When Vero regained her senses, she was soaked to the bone and the sky was nearly pink. A frantic search for her master’s sword revealed it in the mud a few feet further down the stream. Her head throbbed and she felt nauseous, but she supposed that she ought to be thankful she had not washed up in a position to drown.

There was no sign of the wolf thing, so Vero climbed back up to where the fight had occurred. She retrieved the two silver bolts the monster had removed before her interruption. The shafts were fragmented, but Vero wrenched off the bolt heads and took them with her. There was no trace of the third bolt, and she hoped it was still in her prey. It was too expensive to replace.

Remembering her master, Vero began to rush back to the cave as quick as she could manage. By that time, the sun had crested the horizon. She found the cave exactly as she had left it and went inside to the back room.

She found it much as she had feared. A recumbent form on the ground, slashed to ribbons, with a dagger still embedded in it. She believed it might have been her master, but kicking it over revealed it to be the Phillipe- long dead.

A cough emanated from a dark corner.

Her enhanced perception had fled, and only small fissures of light illuminated the cave through cracks in the ceiling. Vero’s eyes adjusted and she found her master sitting against the cave wall in a pool of coagulating blood. There were marks on the ground in crude sigils where he had tried to perform a working to heal himself with all the spilt blood. From the Slayer’s position, it had not been successful.

Vero knelt down next to him.

“Did you kill it?” he managed to rasp, through another coughing fit.

Vero shook her head.

“Godsdamnit girl. You have a contract and you will uphold it, understood?”

Vero nodded an affirmative.

“Now you know who it is. If you let him transform again- You won’t stand a chance alone… Don’t let night fall.”

Vero nodded again to demonstrate her understanding.

As her master was wracked by another coughing fit, she fished out the silver bolt heads and pressed them into his hand. “I recovered these for you, master. I don’t know where the third is, but I think that it may be-”

Her master cut Vero off by weakly throwing the bolt heads back against her chest. “What are you giving me these for, damn fool girl? Fix them to new shafts once you find a town with a descent fletcher.” He reached down to his belt and pulled off his coin purse and also threw that against her as well, though it was so light she hardly felt it. “You’re entitled to what little’s left. You’ll want my chainmail as well– damn thing cut straight through the belly– but you’re shorter than me… and it’s better than nothing.”

She felt her mind chugging towards an unseen destination. From some faraway place it occurred to Vero that her thoughts resembled a horse wading through mud up to its hindquarters.

“Master?”

Her master continued as though he had taken no notice of her vocalization. “You’ll not have it until I’m all the way gone though; gods damn you. I’ll not have you pawing me to scavenge my things while I’m still drawing breath.”

“Master, are you going to be well?”

Her master tried to box her on the ear, but it bore more resemblance to a limp wristed slap- and at any rate it missed her widely. Vero felt moisture on her face.

“I’m dying, stupid girl. Gods help me that my apprentice is such an imbecile, but I suppose it can’t be helped now. I didn’t think it’d be some baldhead and his catamite that’d finally do it, but there it is.”

“You can’t die master.”

“I assure you I can- and that I am.” He held her gaze for a moment and then his features softened. “People die every day, my little Vero. Today I’m among them. You’ll be fine, there wasn’t that much more I could teach you. Everything else you need to know you’ll pick up with experience, I’m sure.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

A few drops of some liquid landed on her master. Vero tried to speak, but could not think of anything to say. She wanted to say that she would think fondly of him, but she knew that would be a lie, and it seemed an impious thing to lie to a dying man. It was simply that she could not comprehend what her life would be like without him.

“No crying now, Vero. I’d like to send myself off by giving you a right good ploughing, but I’m afraid my body hasn’t got enough blood left to manage it.”

“Yes, master.”

“There are no White Sisters about so you’ll just have to burn the body. Don’t worry; once my soul is free… I’ll make it to the Lady of Bones mausoleum on my own. I’ve dealt with restless shades often enough… that I don’t intend on becoming one myself… You listening to everything I said…?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good.”

Her master reached out a hand for her, though it was evident his vision had already gone so dark that he could no longer see her. She took his hand and guided it to her chest. He cupped her breast for a moment and a bitter smile crossed his face, before he turned solemn and spread his hand out flat over her heart.

“Your apprenticeship is over. In the sight of no man, but before all the gods and daemons that care to listen, I name you a slayer and inheritor to all that entails.” One last time the sour smile returned to his lips. “Good luck, Veronique. I’m sure you’ll need it.”

And he died.

It was fully morning before Vero had sorted through all her master’s things to determine what was valuable enough to keep, what was too heavy to carry alone but valuable enough to try to sell, and what was useless enough to burn with her master.

She looked through the barrels and chests in the smuggler’s den. She found wheat, hidden to avoid tax collectors and priestesses. Beer as well, which she supposed was the final product. Such a petty scheme to have claimed so many lives.

One more is still to come. The one you shall kill.

It was midday by the time she had dragged the body to the clearing and gathered enough wood for the pyre. She watched the body burn and burn, and felt as though something inside of her was being scorched as well. When it was done only ashes remained and she left.

It was approaching evening when she finally arrived back at the village. The villagers eyed her with suspicion, but she ignored them as she walked directly towards the elder’s house. The old woman, the now-deceased Phillipe’s sister, opened the door. Vero immediately pushed past her and forced her way inside.

There were gasps and murmurs from the girls, but they stayed as far away from the intruder as they could manage. The entire room stank horribly of gangrene. A figure on a pallet weakly made a move, attempting to rise. Vero already knew its identity.

The old woman attempted to interpose herself between them. “Please, you don’t understand.”

“Get out!” The old woman shrank back from Vero’s roar. “Leave with the others. And don’t come back into this house until I walk out- or I swear I’ll kill you too!”

The old woman looked helplessly, first at Vero, then at her son who had finally managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Michel- the loup garou nodded, and the woman ushered herself and the other girls present outside.

The figure was covered in bandages, though they were soaked through with blood and puss. The wounds they covered would not mend until he transformed that night. One of his arms was severed completely. Vero did not suppose that would heal no matter how many moonrises came or went.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Vero slowed, but did not stop walking towards him. She drew her sword. “Yes I am.”

He began to quiver and tried to rise further, but his body betrayed him and he collapsed back onto the pallet. “Please, it’s only one more night, you could take me out of the village and chain me away from people.”

“I could, and then next month the cycle repeats. Lunar curses are very regular, and unavoidable, I assure you… And I have no silver chains with which to bind you.”

“He told me- He told me I had to… To do what I did. He said I would be shamed if everyone knew.”

“I- understand. I’m sorry.”

Vero did not want to hear anymore. It no longer mattered who had proposed the deed and who had done it. The priestess was dead. The uncle was dead. Her master was dead.

They’re all dead, except you.

And Vero had a contract to fulfill.

The human had already died the moment he killed the priestess. Now the monster held his remaining arm up defensively. It closed its eyes so it would not have to see the sword’s sweep. Vero wished she could do the same.

“Please, I’m scared to die.”

“People die every day.”

A single movement separated the loup garou’s head from its shoulders. Then she closed her eyes.

Vero retrieved her last silver bolt from the table where the monster’s family had placed it after they had removed it. She collected her reward, and despite the wailing of the bereaved mother, no one dared to refuse her demands. She sold all her master’s gear which she could not carry with her at whatever price she was offered, taking no effort to haggle. She advised the villagers to burn the corpse for their own safety, but could not have cared less whether they took her words to heart or not.

Dusk had arrived, but it was bright under the last night of the full moon. With her business concluded, Vero left towards the north, because that was the direction she faced.

She never returned to that village ever again.