Chapter One
An Eye for an Eye
Vengeance
is a monster of appetite,
forever bloodthirsty and never filled.
I
brought my sword down hard in front of Thaddeus, preventing him from turning
away from me. How dare he try to disregard my arguments so easily! As my blade
sliced through the air, a strange high-pitched trill formed—a familiar, eerie
ring produced by its unique composition.
Thaddeus
jerked his head sideways, brown eyes bulging, gawking at me from beneath eyebrows
so thick they curled like the dark mass of ringlets cascading from his scalp to
below his shoulders. I often wondered while watching this man—this
silver-tongued conniver who had appointed himself leader of our puny village—if
yanking on his curls wouldn’t prove his hair to be longer than my own limp,
black tresses. I doubted a sharp edge had ever touched his mane.
My
attention shifted as Thaddeus went for a dagger hidden beneath his leather
jacket. His eyes narrowed, erasing their initial flash of fear. I locked my jaw
to suppress a smirk, knowing it would be ill received.
Of
course, I couldn’t blame the man for pointing his stunted weapon at me. My
sword had struck so near his toes, anyone who didn’t know better might have
thought I intended to chop off his foot, faltering the slightest bit in my aim.
Our present argument could easily support such a theory.
I
glanced at the gold dagger meant as a threat, sculpted and bejeweled like one
of King Solomon’s finest possessions. Background to it, Thaddeus’ heart pounded
visibly in his chest. Scorn twitched my upper lip regarding him.
The
coward. Pigeon. Weak, gritless swine. “You fool!” Only the last insult did I
hiss aloud.
Thaddeus
pointed at my sword with his dagger, gesturing with a slight flick of the wrist
as though he hoped the action would force my silver blade away from his toes.
“Back
off, Catherine. I’ve no desire to harm a woman. Least of all you.”
I
made a curt and lowly sound—a mix of amusement and disgust. As if this pathetic
man possessed the ability to touch me without my allowing it. No one, not even
the bedeviled creatures of Hallows Eve, could stand against my sword. It was a
charmed weapon gifted to me by a haggardly witch of the forest. She had come in
a dream, bent on revenge against the very creatures Thaddeus and I and all
other citizens of our village expected to face that very cursed evening. As a
young woman I had awakened in a panic, drenched in perspiration, the silver
blade lying across my chest. It had happened fourteen years ago on the annual
night of unleashed evil—the dreadful Hallows Eve. Tonight marked that anniversary.
I
squinted at the western sky behind Thaddeus, a blood-red smear melting into
blackness. Twisting my neck, I glanced in the opposite direction. My teeth
clenched at a magnified full moon nearly as scarlet as the portending sunset;
its luminous face was half masked by hazy cloud cover. Hatred, vengeance, anger…
such emotions coursed through my veins in a poisonous concoction that muddied
my mind, impelling me to grip my sword tighter and fight with every ounce of
strength I possessed against those who threatened my family—my kind. Currently,
Thaddeus was behaving as such a threat, using his powers of persuasion to
condone human sacrifice for some outrageously perceived good. He wanted an
offering for the monsters, a desperate but futile offering of human flesh that
would in no way protect the other villagers from being mauled as he promised.
Sundown
was near, the moon visibly whole. It seemed all things were coming together for
the unearthly creatures that would shortly appear in rite of this night. Nothing
good awaited us. We, the few insane souls who continued to live year-round
within the forested village of Tarishe, were at every disadvantage.
Thaddeus
seemed to sense the need to calm me to some degree, to direct the fury heating
every fiber of my being. Perhaps it was because of my murderous stare or the
way my nostrils flared with every audible inhale or the way my sword dug deeper
into the ground upon which he stood.
“Catherine.
Catherine, please. Your skill and prowess will be needed tonight. Focus on
guarding the village and defending our youth. Protect Nehemiah, your son. You don’t
want him to suffer the same fate as your daughter. Have you forgotten the evil
that befell Natasha?”
My
daughter had died as a babe, mauled by the claws of those demons we were about to
face again this night. I had not witnessed the deed, but the retelling played
like a grim memory in my head.
Swiftly,
I lifted the tip of my sword to hover beneath our leader’s chin, threatening to
slit his throat. “You will not leave those poor souls outside the gates,
Thaddeus. Let them in.”
His
palms opened up to me. “Catherine, you must understand… they volunteered.”
“No,
no, no, you convinced them of their worthlessness. You lied to them!”
“They’re
old and weary souls, incapable of defending themselves against our murderous
enemy. They’re as good as dead anyway, and you can’t…you won’t save them
all, Catherine! They want to protect their children and grandchildren
the only way they can. It’s depleted lives in exchange for preserving our
young, a desire you should support as well. Think of Nehemiah! This sacrifice
will appease a thirst for blood. It is not a vain act but one of love and
compassion and…”
I
pressed the tip of my sword into his skin, drawing a trickle of the night’s
first blood. A crimson line quickly marked his neck and disappeared beneath his
shirt collar. It was a test for me not to pierce him any deeper.
“Thaddeus,
you vile, horrid monster, I swear I’ll kill you where you stand if you do
not open those gates!”
I
watched the lump in his throat bob up and down as he swallowed. Yet he failed
to move.
“Now!”
My
resolve was firm. I would kill him. Thaddeus must have seen the truth in my
eyes because he promptly flinched away and verbally agreed to my terms. Not
without arguing my futility, of course.
“I
will open one gate, but only briefly. Nightfall is nearly upon us. You put
everyone at risk, Catherine, catering to those whom you cannot save. People are going to die tonight, you know that! You
know it!”
“All
I know is that I will fight to make it otherwise. They will not die because we
spinelessly handed them over to the wolves!” I raised my silver sword—an
enchanted weapon created by the sorcerous hag who had given it to me. It was a
blend of Norse silver and mercury laced with drops of vampire venom. “This
blade has never failed me, Thaddeus. One strike through the heart and those
demons are forever destroyed. They cannot rise from the dead as they do when
pierced by arrows or weapons of ordinary steel. This here is the power to
annihilate those creatures for good.”
“But
you have only one sword, and you lack the ability to be everywhere at once.”
I
was aware his argument was both sound and true. That would not prevent me from
trying to protect every villager I could. Nor would it stop me from killing
every demon of the night that crossed my path. I had to try. Every year I tried.
I
glanced past Thaddeus and realized there was no time to argue with the fool any
longer. It was a pointless endeavor at any rate. The sun had nearly set at his
back. The red smear of horizon was being pressed into a thin line by the foreshadowing
blackness.
I
hurried out as soon as the locking board was removed and the gate yanked open. A
few heads turned to look at me from across the way, each face sagged and
wrinkled by harsh, graying years. These were our few elders, seated on a
cluster of boulders outside the front fortress of Tarishe. The fury in my heart
yielded to a powerful swell of both pity and shame as I beheld their dispirited
forms. These were good human souls. Our parents. Our seniors. How could anyone
possessing even a drop of conscience have contrived such a dastardly plan as to
convince these precious jewels they were of no value other than to ransom their
aged blood as a sacrifice to the enemy who threatened our village?
“Thaddeus,
you’re the devil,” I murmured.
My
footsteps hurried me forward, headed for one salt-and-pepper-haired woman in
particular. Tears blurred my vision as I leaned over to wrap her frail form in
one arm. I hugged the dear to my chest, my lips at her ear.
“Grandmother.”
I choked on the word, fighting back the urge to sob. “Come with me. Come,
quickly.” As I helped her up, I turned to the others. “All of you, hurry. Follow
me inside.”
Though
feeble, they didn’t hesitate to rise from their seats. Anger simmered once
again in my chest. “Volunteers, my eye,” I spat, seething.
Turning
to the village, supporting my grandmother with one arm, I glanced Thaddeus
standing inside the gates. A bitter scowl set his jaw rigidly forward. His gaze
refused to dart my way, and he offered no assistance with my rescue but kept himself
within, shifting nervously from foot to foot while eyeing the darkening
horizon.
“We
must close the gates, now!” he declared with mock authority. His hands went to
push on the thick swinging wood, yet he failed to creek its hinges but an inch.
His eyes still refused to find me.
“You
will wait!” I growled aloud.
I
pulled my grandmother close to my side, meaning to move her along faster. A
groan slipped from her lips and made me slacken my hold. I didn’t wish to hurt
her frail bones, but Thaddeus was right about our need to hurry. Four other
elderly figures passed us by, appearing to find it easy enough to abandon any
altruistic intentions they had been convinced to entertain earlier. Thaddeus
glowered at their hunched backs as they moved inside, swallowing hard as if he
believed these defenseless human beings had somehow betrayed him by choosing to
live. I made a mental note to punish our pathetic leader severely—a painful and
prolonged torture—once this infernal night wore past. That is, if he and I both
managed to survive.
Grandmother
and I were the only stragglers, the last two outside the walls when a
high-pitched, discordant howl echoed within the forest. A spine-chilling chorus
replied, bringing even the wind to an unnatural standstill. My eyes shot toward
the western sky. Blackness had erased everything. I gasped, knowing what this
meant. It had begun. All Hallows Eve was now underway until sunrise, a night of
unleashed evil observed by Hell’s creatures and its minions.
A
weak form stumbled against me, and I caught my grandmother before she fell to
the ground. She moaned in agony as my arms scooped up her old bones and cradled
her as delicately as possible against my bosom.
“Sorry,”
I breathed, hustling toward Thaddeus. “I’m so sorry, Grandma.” I truly didn’t
wish to hurt her—my only remaining family besides my baby boy.
Barely
crossing the border, I shoved her against our leader’s chest, forcing him to
take the old woman in his arms. In the back of my mind I noted how he received
her gently. It served to allay my detest for him by a degree.
My
ears perked up at the sound of a low, deep-throated growl from behind, and I
comprehended its significance immediately; it was a hostile warning. The wolves
had wasted no time in gathering. I acted on instinct, pivoting on the balls of
my feet to face our enemy. A lone figure stepped from the woods into the
moonlight, his fur a thick, umber coat. The large werewolf paused momentarily
to stare at me. Greater numbers were communicated at his back by a constant
rumble, but their monstrous forms remained hidden within the trees. I moved
toward the wolf. The gates slammed shut behind me, and I cursed the coward,
Thaddeus, without glancing rearward.
“Spineless,
pigeon-hearted waste of respectable manhood.” But I was grateful at least that
my grandmother was safely locked inside. She would see to Nehemia.
Prepared
to single-handedly engage the entire pack—an unknown number of wicked creatures
seemingly immortal in their endurance—I unsheathed my blade and pointed it at
the werewolf. The animal lowered its head yet continued to approach, two
glowing, ochre eyes glued on my silver sword. Others skulked out of the shadows
just then, exhibiting the same cautious advance as their apparent leader. They
spread out, forming a wide half-circle.
“That’s
right, you ugly dogs,” I breathed. “Come on. Come get what you deserve.”
Though
the umber wolf guided the others in their wary press forward, I knew he wasn’t
in truth their alpha head. That position belonged to the queen, a creature I had
never actually laid eyes on in all the years I had wielded my sword against
this fiendish pack. Legend gossiped of her vicious nature as well as her unique
attributes:
“Black
as the night she travels by,” some
villagers would say, speaking of her nature as well as her color.
Others
whispered, wide-eyed, “The ebony beast is faster and more cunning than any
man can conceive.”
“She’s
queen of All Hallows Eve—a hellion creature without equal, devoid of mercy.”
But the
black wolf’s only distinguishing feature, one all survivors agreed upon, was a
silvery front paw. No other werewolf possessed that peculiarity. Unfortunately,
I, Catherine, had never in all my fighting years laid eyes on that rare paw. Yet
somehow the queen of werewolves materialized every year to rampage our Tarishe
village and slaughter numerous members of its populace. Always outside of my
awareness. Consequently, that also meant outside the power of the one weapon
able to ensure the vile demon’s demise.
Other
rumors also circulated—stories explaining the silvery paw:
“A
misstep in Hamartia’s Swamp that drained all the life from that foot.”
“A
bite from a werewolf’s deadliest enemy. The vampire venom would’ve killed any
other wolf.”
“A
witch’s conjured hex, shielded by the queen’s lifted paw. The wolf’s desperate
act became an enduring curse.”
But
my favorite rumor I knew to be a lie. “The result of a touch from
Catherine’s bewitched sword.” Had I truly ever been given the chance to
brush by that fiend’s pearly paw, had my eyes ever witnessed the alpha werewolf
herself, I would have thrust every inch of Norse steel deep into the demon’s
heart with vengeful passion, denying the pack of their crafty, merciless leader
forevermore! Then, yes, then they would assuredly falter and turn on
themselves. And at that day, gone be the curse of Hallows Eve from Tarishe!
Just
beyond the reach of my sword, the umber wolf halted his silent advance. His
manner—the way the beast’s upper body appeared to bow in an exaggerated display
of humility—might have fooled a less experienced huntress. But I could read the
spark in his murderous eyes and recognize determination in a stare that never
once flickered from my blade. The pack, with their thick coats ranging from
sooty to rusted colors, mimicked the lead animal’s behavior. I kept my focus on
this one, although my peripheral vision noted dozens had cleared the woods.
Feet
apart, I crouched in anticipation of a strike. It came as expected, swiftly
from each side. Turning hard to my left, I swiped my blade horizontally and cut
at a wolf bounding in mid-air. My sword sang and the animal collapsed, nearly
severed in two. Momentum brought me clear around to where my sword plunged into
the exposed chest of a second wolf. This one had also meant to tackle me.
In a
ready stance, I faced the umber wolf again. His muzzle remained lowered, brow
furrowing between squinted eyes. The look was bothersome, yet I couldn’t
explain why. It seemed his expression held a depth of sorrow, a glimpse that
reached into the back of my head, tugging at a blank slate of memories
unavailable to my conscious awareness. “Dejà vu,” I reasoned, excusing my anxieties
as dredged up scenes from past bloody battles with these creatures.
There
was little time to consider the strength of emotion affecting me because my
enemy had no intention of relenting. A pair of werewolves that could easily
have been roan-colored twins snapped their bared teeth at me, thrusting their
necks forward as if meaning to attack as a team. The corpses at my feet must
have wavered their resolve, however, for the animals withdrew in haste at one swipe
of my sword. Standing firm, I jabbed right, then left, causing every hunkered
werewolf to flinch at the power in my hand—hexed steel meant to clinch their
fate.
I
heard my name called from above and knew without glancing that the Tarishe men
had positioned themselves on upper walks inside the fortress. Arrows and staves
peeked over the timber walls, aimed to defend me. The first spear soared
overhead and struck near the umber wolf. This caused the hairy beast to lift its
snout and shoulders high, relinquishing a submissive pretense and revealing a
considerably massive stature. Though its eyes grew wide with awareness, it paid
little heed to what posed the lesser danger. I understood the werewolves would
view the village men and their flimsy sticks as more annoyance than threat. Only
my silver sword held death in its design for the demons.
A
swarm of arrows arched through the darkness, some hitting their marks and
piercing furred flesh. This attack provoked a rise of voluble growls from the wolves
in stark contrast to the low rumble I had been greeted with. Much of the pack
appeared ready to leap at the timbered walls in an effort to punish those
responsible for the rain of stinging needles. Being an experienced huntress, I
took advantage of this brief shift in attention.
No
war cry heralded my intent, only the trilling vibration of my sword as it fell
on the enemy directly in my path, slicing through three hideous monsters before
others became aware of my swift-and-deadly assault. Yelping carried up to a
rising full moon. A wider circle cleared out all but the dead. Another shower
of arrows assailed the wolves, but new wounds went basically ignored. Their
attention had returned to me. To my sword.
“Come
on, you ugly dogs, come at me!” I swung my arm wide, gesturing for a brave foe
to step up to the challenge. “Come on, you mongrels! See if your fate doesn’t
mirror that of your brothers!”
I had
hoped for a fight, a few daring werewolves to test my strength and die by the
steel in my clutches. I was confident I could take on a gang, especially aided
by the Tarishe bowmen above. What I didn’t expect was the entire pack
responding like a herd of crazed buffalo, every wolf on four legs coming at me
at once. My heart faltered at the noiseless stampede. It started up again,
thrumming in my throat.
Men
in arms called down to me. “Catherine! Catherine, run!” Their arrows zoomed
overhead in an attempt to buy me time. But I ignored the call to flee,
following my own stubborn instincts. I raised my weapon high, tightening my
grip on the hilt. Expecting to be buried by demon mongrels, I prepared to cut
my way out.
“Open
the gates! Open them now! Bring her in!”
I
distinctly recognized the commanding voice that shouted out the last order. It
was Thaddeus. But he was wrong to try and help me in this way. Opening the
gates meant putting everyone in danger! He was inviting death inside!
“Thaddeus,
no! No, don’t!” I cried. My thoughts at that moment were for my grandmother. She
would be with Nehemiah, my innocent babe. “No, no, no! Close the gates! Close
the…”
I
hit the ground hard, disoriented and panicked. Not knowing what else to do, I
clutched my sword with both hands and stabbed at the fur-covered masses,
slicing through a thickening pile of bodies. Moonlight was cut off, blinding me
entirely, but my blade continued to twist and jab within the mounting force
that pinned me down. Warm liquid streamed in ribbons around my arms, coating my
skin with spilt blood. My nose naturally wrinkled, bombarded by the sweet,
metallic scent. In my ears, human cries mixed with beastly yelps, background to
my own desperate grunts and groans. Then, unthinkably, my weapon met an
obstructing force. I tugged, but the sword wouldn’t budge. I shoved on the butt
end, but my efforts failed to drive the blade forward by even a hair. I tried
to raise my neck, desperate to catch a glimpse of who or what had paralyzed my
weapon.
“Aaaaauuuuugghhh!”
A sudden flood of tears pooled in my
eyes, streaking my blood-stained face as moisture spilt over. An anguished cry
had originated from my lungs, yet it took a moment for my brain to comprehend
that it had truly been me crying out in pain.
I
was hurt. My ankle burned as if a branding iron had been applied and left to
seer deep into the flesh.
Something
yanked on my leg, dragging me across the ground a few inches. The throng of
werewolves stepped aside as I was pulled, allowing a full moon to grant me
sight once again; however, my sword remained immovable, grasped on the pommel
end by my fingers, and on the other end…
I lifted
my neck once more to look. Blinking to clear my watery eyes, I focused on a
cold, wet snout set in auburn fur. Jagged rows of teeth dripped saliva onto a
blade of silver held tight within the locked jaw of a bold wolf. I blinked
again, amazed. How in the netherworld had he managed to bite down and trap my
sword?
Angry,
I yanked on the hilt again, determined to rip it from the creature’s mouth. The
wolf growled and returned my tug, twisting its muzzle in hopes of loosening my
grip. I was dragged forward unexpectedly and screamed at the intense pain. My
eyes searched for the source, darting past the mass of auburn fur, past
carcasses lying lifeless at my side, focusing in on the umber werewolf who had
my ankle in his bite. I tried jerking my leg, but the action only served to
intensify my pain.
Feeling
my fingers slip, I clutched tighter at the hilt. My heart thudded fearfully in
my chest. I wasn’t scared of what these demons would do to me but of what might
happen if they gained control of the only weapon Tarishe possessed to destroy
them.
The
auburn werewolf seemed to sense my hold slipping, so he twisted and tugged even
more, trying to rob me of my only defense. At the same time, my body raked
across the soil another few inches. I cried out, realizing there was only one
option left.
Recalling
the nightmare from fourteen years ago and the haggardly witch who had entrusted
me with her enchanted sword, I opened my mouth and uttered the same incantation
that had fallen from her shriveled lips.
“Grim dettarias, ee Duvalla swen anon!”
The
sword—held in a tug of war between me and our most awful enemy—vanished.
At
the same instant, the gates protecting the village were shoved outward. Two
lines of men in fabricated armor blocked the opening, pointing their staves and
blades at the werewolves surrounding me. I crooked my neck to see, scanning a
small army of brave faces for Thaddeus. He was not among them.
“Get
away from her, you fiends! Let her go!” they shouted, waving their useless
weapons.
A
few werewolves turned toward the unlocked gates and crouched, baring
razor-sharp teeth at those who stood in the way.
“No!”
I shouted, somewhat attempting to
roll onto my side. My arms reached above my head, palms held flat toward the
men who would be my heroes. “Go back inside! Shut the gates! Don’t let them…”
My
ankle burned once again, the pain shooting up my spine. I cried out, suffering,
as my body combed across the ground a greater distance than previously. The
pack seemed to separate at that point, a small group encroaching upon the men
of Tarishe. The larger host encircled me. A few wolves opened their muzzles and
took hold of my clothing, my hair, my ankles, and towed me hastily away from
the village and well into the trees. One last glimpse past my head made it
clear there would be no rescuers on my tail. Nothing short of a miracle would
close the gates again this cursed night.
It
was in my core nature to fight, to never allow a title to be painted on my head
like “victim,” “prey,” or worst of all “casualty.” But something abnormal,
something feverish, was challenging me internally, hindering my ability to
concentrate on keeping up a physical struggle. I could feel an influential force,
both in my body and mind, opposing my will and working to overpower by degrees
what I knew to be reality. Though I resisted with tenacity, this elusive enemy
seemed to be winning. I was weakening, unsure of how to battle a mystical
threat.
Fighting
to keep my grasp on what was real, I opened my eyes wide, focusing on one of
many encircling werewolves. The umber wolf widened his eyes as well, moving
hesitantly closer to meet my stare. His were dark, gaping, troubled eyes—hauntingly
familiar. A pain shot through me again, this time emotional agony. I felt a
sickening wave of grief and despair. And regret.
Regret
for what?
I
thought of the blood already spilt on this violent Hallows Eve. The blood of my
enemies. The life force of demons who would ravage Tarishe and destroy my kind
if undeterred. Why would this warranted vengeance, this justifiable act of
self-defense, suddenly pain me? Why the regret weighing heavier and heavier on
my heart?
I
lifted an arm to look at the evidence of my actions. Thickening blood matted my
fur. My fur?
I
gasped and screamed at the same time, blinking my eyes wide, gaping at an arm that
ought to be hairless and smooth. Had I screamed? Opening my mouth, I pushed the
sound from my throat again creating a gravely, raucous, beastly noise that was
anything but human. A chorus of howls swirled about my head in reply, too
closely mimicking the awful screech that had formed in my own throat.
What
was happening to me?
I
scrambled to rise, wanting to run, to return to safety within the house of my
grandmother. But my attempt to flee was prevented by the umber wolf who put his
body over mine, not pinning me to the ground, but protecting me.
Protecting
me? Why? From what? From whom? I was aware my thoughts were accurate, but how? How
did I know this?
My
snout brushed against his hairy chest as I lifted my head to look at the beast.
My face! What hideous black magic had deformed my pretty face?
The
umber wolf looked down at me with a solemn expression, and I comprehended the
unspoken words he meant for me to hear.
(The
hunters who hide within those walls are not your kind. The witch is not your
grandmother.)
I
refused his lies, pushing against him. No! No!
He allowed me to rise to my feet……four black paws. No, that wasn’t right. I
lifted the bloodied arm my eyes had beheld moments ago, all furred and black. Then
the opposite.
It
was silver-gray.
My
eyes shot up, straight at the umber wolf. Internally I trusted him… with my
very life. No, no, that couldn’t be true, he was a werewolf! Sanity
struggled to suppress wild thoughts, fighting emotions that made no sense to me.
I was supposed to hate him—the enemy—but
I didn’t. I knew of his loyalty. And I knew this wolf held answers. My big
eyes, my thrumming heart, my clouded brain, they begged an explanation.
Standing
on all fours, I waited, impatient and expectant. What was happening to me? Who
was I?
I
answered the question myself, determined not to allow these demons to steal my
mind. I was Catherine the huntress. Granddaughter and mother. Protector of
Tarishe. A human! But I
felt no truth to these claims, only deception. So, who was I really?
I
glared demandingly at the umber wolf. (Tell me!)
He
was the first to lower his head, eyes still warily set on me. His broad
shoulders followed until the great animal was crouched in a humble bow. All
other werewolves copied his lead.
I
stood amid them… remembering.
His
name slammed to the forefront of my mind first. Kresh.
My
own was attached to it. Duvalla.
Why
had I recalled this werewolf’s identity before my own? The answer stabbed at my
heart, and at that moment I regretted dispelling my silver sword to oblivion. If
only it had remained with me so I could fall on the blade and die, a fate I
justly deserved. Catherine had been determined to kill Kresh. I had
sworn to kill Kresh—my soul mate. A horror-struck wave of nausea engulfed me,
imagining the evil I had meant to perform.
But
what about the others? My brothers, my sisters… those I had managed to
cut down. Murdered by my own hand! How many were dead, slaughtered before they
stopped me?
(None
of it is your fault.)
Kresh
was assuring me. I could feel tenderness, compassion, forgiveness transferred
in our mental communication. But I also sensed sorrow at the loss of our own—werewolves
who had given their lives to secure me and bring me back to the pack.
I
grasped my true identity clearly at that point. I was Duvalla, Queen of
Werefolk.
My
tail hit the ground and I slouched heavily over mismatched paws. Kresh’s
loyalty, his sympathy, his love… I was undeserving of it all. The entire pack
would be justified to turn on me, to destroy me now as I had destroyed their
friends. My friends. The mental image made me whimper, envisioning those
for certain I had killed. The tremendous pain Kresh had caused me biting down
on my ankle, dragging my sorry body across abrasive terrain, had been more than
deserved.
(I
meant no harm to you, Duvalla, but there was little time. And human bodies are
weak.)
Humans.
When lugged into the forest I had been human. Just moments ago, these wolves
had fought me. Me, Catherine the huntress.
Now me,
Duvalla the werewolf.
Had
a bite transformed my identity?
(No.
You are Duvalla. Our queen. My love. You are not the monster, Catherine. Do you
not remember so many years ago when that witch cast her spell?)
Hazy
visions struggled to form in my head. The nightmare from years past came to me
but not as a dream, as actual events—a living nightmare I had survived.
(Your
mind and your will were stolen from you, except for on this one day a year when
the curse lifts and you return to us in your true form.)
On
this one day, All Hallows Eve… the curse lifts? Why would the werewolves fight
me as Catherine if my destiny alters my form on this day? Why not wait for the transformation?
Then I would recognize my family and join the pack willingly, never lifting a
paw to harm them.
(But the humans, if they were to witness the change,
they would know your true identity. Then, in either form, men would target you
for death. You must see that it’s imperative we steal you away beforehand—a difficult
challenge faced each year.)
He
was right about the humans. But how wrong for me to slay members of my pack
whose only aim was to protect me. The depth of anguish afflicting my soul was
near unbearable.
Kresh
approached my wilted form, no longer cautious of my mental state. I felt his
head rest against mine, pressing affectionately, nuzzling me with his muzzle. I
returned the gesture, overwhelmed by an indescribable swell of love that had
not touched my heart in so terribly long. He was the sweetest nectar—my deepest
desire.
(A
year, my love, since we’ve been together.)
Far
too long. Painfully too long apart!
(And
it will be another year…)
I
could feel the hollowness of his despair, how it chilled me. No. No, no, no, this
nightmare couldn’t be allowed to continue! Alarm erased all other sensations as
I understood what sunrise meant for me—transformed once again into the hateful
murderer, Catherine! Once again forgetting my family and losing my soul mate! I
would revert to loathing this beautiful umber werewolf as deeply as I presently
desired him. My glistening eyes lifted to fret at a rising red moon. Time was
short. Fleeting.
How
to stop this from happening?
Kresh
brushed his face against mine as he pulled back enough to look at me. His long
face, the despondency embedded in his features, it nearly shattered my heart.
(There
is only one way to break the curse.)
(Then
we must do it!) I feared nothing but losing him.
His
sadness deepened and my heart ached with empathy. (Every year we try, Duvalla. Every
year we fail.)
I
knew the time since my nightmare. Fourteen years. So many attempts at failure.
Nudging
Kresh beneath his chin, he lifted slightly. My dark eyes narrowed staring at
him, demanding that he look at me, insisting he believe me as I swore in my
heart we would not fail this year.
His
eyes narrowed in response, but he couldn’t shake the shadow of doubt.
(I
love you, Duvalla. No matter what happens.)
(And
I love you, Kresh.)
I
could stand the torment no longer. The choice was both impossible and
unbearable, being torn between devoting these short midnight hours to my one
true love, or with a vengeance reclaiming my destiny and taking my life back
from that haggardly witch. How dare that venomous serpent poison my memories
and make me love her—make me endearingly call her grandmother! A snarl curled
my upper lip envisioning the frail old woman. How easy it would be to tear her
scrawny muscles to shreds, to snap her brittle bones in two. Once within the
walls of Tarishe, I would sniff out the hag and put an end to this curse
forevermore!
My
snarl turned into a savage growl consistent with the bile in my throat. I
jerked my neck upright, stretching as high as my form could reach toward the
full moon. A powerful howl tore into the night, beckoning all werewolves to
rise to the call of defending their queen once again. We would seek our revenge
on the wicked witch of Tarishe! And anyone who stood in our path would suffer
death as well.
Kresh
ran beside me as I led our pack from tree cover into the open. It was all I
could do not to look at the mangled bodies on the ground before me. I had
executed this atrocious deed in my human form. The onslaught of remorse
hardened my heart even further, warping the emotion into hatred toward the evil
being who had caused me to raise a sword against my own family. That witch had
made me do this, and she would pay dearly—with her life!
We discovered
the gates left wide open. I smirked, thinking of the humans who had foolishly
compromised their stronghold and thus their safety. My brothers were here
somewhere, those werewolves who had stayed behind to protect me from pursuit. Perhaps
they had already cornered the old woman we now sought. I knew better than to
trust this to be the case, however. She was a witch—a skilled and cunning
sorceress. I conveyed to the pack to be cautious.
Though
I yearned to race inside the fortress and be the first to tear straight to the mud-patched
hut I knew to be my enemy’s residence, I conceded to Kresh’s desire for me to
stay behind and allow our best warriors to rush the village first. Agitated, I
stepped from paw to paw, silver to black, anxious for a signaling howl
announcing it safe to enter. Kresh moved closer to me, touching my side. His
warmth tempered my agitation.
We
exchanged an anxious look. The despair still lingering about him pained me. I
resolved to erase it, somehow.
The
signal came and I moved at once, eager to get inside the humans’ fortress. Kresh
and the others were a half-second behind, not near as quick to react as I.
Within
the gates everything fell darker under the shadow of high, surrounding walls. Little
huts built from timber and twigs stood in clusters that extended to each end of
the village. The roofs were fragile, like the humans who occupied them,
consisting of broad, piled ferns. The random arrangement of buildings
obstructed a far-off view, but the sound of violent scuffles reached our ears
easily—short, dying cries from one direction and then another. The shrinking
moon proved hardly enough light for the humans to see by, so they had started glowing
fires; however, the firelight had nearly reduced to embers, having been neglected
additional fuel. The smell of fresh blood was potent enough to compete with the
scent of burning wood.
I
tore through the center of the village, fixed on my destination. Getting to
that wrinkled, old hag was my only priority. I would allow nothing—no one—to
stand in my way. Saliva coated my mouth as I anticipated sinking my teeth into
her throat, puncturing the flesh and biting down. I would cause her to choke on
her own fetid blood. Her death would avenge the lost lives of my brothers and
sisters as well as serve the purpose of restoring my life.
I
sensed Kresh as he caught up to me. When his larger form nudged against my own,
I complied, steering clear of firelight and into the shadows.
(You
are the most hunted of all, Duvalla. Men recognize your paw. We can’t let them
see you.)
As
if his words had been prophetic, a group of five men appeared from behind a
shelter, stepping directly in our path. These ruthless humans had resorted to
makeshift weapons—a pitchfork, hatchet, shovel, and torch—besides their blades.
My instinct was to crouch and lunge at the torch bearer first, he being the
closest, the one to illuminate their way. Kresh pressed my shoulder against a
wall, preventing me from acting on my plan. I was hidden by him while our
werewolf brothers sped past and ambushed the men, silencing them.
(The
witch will be expecting you to come for her, Duvalla. You cannot be seen, or
word will get to her that you’re here.)
I
nodded my snout, understanding.
Kresh
moved, letting me step away from the wall. Even lacking adequate moonlight, I
could read in his eyes the thoughts he dared not share. He wanted me to turn
back, to escape into the forest with him. He yearned for this night to be ours,
safe and warm and shared as lovers. He longed for a precious few hours
unspoiled by a curse lasting years in his memory, a single day for me. As much
as my heart swelled with love and honest sympathy for him, the hatred simmering
in my soul toward that wicked witch was the stronger driving force. Her death
meant freedom. Her demise meant endless years for Kresh and me to be together. Her
destruction would quiet the howling blood of slain werewolves.
(I must
end this, Kresh.)
(I
know.)
I
resolved, for him, to be careful.
As
secretly as a ghost roams within the boundaries of its cemetery, I made my way
between one dark avenue and the next. Kresh kept right with me. All human
obstacles were swiftly dealt with by the loyal werewolves in our company. Eventually,
we reached the small hut I knew by recollection of Catherine’s memory to be her
grandmother’s home. My ignorant and savage human form shared the witch’s house.
I
determined to go in and seek my revenge alone.
(Duvalla,
there is something you should know.)
My
pulse quickened, concerned by the rising anxieties I sensed in Kresh.
(The
child, Nehemia…)
I
waited, feeling a motherly stir for the human child.
(He
is ours.)
How
could that be? The babe was Catherine’s. Mine, yes, sadly, but…a werewolf
father?
(Not
every Hallows Eve have you chosen to confront the witch first.)
I
understood and felt a pang of guilt for denying him my love this time. A low,
steady growl vibrated in my throat. I would destroy the sorceress hag, and then
Kresh and I would be together. Forever.
(One
day Nehemiah will take on our form and join us. I fear the witch knows this to
be true.)
My
anger boiled more violently against the old woman. (I swear I will kill that
devil witch this very night!)
(Take
our strongest warriors with you. I will protect our son.)
I
agreed and skirted the hut to the front door with five werewolves close at my
back. Kresh went for an open window where he could easily slip in. I was
certain he would find Nehemia asleep, lying in a small wooden crib lined with
linen cloth. As Catherine, a new mother, I had carved the bed out of a solid
piece of lumber.
The
front door stood ajar—either an open invitation or a mark of disaster already
fallen upon this house. I sniffed at the air, unable to detect the stench of
death within. Hoping to preserve even a slight element of surprise, I slinked
on soft paws, stealing over the threshold without a sound. My brothers slipped
in behind me, spreading out inside a drafty front room. Candlelight flickered
on a mantle that shaded an empty hearth. Another single flame burned on a
tabletop. Though eerie shadows danced across every wall, my keen eyesight
zeroed in on the old woman sitting vulnerably alone on a rickety stool, central
to the room. Nehemia was nowhere to be seen.
“Every
year it takes you longer to confront me. What kept you this time, Queen of
Dogs? Has your worthless mate grown tired of this futile quest? Do your blinded
followers finally understand that you
alone are the fated death of them all? How many of their bodies
did you coldheartedly carve up this year……Catherine?”
A
mutual hiss rose from my brothers, reacting to the old woman’s words. I opened
my mouth as if I would refute her harsh statements, but only a rough and
grating bark sounded from me. I was unable to speak as a human in this form. My
enemy held the upper hand in that respect, and she seemed determined to take
advantage of it. Her voice was deceptively frail and shaky, unlike the crushing
jabs she verbalized.
“Or could
it be that your mutt lover is dead? Is that why he’s not here cowering at your
rear? Did you stick a blade to the mongrel’s heart?” The witch cackled lowly, a
noise that raised the hackles along my spine. “If so, his demise was deserved and
inevitable.”
Two
glossy, grey eyes continued to stare at me from center stage, glued on my
werewolf features. The words that fell from my enemy’s mouth, however, shifted
course, aimed at those in my company.
“Your
queen wields a blade of silver against you. She puts an end to your lives—one
by one by one—and yet irrationally you continue to follow her. Fools! Idiots! She
is not a wise and caring leader but the death of you all! Every year, more and
more will die. Next year…and the year after…and the year after. There is only one
hope for the prosperity of your pack, and that is her certain end. Take her
life now while you can! Support a new queen in her stead, one who values your
lives more than her own—a decent soul not bent on hunting down you worthless
dogs!”
The
steady growls about me rose in volume, transitioning into vicious snarls and
gnashing teeth. I crouched to pounce, having heard more than enough from this
silver-tongued devil. She had flapped her lips to a greater degree than I could
ever recall; it reminded me of another human whom I intensely despised.
Springing
myself forward, I widened my jaw, ready to sink my teeth into the witch’s
throat. She rose abruptly to meet me, swifter than her feeble frame seemed
capable. An uttered incantation crossed her lips. Words I recognized.
“Grim
dettarias, ee Esme swen areir!”
My
pallid paw slammed against the flat face of a silver sword that materialized
from out of nowhere, held secure in a bony fist that by all observations looked
too weak to support the weapon. Somehow, by implausible physical force or
mystic power, my body was shoved to the ground and stayed.
I
snarled, angry at my initial failure to trap some part of the wretch within my
bite. While preparing to thrust my jaw forward and snap, hoping to rip off an
arm or tear into the flesh of a leg, I felt my muscles lock. An unnatural
paralysis claimed my entire being and held me to the ground against my will. A
crying yelp tore from my throat at the onset of horrific pain, consuming my
front paw and climbing partway up my leg. My silver sword—Catherine’s silver
sword conjured up by the witch—pressed against my front paw. The blade did not
draw blood, but the pain caused by a simple touch felt as if the tip were
carving out slivers of bone.
Tortured
in this manner, I was held fast by magic powers. Meanwhile, the old woman
turned her attention to my brother werewolves.
“I
will keep your Queen of Dogs for another year because of this madness among you
to allow her continued life. The punishment will be for you to watch more of
your kin die at her hand.” The witch spit, proclaiming, “You pathetic mongrels
deserve your fate.”
I
made a sound, a whimpered groan. It would have been a cry of agony had I not
the power to stifle it somewhat. The pain in my leg made me want to gnaw it
off… if I’d had the ability to move.
My
brothers kept silent as the witch went on. “I can be generous, however. Sympathetic
to your plight even. Seeing that none of you possess the capacity for mutiny,
allow me to kill her for you. Let her blood spill freely this very Hallows Eve
and the curse she maintains over your pack will lift. If this is your desire,
then stay. Stay, dogs, and witness your queen’s death by the same sword she
uses to slaughter so many of your loved ones. But… if you wish for me to spare
her life for another year…… leave this village now!”
I
heard Kresh in my mind, his tone despairing. (Next year I will convince you not
to fight. We will avoid the village next Hallows Eve.)
(No!) I screamed in my mind, whether due
to desperation or pain, I couldn’t tell. (No, Kresh, let her kill me! Make the
pack stay! Save them!)
His
grief was immense as he refused me. (I can’t, Duvalla. They cannot either. We
have sworn to defend your life. We will never stop searching for a way to
destroy the witch and bring you back to us.)
I
was in tears. (But I might harm you unknowingly!)
(It
would not be your fault.)
I
went to argue with him. (No, Kresh, you must…) But he spoke over me.
(Nehemia
is in my care. Rest easy, he is safe. He will grow up with his sister, Natasha.)
I
repeated the name, hit hard by woeful recognition. (Natasha.) My baby girl. My
human daughter. I had lost her six years ago. Could it truly be that she lived
as a werewolf?
(Yes,
Duvalla. Every year I tell you, and every year you forget.)
I
knew why. Because of the witch’s lies.
(I
promise to return and fight for you, Duvalla. I love you.)
The
old hag began to speak to me again, and I realized the room had cleared. The
werewolves’ retreat had been silent.
“Fourteen
years of needless, innocent bloodshed, dog. For fourteen years our men have
rebuilt their homes, only to be overrun by murderous werewolves on one hellish,
annual night! And it is you, dog, who maintains that cycle. You convince
the humans to stay. You convince the werewolves to fight. And then you
slaughter both sides, either by your sword or by your orders. You are the
true demon! No one knows it as I do. I understand, oh yes. I see. I’ve
witnessed who you really are.”
I
agreed with her on one point: that saving my pathetic life was a mistake. I
yearned for the power to move so I might fall on her enchanted sword and slay
myself. One swift act to save my family—my kind.
The
haggardly witch took a step forward, putting her decrepit figure directly
before me. Her grey eyes bulged wide, reflecting a flicker of candlelight. The
image seemed in line with the measure of hatred driving her. I couldn’t help
but yelp when she twisted the blade against my paw, shooting needles of pain
through me.
“Do
you remember fourteen years ago when your actions brought this curse on us all?
The village was young. Barely developed. We lived peacefully, in harmony with
the land. My sons led the people, directing their affairs, feeding them by
utilizing our forest resources. We were a happy, prosperous, self-sufficient
people. Until you came along!”
The
memory was deeply buried, but as her story unfolded, images arose as if from
the dead. A resurrected past haunted me.
“You
ordered the werewolves to descend upon us. You and your mindless, mongrel
followers slaughtered our young men! In cold blood you killed my eldest
son!”
I
remembered. It was I who had taken the man down myself. The vision replayed
clearly in my head. But did she understand that he and his fellow huntsmen had
done the same to our pack weeks before? The humans had attacked us under cover
of darkness. It was her son who had slayed my family first! I groaned, wanting
to communicate my defense, but possessed no way to do so.
The
old woman’s stature seemed to shrink—her shoulders wilting like a tired willow
tree. Her eyes glossed over, appearing both grief-stricken and drowsy. “I
cannot bring Lucian back. You cannot bring him back, though I take all
that you have… all that you treasure.”
For
a moment she seemed as paralyzed as I, lost in conflicted thought. But when her
eyes revived, they flashed the same vengeful hatred.
“You
deserve the curse that is now your life. I demand it in exchange for my son! Lucian’s brother,
Thaddeus… he is a lasting reminder of the joy I once had. But Thaddeus can only
comfort me to a degree. I’m lacking. Empty. Wanting. You… you murderous,
vile, fiendish mongrel, you did this to me! You stole my precious child!
I demand retribution!”
When
I cried aloud, holding nothing back for the pain, a chorus of grave howls
filled the night, crying with me. For how long, I could not say.
Sunlight
rested on my eyelids and urged me awake. The warmth stirred me, and I turned my
face away from a thin sliver of sunbeam before greeting the morning. My head
hurt. The oppressing gloom of ambiguous nightmares rested heavily on my
subconscious. I was aware it had been a difficult night. Stretching my arms in
front of me, the sight of blood caked on my slender fingers jarred my heart. I
searched frantically through the cobwebs for an explanation. A full, scarlet
moon illuminated my memory, and I pictured it hovering behind a pack of vicious,
snarling werewolves—their massive umber leader in particular. I loathed that
hellion creature.
Apparently,
I had survived Hallows Eve. But had the wolf?
I
turned in bed, eager to rise and assess what level of devastation the
werewolves had wrought on our village. All I could hope was that I had managed
to protect our gates and strike enough of the animals down to send them running
with their tails tucked between their legs. Lifting up, I noticed my
grandmother, her hunched form standing at my bedside. The first emotion to hit
me was relief at finding her alive and well. But my focus didn’t rest on her
glistening eyes, dropping instead to a bundle resting in bed with me, tightly
wrapped in linen. Mummified in blood-stained linen.
My
heart stuttered, and I prayed it would fail.
“Catherine,
dear, are you alright?”
I
tried to swallow, but my throat had closed, making it impossible to utter a
word. Her bony fingers reached from beneath long sleeves to take the bundle
resting on the edge of my bed.
“No!”
I managed to choke out.
Grandmother’s
fingers recoiled.
I
reached with my own trembling hand, hesitant to touch, but forcing myself to
discover the truth. When my palm rested on the heap, it sensed no warmth. I
could feel the shape, the form of a babe inside. No movement. No pulse. My eyes
flooded with tears, and I collapsed on the bed, breaking into fierce sobs. How
could this be? Not again! Not another child claimed by the wolves!
My
grandmother hardly disturbed the mattress when she sat beside me. Her hand patted
my back, offering comfort that failed to ease my pain.
“Catherine,
dear. I would not have left him on your bed, but you wouldn’t let us take the
child. You threatened anyone who tried.”
My
grief intensified understanding I had forgotten in my sleep the dreadful truth
torturing me now for a second time. How long had I held my dead child in the
night? How many tears had I already wept over my lost Nehemiah?
A
door squeaked briefly, falling shut with a thud. “Is she going to be alright?” I
recognized Thaddeus asking the question and curled up into a tighter ball, not
wishing for him to see me this way. The coward. The pigeon! He should have been
out there…
“Not
for some time,” my grandmother answered. “The loss of a child brings unbearable
pain. And it must be more so when endured a second time.”
Those
words ringed accurate. Grandmother’s weightless touch fell on the back of my
hair and brushed lightly.
“Catherine,
you should know it was Thaddeus who recovered the babe. Those dogs meant to
feed on the boy, isn’t that right, Thaddeus? But he chased them off and saved
little Nehemiah’s body.”
Thaddeus
cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m sure Catherine doesn’t want to hear about
it.”
In
truth, I did wish to hear it. I rolled over, despite how awful my red, swollen
features must have appeared. I blinked to clear my vision and stared up at our
village leader.
“You
confronted the wolves?”
Thaddeus
nodded wordlessly. I was stunned, both by his bravery and humility.
Disbelieving,
I asked again, “You risked your life for my dead child?”
The
man swallowed hard, clearly stung by the insult inherent in my wording.
“I
was thinking of you, Catherine. I reacted solely for your sake.” Thaddeus looked
at his hands while sighing a dismal sound. “If only I’d had your sword at the
time. Then I might have killed their queen and ended this Tarishe curse. It was
that silver-pawed, black-hearted she-wolf who did this. She stole and killed your
child, helped by her mate—that oversized, dirty mongrel who runs with her.”
My jaw locked as I studied Thaddeus. He seemed
sincere. Sorry for me. Tears streamed down my face and splashed on the
mattress. My grandmother went to pick up the lifeless mummy who was my boy. She
hesitated, but I nodded it was okay for her to take him. Thaddeus approached
without a word and received the bundle. He left quietly.
“The
deceased will be buried together, dear. There are so many this time. I’m sure
you’ll want to be there.”
I
fell on my pillow and hid my face. No, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to witness
any more death. I didn’t want to hear the wailing and bemoaning of those who had
lost loved ones. What I wanted was my son alive and wrapped up safely in my
arms again. What I wanted was an end to the werewolves’ brutality. What I
wanted was revenge! Retribution for my insufferable losses!
I
made a heart-sworn oath at that very moment, vowing on my son’s grave to hunt
down the black queen of the devil and strike her dead with my silver sword. And
I would do the same to her companion, that foul umber wolf.
“Grandma,
it hurts,” I cried, lifting my eyes to seek compassion in her gaze. “I want
that wolf to pay for what she’s done!”
Her
cold hand rested on my cheek and wiped at a spill of tears. “Oh, the wretched
creature shall pay, Catherine.” A fiery glimmer flashed in her stare, and I
knew my pain was understood. “She shall pay dearly.”
