019 – Wolf

***

“I can’t go on. I’m tired and my crotch hurts. Can we please stop now?”

“Quit complaining, disciple.”

Riding horse-monsters was awful. The constant up and down motion made me queasy, and the leather saddle gave me sores. The poor horses couldn’t have enjoyed the indignity of carrying humans on their backs either.

Malisent had acquired us two horses. I didn’t ask how. After fleeing from the Rat Race, we found Slezeanor’s horse in the stables, a white stallion with a gaudy saddle and tack. We took it with us as an extra mount, in case one of ours became winded. It rode along beside us without a rider.

We traveled through the night. The violet moonlight created a weird dreamlike atmosphere as we passed by shadowy villages. The towns in Sandgrave all had stout walls and towers. Even small homesteads had defensive walls of field stone or mud brick.

“Sandgrave used to be a wilderness like every other part of the continent,” Malisent said. “Places like Blandwick were independent outposts on the coast. Settlers pushed inland until they cleared the whole peninsula of monsters. All their old forts are still standing. Now the people live in a safe and unified country—well, mostly.”

We rode past many fields of crops and pastures for domestic animals. Because the people had no mechanization, agriculture required massive amounts of labor. Almost the entire population worked on widely spaced farms. They used animal-drawn carts to transport their produce to the nearest towns. Sea and river ports extended the network, but without refrigeration, food could only go so far. Their agriculture focused on growing grain; it was easy to store and transport, imperishable, and high in calories. They raised herds of mutated bison, because the animals transported themselves and did not need storage until slaughtered.

“We’ve left the Deadhill Barony. There’s less chance of the knights following us past the shrine.”

We rode past a small pagoda on the side of the road. It contained a statue of two men sitting back to back and melding together into one. The two faces greeted travelers coming from both directions, north and south. The shrine marked an administrative border between two regions. The decentralized nature of the country must have made organization incredibly difficult, especially with no radios or telephones. Everything had to be done through messengers or written letters.

Horses had beaten the highway flat and rolling wagons cut grooves into the ground. Only a few rough places added pavement or gravel, and small stone bridges crossed over streams. Recent rains made the road treacherous for the horses. Mud caked their hoofs and shins.

“Our poor monsters want to rest too,” I said.

“They aren’t monsters.”

“How can you tell?”

“If it comes from the islands, it’s an animal. If it comes from the continent, it’s probably a monster.”

“What if you import a monster to an island? Does it switch categories?”

“That’s highly forbidden. The civilized nations are mankind’s sanctuary from the corrupt and evil things that rule the continent. Taking monsters or daemons to those pure lands is anathema, an unthinkable crime. That’s why they don’t like witches there,” Malisent said. Her snake, Orma, coiled around her left arm.

The western volcanic islands were so far from the continent that no land animals could reach them. For millions of years, the only native inhabitants were bugs and birds. Since they lived in isolation, the birds diversified into thousands of colorful species. Then humans visiting those islands carelessly brought rats on their ships and let them escape into the wild. The rats attacked the ground dwelling birds and destroyed eggs in the nests. Within a century, the invasive species wiped out three quarters of the native wildlife. That was in my era.

The modern residents of those islands, human beings, probably didn’t want the same thing happening to them. Keeping out monsters could save them from extinction.

The sun came up and still we rode. Malisent planned to ride night and day until we reached the Doveblood docks. She would go until the horses collapsed and then get fresh ones.

“There’s something wrong here,” she said. “The crops are ready to harvest, but no one is working in the fields. None of the cattle are grazing the pastures. We haven’t passed anyone on the road for hours.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Usually, it would mean a war. All the farmers lock themselves inside or flee the area. But there are no signs of troops, or any destruction either. Maybe something came over the mountains.”

The Sandgrave Peninsula had a sharp mountain range dividing it from the rest of the continent. The Hoary Peaks formed a natural barrier that allowed humans to keep control of these lands. But the mountains didn’t defend Sandgrave perfectly; sometimes dark things got through.

At dusk we came to a river. A pair of square towers sat on either bank with a wooden bridge connecting them. The north half of the bridge was painted red and the south half black. The highway lead up to the tower’s heavy portcullis, which currently blocked all further progress.

“Watchman!” Malisent called up the tower. “Come open the gate.”

A man with a metal cap appeared in a barred window at the third story. He looked down at us.

“Who goes there?” he shouted.

“A pair of travelers headed for Dovestone. But we aren’t going, we’re stopping due to this closed gate.”

“This gate is closed by the count’s orders. The district’s locked up tight. The roads aren’t safe for travelers.”

“If the roads aren’t safe, you should allow us to quit them. Open the gate for us.”

“We can’t let anyone in or out of the county. And even if I was inclined to let you onto this bridge, the watchmen in the other tower wouldn’t let you off it. He’s got his orders too.”

“What’s happened to cause so much fear?” Malisent asked.

“There’s a madman on the loose. A pig butcher by the name of Fat Wellez. He’s slaughtered his family like hogs and eaten them up.”

Malisent said, “Well I am clearly not a man, and neither is my companion…”

“Hey!”

“…so we can’t be the criminal you speak of. Let us through the gate to escape this peril.”

“Aye. You aren’t Fat Wellez. But you might share his madness. There’s no way to know just by the look of you. We can’t let anyone on the bridge until the hunters catch the man and the hunger.”

“Damn it,” Malisent said. “Who is hunting for the criminal?”

“The count’s knights are ranging the district, seven horsemen armed with steel and fire. They hunt for Fat Wellez before he grows fatter on human flesh. Not an hour ago they passed this way, riding east to Stillbend Ferry.”

Malisent turned to me. “Come on, disciple. We’ll have to take a detour.”

We exited the highway and took a narrow lane between the ripe fields and the river. This river was much shallower and narrower than the Spitpoison. The water flowed among half submerged boulders in a roiling rapids. The horses couldn’t ford such a stream.

A few kilometers from the bridge the water slowed in a wide river bend. On the shore of this placid water, sat a walled estate. Before the bridge had been built, this had been home to a ferry service that would load travelers up on large rafts to row them across the bend. Now it was out of commission, but it still had a small dock projecting into the water. The estate looked abandoned. No light or sound came from inside.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Our horses clomped their hooves on the road. The long ride had exhausted them. They needed water and rest.

“Hark. Who goes there? Name yourself.” A man rode out of the gate on a horse of his own. I had thought our horses to be large, but his was gigantic. It needed to be to carry its heavy rider. The man wore plate armor and carried a long spear.

“Greetings, sir knight. I’m Malisent, and this is my insignificant man-servant…”

“Hey!”

“…We are two travelers halted by the closed highway and bridge.”

“You’ve picked a bad time to pass through Turnfield County. A madman is loose in the district. He’s killed eight on his rampage already. We suspect him to be deamonical. You should find shelter until the exorcist arrives from Dovestone. One of the local farmers might take you in. At a time like this, people fear their neighbors more than travelers from afar.”

“How long will it take for your exorcist to arrive?”

“We sent a messenger four days ago, but he has yet to return. They may come soon or not for several more days.” The man flipped up his visor and gave us a leery look. We were still in ragged clothing from our camping trip and fights. But one item attracted his notice more than any other: Slezeanor’s sword. “Are you a swordsman?”

“Yes,” Malisent replied. “I’m a foreign mercenary come to the south in search of work.”

“Ah! Mistress swordsman. I beg of your service. My brothers-in-arms and I are the knights of Turnfield County charged with hunting down the criminal. We can slay the man, but can not banish dark magics. We desperately await an exorcist.”

“As I said, I’m a mercenary. I work for gold and silver. But today, I am on a long trip. I may help you, should you be willing to trade fresh horses for my tired mounts.”

“If you break this vile curse on the land, we will give you your pick of the count’s stables.”

Malisent smiled. “Agreed.”

“Please come inside, Mistress Malisent. The madman had been here not long ago, and his gruesome handiwork remains inside this estate.”

When we rode closer, our horses began pulling against the reins. They shied away from gate.

“The horses must not like the smell of blood. Servant, take our steeds to the riverside and water them.” Malisent dismounted and handed me the reins to her horse. She entered Stillbend Ferry on foot.

I had seen enough blood and guts to last me a lifetime. Skipping a gory crime scene suited me fine. I lead the giant beasts around the outer walls and down to the shoreline. In the past, I had seen photos of equines: horses, zebras, onagers. Those wild animals had large heads, short legs, and stiff manes. These domesticated horses were much larger and more graceful. They had longer legs, flowing manes, and many different colors of fur.

“Come on, animals. This way.”

The presence of such huge creatures still made me nervous. If they panicked, they could trample me into paste. As they drank from the river, I removed their leather saddles and blankets. Their sides were wet from sweat. The saddles had rubbed them raw. Slezeanor’s white stallion was less tired, because it carried no rider and wore a better fitting saddle. Tending to these animals took a lot more work than driving a mana-powered autocart.

I went back around to the estate while the horses took a much deserved rest.

The seven knights had their own swarm of animals inside the courtyard. Each one had a giant horse and two canines in collars. The short-furred wolves followed after their humans wherever they went. They would bark and yip and run in circles. Surprisingly, they didn’t try to eat the horses.

Malisent exited the front door to the ferry-house. The knight waited for her opinion on the crime scene inside.

“Hacked to pieces,” she said. “The whole family. Hunger didn’t drive Wellez to do this. He only ate the livers and left the rest.”

“Then why butcher this family?” the knight asked.

“He probably wanted to escape the area and hide in the woods. This place would be a good spot to swim across to the other county. Chances are that we’ve missed him.”

“Fleeing won’t save him. The knights in Butterwood are also out on the hunt. They ride up and down the border looking for tracks of the fugitive.”

“Then it’s not your problem anymore. He’s gone over to the other side. You can call off the hunt and open the gates.”

“Not until the exorcist arrives. This sort of madness can spread to others like a plague. He might be—I dread to say it—a werewolf.”

I intruded into their conversation, “What’s a werewolf?”

“A daemon,” Malisent said. “It twists men minds. Makes them into cannibals. And eventually it twists their bodies into hideous monsters with a wolf-like visage. But Fat Wellez only recently fell under its influence. So he’s still just a man with a cleaver. It will take him a year or more to fully transform. If he makes it that long, he’ll be much harder to put down.”

“I will discuss this with the others,” the knight said. He went to talk with his friends.

Malisent yanked me aside and whispered to me. “Servant. We might not be able to trick these country rubes out of new horses. Or to open the gate for us. Sneak out back to the dock and check the dead family’s boat. Should it be large enough for our horses, we can ferry them past the road block and be on our way.”

“Right.”

This news about werewolves disturbed me. A madman with a cleaver didn’t frighten me, not after fighting off a dozen sailors with hatchets, but hearing about the werewolf’s transformation implied frightening things. Daemons in this era were stronger than those I had known in the past. They could even inhabit living things, like Orma the snake. And they apparently had the power to alter the bodies of living things, making humans into monsters. That would explain how so many monsters came to exist in such a short time. Daemons possessed normal animals and changed them into strange new forms.

I wondered if a werewolf could pass on some of its traits to its offspring. Or if two werewolves mated, could they produce a brand new werewolf—one created naturally and not by the direct influence of a daemon. Instead of rare mutations driving evolution, lunar daemons flitted around scrambling the genes of living organisms. Those daemons had radically altered the continent in a mere twenty thousand years. Invasive lifeforms had driven the native species to extinction and reshaped our world to their liking.

These new revelations distracted me. I was lost in thought.

Around the other end of the ferry-house, the family kept their boat on dry land. It was a wide and flat bottomed watercraft. No longer a commercial crossing, this place didn’t need a bigger barge. The boat could take one horse across the Stillbend at a time. We would have to make multiple trips across the river.

Checking on the boat’s condition, I pulled back a large tarpaulin covering a mass on the deck. Fat Wellez the madman rolled to his feet. I jumped back in surprise.

The seven knights had found the dead bodies, but hadn’t bothered to fully search the estate. The madman had been hiding on the boat the whole time, waiting for them to leave. It was only by chance that I discovered him here.

Fat Wellez stood up and wiped the blood from his cleaver.

There was definitely something off about the madman. He had been overweight, but a recent growth spurt had burned off all his extra fat. Now loose skin sagged from his arms and around his waist. He hunched oddly to one side; one leg had grown faster than the other. His face was still chubby, but his eyes had become sunken from lack of sleep.

“You’ve found me, you fool! I didn’t want to eat you. But now I have no choice.” When Wellez spoke, he revealed many of his teeth had fallen out and sharper ones, belonging to a carnivore, had begun to poke through the gums. He was covered in dried blood.

Wellez swung his meat cleaver my way. I flipped sideways out of the boat and grabbed one of its long oars. The cleaver bit deep into the wood. He was much stronger than a normal person.

No fire burned within Wellez’s soul. He was not a mage. But I did feel a twinge of magic from him. All my prior experience with daemonics had been using tools and technology, so feeling spirits with my soul was new to me. I didn’t know how to identify the daemon or neutralize it.

“Wellez, stop this. You’ve been possessed.” I blocked his cleaver with the oar and shoved him back. He had a tremendous bulk. It was like fighting a two legged horse.

“My crimes are discovered. My guilt is known to all. I must run to the woods in shame.”

“This isn’t your fault, Wellez. A daemon is affecting your judgment. Try to resist it so we can help you.”

I didn’t know what would happen to the man. The daemon might have damaged his brain to the point that he would never be sane again. His body might not return to normal either. But I could at least try to help him. Expelling the daemon and halting the transformation would be the first step.

“It won’t let me sleep. It won’t let me be full. It won’t let me be still. Now that I’ve tasted human flesh, nothing else will ever do. Bread is dirt in my mouth. Salt is ash,” he cried.

I struck him full in the back with the oar. The flat of paddle caused a loud noise but nothing else. He didn’t even feel it. I had no chance of spanking him into submission.

“Put down the cleaver. I can’t stop this unless you surrender first.”

He made a rapid series of chops which I intercepted with the measured blocks. The cleaver chewed away at the oar until the wooden blade came free from the shaft. My oar became a stick. Now I was in familiar territory. I adjusted my grip to that of a two handed sword.

“There is no longer a place for me in the world of man. The wilderness calls. I must sleep under open skies and in dark caves,” he practically howled.

I intensified my attacks against him, delivering a series of blows to his malformed legs. He stumbled to his knees. Our hectic battle had caught the attention of the others, and the county knights rounded the corner to the backside of the house.

“There he is!” one of them shouted. “We’ve caught the fat bastard at last.”

The seven knights loosed their dogs on Fat Wellez the butcher.