Aaron opened his eyes, staring at the unfamiliar face.
“Who are you?” he asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes. There was something at the back of his mind begging for attention, but he couldn’t grasp it. After a couple more tries, he abandoned the effort and looked around the strange place.
He was lying in a comfortable bed, surrounded by unfamiliar people. One wrapped in a thick woollen cloak and extremely long red scarf stood right by his side, while the rest - two women and one man - were farther away, near the door. All of their gazes, though, were on him.
Aaron returned his eyes to the person next to him. Most of his face was hidden behind dark bangs but the mouth that was visible was set in a straight line. Aaron judged that he must be unhappy about something.
Was it him? But Aaron hadn’t done anything. At least, he didn’t think he did. He tried to remember what he had done right before falling asleep, but his mind was blank. There was nothing to indicate how he had ended up in this place. Or even in the care of these strangers.
He could recall moving about, looking for any kind of work. There were often people who associated with the city lord ready to give a bun or potato for doing their share of work since they couldn’t be bothered to take care of it themselves. But that day, he found no one. The lord was making the rounds and everyone was too scared to be found avoiding their jobs.
Thus, Aaron was forced to return home without anything to show for his troubles. His heart ached at the memory, knowing the disappointment that would appear on the faces of his siblings. They looked up to him to take care of them since they were too young to do so themselves, and the city didn’t give them enough resources to grow up healthy.
But Aaron hadn’t returned home. Of that he was certain. Something had happened, someone stopped him. He tried to remember what, or who, but his mind refused to go in that direction. It was as if there was a barrier of some sort that blocked him from reaching the events of that evening.
He felt a headache coming and stopped pushing himself. Instead, he gazed back at the stranger at his side. “Who are you?” he repeated in as strong as he could manage voice, but it was still pathetically thin. He was just too young to accomplish the authority in his tone he wanted to possess.
The stranger gazed into his eyes as if trying to find something in them. His probing stare made Aaron uncomfortable, and he shifted in his place, pulling the covers higher, up to his chin.
“You don’t remember me?” the heavily dressed man asked in a cold voice.
Aaron shivered. This man was dangerous. Instincts warned him to run away. There was no way to tell what these people wanted from him.
But they stood between him and the exist. First there was this stone-faced stranger, and further away there were those three silent watchers. They were being quiet and still now, but he had no doubts they’d stop him if he tried to escape.
What to do then? Could he talk his way out of this?
He shook his head in reply to the stranger, not wanting to talk more than necessary. Somehow that seemed to anger the stranger. He was radiating displeasure.
“Tell me, what is your last memory,” he ordered.
That was a strange question. They had abducted him and brought here, so what was the point of asking something like this. Could they have more accomplices that wanted to stay hidden? He tried to recall anything of that but his mind was blank.
And it hurt. The moment he reached into his memory, a jolt of searing pain flashed through his brain. He winced, taking a hold of his fragile head and whimpering softly. It hurt so much!
“Enough,” one of the women said, stepping forward. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it still reverberated through the small room, and into Aaron’s ears. He looked at her, begging. For what, he wasn’t certain himself.
The stranger next to him whirled on her. “So what do you suggest? That we leave?”
“I- No- I-” the woman stuttered. She seemed to be afraid of the stranger.
Aaron wanted to cry. The only person that was on his side didn’t dare to fight back against this red-scarfed persona beside him. He glared with liquid eyes, but the man wasn’t looking at him. He was still staring at the woman and her two companions.
“What do you want to do then? Return him? Or take him along? What if it didn’t work and we do that? Or what if it did, and we don’t?” His voice was growing sharper with each word, and he was shouting by the end. The hands at his sides were holding tight onto fistfuls of his cloak, knuckles white. “Tell me! What do you want me to do?”
“Scorpius…” the man from the trio said, and the word rang through Aaron’s head. It was familiar somehow.
He lowered the blanket and slowly crawled closer to the stranger at his side. This man… had he seen him before? The memory was at the corner of his mind, and he reached for it, grabbed with both hands.
Agony laced through his mind, and Aaron screamed. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong. Every part of his body was on fire. Bursting with it. He screamed louder, but somehow the sound turned into a growl.
For a moment, Aaron was stunned. Did that sound really come from his mouth? The same instant, the pain was gone, and he felt okay. No, not only that. He felt much better than ever before. Strong and capable. No longer a child. No longer powerless to fight for himself and for those he cared about.
Without thought, he jumped at the stranger, sinking his canines into his neck. There was a surprised yelp from the man before he wrenched Aaron away from the neck and hurled him toward the wall.
Aaron whimpered, investigating the burning side with his nose. It didn’t seem to be bleeding, so he stood up on all fours and growled. Low and dangerous. Angry. He launched himself at the stranger.
However, this time the man was prepared and caught him by the scruff of his neck and shook him like crazy. Aaron snarled, swiping at him with his paws but they were too short, unable to reach the man’s chest. It infuriated him, but he was powerless to do anything. Again.
“Don’t do it!” the other woman said, coming to stand a paw’s length away from him. “Don’t hurt him!”
“Should I let him tear my throat open then?” the stranger asked, mocking, and shook Aaron for emphasis. The motion sickened him, and he put extra venom in his snarl. No one seemed to notice, or even be paying attention to him.
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They all converged around the stranger, talking in hushed voices as if Aaron wasn’t even there.
“What is this? Didn’t you say he was a normal kid?” the other man asked.
“I did! And he was! There was no scent on him! His lycanthrope blood must be really thin, having laid dormant for generations!” the stranger answered, exasperation evident in his tone.
“What happened then?”
The stranger shrugged, sending a glare Aaron’s way for which he snapped at him, unsuccessfully. “Probably something went wrong. Or the artefact messed up.”
“You mean… you mean… we just let him die? Just like that?” one of the women asked in a soft voice. She stood on the other side, watching Aaron with pity in her eyes.
He didn’t need that. If he could only reach the stranger, he’d kill them all, and escape! Leave this unknown place! He struggled, pawing at the stranger, snapping at him, but none of his attacks reached their designated target. The man’s hands were just too long!
And strong. It was abnormal how easily he held Aaron back. The kid wasn’t aware of what had happened to him, but by instinct he knew that he was much stronger than before. No one should be able to subdue him this easily!
“Could it be that his preservation instincts kicked in and forced him to transform?”
“It’s possible, I’ve heard of a few cases of that happening,” the stranger agreed.
“What now then? Can you turn him back?” the other women asked. “Or will he always stay a dog now?”
“Denni! He’s a were! Don’t call him a dog!”
The stranger eyed both of them with disgust. “It’s lycanthrope. Both of yours are degenerating terms thought up by your race. Same as leeches.”
“Really? What do you call yourself then?”
“Nosferatu…” the stranger answered, looking up at the ceiling. He then sighed, and sat down on the bed, bringing Aaron closer to himself. He held the knee tall lycanthrope pup to his chest so he couldn’t hurt others, nor himself. “That’s enough. Stop fighting back, and I’ll release you.”
A deep, distrustful growl rose in Aaron’s chest, but he stilled. It wasn’t like his struggles were gaining him anything. He was young, but that didn’t equal to him being stupid.
“Good, now revert back and you can go.”
“What? Are you serious?” one of the woman shouted out, waving her arms. “Didn’t you say we need to find out more about him first?”
The stranger gently stroked Aaron’s fur. “We can’t keep him as a pet, Denni. His kind will soon notice his scent and come to hunt us down. It’s not worth it if it failed.”
“You mean it really happened? He’s gone just like that?” One of the women begun crying. She covered her eyes to hide it, but there was no way to shield her quivering shoulders.
The other man came to her side, pulling her into an embrace. “We did what we could. There was no way we could fight a whole city full of people.”
“He could…” the woman sniffed.
The stranger holding Aaron scoffed. “Not even close. But to put your doubts to rest, there were all four lycanthropes standing around the stage. If I had put even a step closer than I did, I’d have been slaughtered on the spot.”
“Damn, this is so..! Infuriating! We find everything, learn about him, and then have to see him burned right before our eyes as we return! How is this fair?” the other woman, not the one crying, burst out. She stomped on the ground, glowering at no one in particular.
“Life’s not fair,” Aaron said, eyeing her like she was the child and not him. “There’s no such thing as fairness in this world. Weak people suffer, and strong stand on their corpses. In what kind of a dreamland have you been living up to now?”
The woman stared at him, stunned. “You little!” she hissed, rushing over with a fist ready.
Aaron flinched, preparing for the strike, but it never came. The stranger holding him shifted him behind himself and stopped the woman in her tracks. “Enough, Denni. He has the right of it. We were too late, and that’s it.”
At least someone was making sense. Aaron nodded sagely, for the first time noticing something in his ear as it brushed past the stranger’s side while he was being moved. He touched it and found a small jagged rock hanging on a metal wire. An earring? He couldn’t remember ever getting one.
Such things were a welcome sign to infection and early death. He couldn’t imagine himself agreeing to have his ear pierced. It was suicide where he lived!
“Aaron, do one thing for me, and I’ll let you go. All right?” the stranger asked, turning to him with a gentle expression on his face.
“Really?” Aaron asked, not believing it. But even as he distrusted the words, they were his only way out. He was certain now that this stranger was something inhuman and couldn’t be fought back. If he didn’t want to let Aaron go, there would be no way to leave.
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
From his inner pocket, the stranger brought out a thin stack of folded papers. They were written in a neat and clear handwriting. The letters that had always confused Aaron, popped out like old friends suddenly become aware of him. Somehow, in the span of his lost time between running around to look for food and ending up here, he must have learnt to read.
It was unbelievable, but here it was. He could name each of those letters and read the words they made together. Sentences and paragraphs.
Amazed by the revelation, Aaron grabbed the papers and started reading by the faint light coming in from the window. It was a story about some abused child, and he soon lost himself in the fairytale. Unlike most stories he heard, this one wasn’t happy. For some reason, he was sure it won’t end on a happy note either. This wasn’t one of those tales.
When he finished, the stranger took the papers away, then crouched beside the bed. He pushed the hair out of his own face and stared at Aaron with dark brown orbs filled with both hope and despair. “Do you remember me, Iago?” he asked in a soft voice.
Aaron was reluctant to disappoint him, something tugged at his heart for having to destroy that sincere, hope-filled look. But he had to. He steeled himself, squaring his shoulders for the terrible task when a light flashed through his eyes.
Paintings frozen in mind came and went faster than he could grasp their meaning.
A kid practising swordsmanship alone in a dark corner, then grown up standing at the very top with a bright smile. Next moment he was on the ground, a middle-aged man leaning over him with a sneer on his face. Bloody battles, and two young men sitting by the river. More battles, cutting work in the medic’s tent, and more evenings spent talking and drinking. City, the man bent over accounts, then surrounded by nobles, smiling at them.
A conversation in a small hut with children running outside. More men dressed in rich clothes. A stand before the council with a burning paper in hand. The man lying in a ditch, bruised and battered. Then lost in books. One library, then another, and a third, fourth. Every time the man looking older. He was ancient by now, his brilliant long black hair now a flow of grey silk. He was bent over a paper, writing quickly when his companion came through the door with worry written on his face. The next painting was of them standing before a strange artefact, and the old man plunging the dagger straight into his own heart.
There was sudden blackness. A fraction of a second, and a new series started.
Five children playing with their parents. Then the number of children increased but mother was gone. Then the oldest child, a boy, was dragging his father from the pub, drunk. The boy was working next. Chimney cleaning, mining, moving of goods, and etc. Each painting showed him doing something else, each job as taxing as the previous one, or more. But there were a few happy paintings in-between of him smiling at his siblings.
Then there was less work and hair tugging when everyone else was asleep. Begging for more work but without success. Meeting an old man, the previous story’s companion, and sudden joy, then suppressed fury. Something was wrong. Then there was a quiet conversation with the old man, and determination shown on the young man’s face. Another painting of him playing with his family, and then he was running, falling.
And then there was nothing. Blackness again.
A kid, one among many. Taught to beg, look pathetic and be worth pity. Work in the day, snuggle for warmth among others during the night. Fight for crumbs. Succumb to hunger on the street and prepare to die. He then woke up to see the world in ruins, a merchant’s carriage broken down next to him. Filling himself, he looked around to uncover the babies of the whores who’d given him some food from time to time alive in a half-buried room.
He collected the babies, and told the youngest, one and two-year-olds, to move themselves with him. Then, in the next painting, he was feeding them with what he found. Lost a few during the transition, but kept most of the children alive until the lord came and took all of them away and put in his own city. From then on, the kid was forced to once more beg and plead for crumbs, working wherever he was allowed. Then a chance meeting, a stranger in a red scarf. Other children were moved to be taken care of by a young woman while the kid went with the stranger to watch a bonfire. Some criminal was to be burned that day.
Smoke and fire. He choked, feeling his limbs burning, even as he knew it wasn’t real. It was gone. Gone. No more.
But it wasn’t, was it?
He raised his head that had fallen to his chest, and glowered at Scorpius.