.

Without warning, Rainer dashed from his
hiding spot and jumped into the water. He swam toward Old Town.
Thal followed. When he came out of the water, Rainer turned on him
with a snarl. Thal hung back briefly before catching up to Rainer
in the Knights of the Cross square. He turned on Thal again with a
discouraging snarl, and Thal accepted that Rainer did not want him
to follow. Dawn was coming and he reluctantly decided to use the
remaining darkness to retrieve his clothing and return to being a
man.

Rainer disappeared across the square. Pistol
caught up to Thal next to the church while he was putting his
clothes back on. Exhausted and ravenously hungry, Thal plodded
toward the bridge. He was disappointed by Rainer’s rejection. He
had expected to win over the other werewolf. Thal believed he could
help the man come to terms with his altered existence. And
selfishly Thal longed for an ally truly capable of hunting at his
side.

Erik’s crying jolted Altea from her slumber.
Yiri’s cries soon joined those of his bedmate, and Patrik told them
to be quiet.

Shaking off her sleep, Altea sat up and heard
what had awoken her brothers. A monstrous yowl told of a creature
in the night.

She jumped out of bed. Her bare feet did not
bother to find her slippers as she ran out the door. She bumped
into Elias in the dark hall. They rushed into their brothers’
room.

“The monster! Monster!” Erik wailed. Altea
gathered him into her arms. His wet sobs dampened her gown. Yiri
rushed to Elias who picked him up.

“I told them there’s no monster,” Patrik
complained.

“Hush!” Elias said.

The howling filled the sudden quiet. Altea
immediately realized that it was not the same creature whose howls
had embraced her feelings the night before. All warmth left her
skin as she shared in the terror of the little boy clinging to
her.

“How can there be a wolf in the city?” Elias
wondered.

Yiri cried louder and his big brother patted
his back. “It can’t get us. Our house is strong,” he said.

Patrik moved over to his older brother now
that he heard the howling. Their father’s footsteps creaked in the
hall and his candle battled back the fearful dark.

“Like your brother said our house will
protect us,” Martin said.

His linen nightshirt billowed around his
padded physique, and his hair was comically messy.

A spurt of shrieks and snarls chopped at the
night and the children cringed. Martin went around upstairs and
made sure all the shutters were secure.

“Stay with the young ones,” Martin said to
Altea. “Elias, let’s check the doors.”

Altea’s three brothers piled into one bed
with her, and she soothed them despite her gnawing worry. The nasty
predatory sounds triggered instinctive fears and promised bloody
death.

Then the howling stopped and the boys calmed
down. Altea tucked Patrik back into his own bed and then settled
Yiri and Erik under their covers again.