Chaos: Contemporary Biker Romance (31 page)

“Tell us what you saw in the forest that night. Tell us what you did to save yourself and only a handful of our fathers!” a young teenage boy, with a rock-like brow and deeply inset eyes, said from the crowd. The kid was angry, and Zamir could not deny that.

“The rumors you have heard about some demon in the forest that came to save me, leaving all your beloved warriors to die, are untrue. There was nothing I saw in real life that would explain what happened. The rest we shall leave up to the afterlife, while we all continue rebuilding this one,” he said, turning away from the edge of the stone pedestal, not a single mark of shame or fear on his face. Despite the townspeople's concerns over Zamir's trustworthiness, his physical presence so commanded their attention and confidence that, for a single day after the speaking event, their fears were allayed. Life seemed to be relatively normal.

Later, Zamir took a walk through a dirt pathway on the outskirts of his town, watching the sunset, letting the quietness of the forest calm his mind, as he ruminated on how to deal with the fear and paranoia percolating throughout his village. He inhaled the piercing winter air through his nose, sending a clean swipe through his senses. The dominant feature of his demeanor was far and away control, while the least prevalent feature was fear. Zamir feared next to nothing, and yet in the past few nights, his dreams planted deep within his psyche a seed for fear, which was growing over every passing moment. In his dream, Rollus returned from the grave, the stab wound Zamir inflicted on his throat still fresh and visible. Rollus spoke to him, warning something was about to take away his wife and son and that there was little he could do to stop it. In the dream, Zamir pleaded with Rollus to spare his family for whatever fate he had in store for him. But Rollus told him the force that would destroy his family would not come from him, but from within Zamir himself. And so Zamir's greatest quality, the ability to keep cool under pressure, to maintain control, became his greatest weakness, feeding a fear for his family that he could not quell. In the past few days, given that his dream before the ambush of the Obotrites predicted something would happen, Zamir seriously considered the fact that his dreams might not just be dreams, but omens for his future. And understanding that made him even more afraid. The winter would last for another two full months, and his town couldn't afford another blow, whatever it was, should it wait for them on the horizon. He thought about the possibility of seeking aid from nearby tribes, forming a temporary alliance, just to get them through the winter. He stopped his walk, looking out from under the dead winter trees, at the moon, staring down at him. His stomach churned at the image for some inexplicable reason, and he bowed over, gagging on his own revulsion. There was something within him indeed, something aching to get out. Zamir could no longer ignore it, and he realized that perhaps his nightly walks had to do with more than mere thinking about the problems of his day. There was another reason--he was drawn to the night, to the moon, to the forest, in a way an animal reacts to the smell of food. There was nothing conscious about his coming to the forest over the past several nights, as his body was beginning to take over his mind, and little by little, he was losing control. He looked up to the moon, the soft blue light bathing his skin in an ashy, cadaver-like color. His senses became heightened, he could smell traces of all the people who had been in the area, he could see farther into the darkness of the woods than ever before, and he could feel an urge to find something hidden within the woods, as if a rope were wrapped around his chest, pulling him to a certain spot deep within the heart of the forest. He began to run, as that familiar pain in his shoulder grew stronger. His worst nightmare--literally, the worst dream he'd ever had--was coming to life, as his pace picked up faster and faster, the trees whipping past his cheeks and broad shoulders. He could feel a force within his bones coming to life, shredding his innards, organs, and tissue. The pain was unbearable, and he cried out into the night, where no one could hear him except the forest. He looked down at his fingers, which shrunk as his palm enlarged and grew coarse, black fur all over. He could feel his legs crack from the inside, bend backwards, as his feet grew larger and longer. His toenail hardened into thick yellow material, and his nose swelled forward. The sensations were immense and unbearable. They grew to the point of explosion, and with a sudden tug, his body put him on all fours. He began racing through the forest, searching for something specific and vital. He could not find it, even though the force inside him pushed him deeper into the woods, over frosted mounds of dirt, languid streams as they trickled drops of mountain spring water, under rotten logs. He used the entire mass of his new body to bust through a dying tree trunk, the bark exploding outward from his physical form. He breathed deeply, an electric energy pulsing through his veins, vitalizing him. The experience somewhat resembled a dream, as he raced through the forest, and in his field of vision, came upon a strange town, with a stone pulpit the town's leader used to calm any fears that his villagers were threatened from some evil outside, in the wild and uncontrolled nature of the forest. He stopped for moment, noting the familiar huts and houses and streets, before sniffing through a single building. The heat from warm bodies emanated from within the hut, and he put his snout under the door to get a better whiff. Voices chatted back and forth from behind the door, and Zamir's thirst grew strong. The door suddenly opened, and a man with a red bandana stood over him, his battle ax at the ready. Zamir gave one brief pause for jumping to his throat, amid the screams of his wife and children.

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The morning light spilled in from the window of his hut, and his head hurt from the night before. He opened his eyes only after hearing the muffled screams from further in the town. The light sliced through his retinas all the way to the back of his brain. He needed rest, as his body was immensely sore. Lifting up his head, he thought to himself how odd it was that he couldn't recall the night before. Just then, a woman's hand touched his tender shoulder, making him jump.

“Zamir. You have to see this,” his wife said. He forced himself awake and jumped out of bed, rushing out into the daylight, his wife following him after.

“What time of the day is it?” he asked.

“Time of day? You've been sleeping all afternoon. It's near dusk,” she said, grabbing hold of his hand, in the way she only did when something terrible had happened. “Zamir, look to the center square,” she said, pointing to the bloody figure of Joslyn, hung by his arms, across the town. “The men have found a piece of cloth on Joslyn's ax, when he tried to fight the wolf off.”

Zamir grabbed his skull to contain the brain-busting confusion swirling around in his head. Two entirely separate worlds had just collided, as if the gods had been replaced with mere men, and vice versa. A rift opened in the cosmos, and Zamir couldn't distinguish between the dream world from which he thought he'd come and real life. He rushed barefoot over to the town square, picking up Joslyn from the wooden ties on his hands. “My good friend. What have I done?” he asked himself under his breath, just as his wife caught up with him, racing on foot to catch up. Zamir looked around for the cloth, and for the first time in his life, knowing he had killed Joslyn last night, told his wife a lie.

“Who did this?” he asked her. She pulled out a piece of cloth from her pocket, a shred of Zamir's pants which were now missing from his thigh area. He placed his hand directly over his thigh, as he took the cloth from his wife. A crowd of people stood around him, though he didn't look at them directly. Eyes pierced into his soul, examining the growing cancer that started with his first false statement to his people. Their powerful gaze weighed on his back like a ton of iron ore.

“It's him,” a voice said from behind, as Zamir wheeled around to face the same angry male teen who'd reproached him the day before. Zamir's voice grew deep and low.

“You don't know what you're talking about,” Zamir said. “Keep quiet if you value your life.” Zamir could tell by the boy's reaction that he was transforming into a werewolf again, this time in broad daylight. He looked back at his wife, as she stood in horror, watching the man she loved transform into a violent, evil, and chaotic beast. His gaze lowered as he fell down onto all four and reared around to the crowd, his eyes glowing green, ready to fight anyone who approached him. Several men emerged from what was now a large crowd and attempted to swipe at him with their swords. Zamir lunged at the sword, grabbing it with his mouth, and tossed it away. Then he crawled slowly toward the man, growling the whole time, as the man stepped back one step at a time, until he was cornered. Several children, now orphans from the Battle against the Obotrites ran up closer to Zamir, watching him come close to eating the man he had cornered. They began crying, and Zamir turned to face them, distracted. The men in the crowd, fearful though they are, could see the impending disaster and approached Zamir, in attempt to scare him off.

“Go now, devil!” one man said, waving a pitchfork near him, as Zamir backed away from the kids and ran off into the night.

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“That was the last time I saw her or my son,” he said. “I never could figure out where the wolf came from, or why the forest chose me,” Zamir said. He looked around the fire, as Humburt, Augustus, and Elsa listened to the close of his tale.

“How did you end up here?” Augustus asked. Zamir looked down, his face lost in thought.

“I came here in search of answers. When my people rejected me, I grew angrier and angrier. The more I asked for their help, on my better days, the most they united against me, even going so far as to form permanent alliance with neighboring tribes, in order to deflect attacks against me. They drove me into the forest, where I live in despair and rage for many centuries. I was never able to return to human form, and the rage that consumed me kept me searching for answers. I left Denmark, traveled through the forest that connected the countries, to stay safe. I couldn't figure out why the forest chose me, once a great leader, to fall so hard and so fast. With my wife and son now long dead and buried, all hope of having a normal life was gone forever. I continued searching through this forest, which, as it turns out, is connected to all the forests near my village in Denmark. That's what sent me to the Cottage, where I found the ability to regain my human form.”

“At what cost?” Kirbleitz finally spoke up. “Tell them, Zamir.”

“The cost was that I would never be able to redeem myself. The Cottage gave me some answers, but infinitely more questions. And I was left with this hideous creature inside me, this shameful part of my nature I could never get away from.”

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After hearing Zamir's story, Elsa found herself simultaneously fearful of the man and more respectful. And there were particular elements of his story that lingered in her mind, as they all prepared to get some sleep before making a long trip the next day. Humburt and Augustus spoke between themselves, forming a two-person club in honor of Zamir, their admiration growing as his story baked in their unconscious for the rest of the night. Kirbleitz was busy consoling Niklas, who still didn't trust Zamir. And Elsa sat on the log at the now smoldering campfire, contemplating all that had happened to her in the last few months--her meeting Theo, falling for him, understanding for the first time emotions she once thought were forbidden. Losing Theo tore a piece of her soul away, but she could see strange parallels between her own history and Zamir's. Both of them found themselves, with no rhyme or reason as to why, in the position of a fallen state. Both Zamir and Elsa felt responsible for their actions, and yet perplexed at how they could have prevented what happened. She had just wanted to save Theo all along, never wanting to hurt anyone or do anything wrong. She thought back to her conversation with Lili, about whether it was possible for someone to undo a grave mistake. Elsa wanted to know the answer to that question--was it possible to ever be good again? Part of her wanted to go back to her life before ever getting embroiled by the people in the Forbidden Forest in this mess. For all the happiness and excitement meeting Theo brought her, the experience was matched in the same magnitude by equal amounts of pain and sadness. She missed Theo dearly and had no idea how she would ever get out of this mess. Maybe she had opened the door in her heart to something dark and sinister, and being near Zamir did nothing but irradiate her further to the point of becoming more like him--wild, lost, and evil. She watched him as he paced a little further down the pathway leading away from their makeshift camp, his beautiful, tanned back outlined by the red light from the glowing forest. Zamir had told the group he was bitten by a wolf, yes, but only in his dream. How then was it possible for him to become a werewolf? He might be lying. He could plan on bringing the entire group to the area that imprisoned him for eternity as a black and evil wolf. Perhaps he would lead them into a furnace, lock the gates behind them, and turn up the heat, laughing the whole time. She wondered how something so beautiful and perfect like Zamir could be so dark and enigmatic, shrouded in questions and fierce temper.

Elsa got up and walked over to her tiny camping spot, crawling underneath a cloth Niklas gave her. “Here you go, miss,” he said, handing her a pillow as well. She lay down her head, the vicious tiredness overtaking her body all at once.

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