The Funeral of the Werewolf
#1.
#One night, thousands of years ago, when people were still killing each other with bronze and building castles out of mud, a Priest rode into a village leading a donkey burdened with a dead body.
#The Priest, of one bastard god or other, lay the dead man out below the well in the center of town.
#“Who knows this man?!” he cried; his arms outstretched like a salesman showing off his wares. “Who knows him?!”
#The villagers gathered around and looked at the man, who was so badly cut up around the neck and face that it was difficult to see who he was.
#“It could be my cousin,” said the Potter, who was squinting into the good side of the corpse’s face. “If not for this birthmark below his eye here, I would argue it was my cousin!”
#“Did your cousin have a birthmark?” asked the Priest.
#“No, he didn’t.”
#“Then this isn’t him, is it?!” the Priest demanded.
#The Potter kept squinting, unsatisfied.
#“It could be the Tanner’s boy,” said a Hunter, who turned the dead man’s face over with the end of his bow.
#“This looks like the Tanner’s son?” the Priest asked.
#“Almost exactly, except for all the hair on his head.”
#“Why? Does the Tanner’s son have different hair?” the Priest said, confused.
#“The Tanner’s son has no hair at all! Lost it early, at 15. Said he was cursed by a Goddess for touching himself too much.”
#“Ahhh, please now people, does anyone recognize this man?” the Priest pleaded with the villagers.
#“That is my husband!” shouted a woman, who ran from the back of the crowd and crouched next to the body, but then stood again and took a step back after she had smelled the corpse. She was short and very round with an enormous backside that would tremble whenever she spoke.
#“This is your husband? What was his name?” the Priest asked, drawing close to the woman and baring down on her.
#“Aklas! His name was Aklas, he was an herbalist.”
#“When was the last time you saw him?”
#“Last night! He went gathering right before dusk.”
#“Does he often stay out all night?”
#“Fairly often, whenever he needs special herbs you can only get at night.”
#“Would it surprise you,” the Priest asked as he grabbed the woman’s arms and held her tight, “would it shock you to know that your husband was a werewolf?!”
#“I think so,” the woman said genuinely, “What is a werewolf?”
#“It is a man that can transform into a man-wolf combination, standing eight feet tall, covered with fur, with the head and claws of a wolf!”
#The Priest pointed down at the body.
#“In a wolf form, your husband attacked me last night!”
#The villagers gasped, and then crowded closer around the body to examine it anew, as close as the smell would allow.
#“I was camped at a shrine!” the Priest began his recitation, releasing the woman and pacing back and forth, staring into the villager’s faces. None of them met his eyes.
#“I was about to lay the last log on the fire before turning over in my roll when I saw him glaring at me from the shadows, his great eyes glistening and reflecting the firelight!”
#The Priest stopped and waited for the villagers to look up at him, counting on a pause to increase their expectations.
#This worked, and soon most of the villagers stared at him, silently willing him to go on.
#He obliged, in his best priest voice, “I rose slowly from the ground with my spear in my hand, calling down curses from the Gods onto the monster’s head, and he lunged at me! I barely had time to draw breath, when-”
#The woman lifted her hand, “No, That can’t be my husband.”
#“-And I…what?” the Priest demanded.
#“I know my husband, and he’s not a werewolf. I keep a tight leash on him, he knows better than to be transforming into creatures, at night or any other time! I don’t allow that kind of thing in my house, I’m a devout woman! Ask anyone here, I don’t go in for that kind of crowd, monsters and all that ilk, and Aklas knows better than to cross me!”
#Some of the villagers were nodding, and the Priest frowned as he looked from face to face.
#“One time,” the woman went on, “Aklas brought home a piglet, thinking to raise it up large, and breed it, and start a pig farm, selling them off by the dozen, he said, and “drowning us in coin”! I didn’t say a word, but I took the fire poker, the very one he beats me with, and I wrote my name on his back, giving him so many lashes, you’d think he had the hide of a tiger!”
#Many of the villagers were smiling and nodding to each other, as if the fire poker story were a village favorite and fondly remembered.
#“And besides,” said the Hunter, “there’s your husband, right there!”
#The Hunter pointed past the seed mill, and there was Aklas, walking into the village, his sack full of the night’s labor.
#The Priest stared hard at Aklas, and then turned back slowly and grasped the woman’s arms again, this time nearly crushing them, his knuckles white and his arms shaking.
#“Then why did you say that this man here was your husband, when this other man coming towards us is a foot shorter and has a full beard down to his chest?!”
#“Men can shave!” the woman screeched, as she tried to break free from the Priest’s grip.
#“Damn you people! Damn your ignorance and your impiety! I am a priest, traveling the roads to keep such as you safe from the horrors of the Wilds, and when I not only escape death but come away with a victory against such a brute, to be with this level of stupidity and indifference is an outrage to the gods!”
#Aklas got close enough to see his wife in trouble and started to run forward, holding up one hand.
#“Wait! Kind sir, wait! Whatever my wife has done, I apologize on her behalf, and know quite well how naughty she can be! I am her husband, and will gladly pay for any damage she has done, though I can’t pay very much, you see, I am an herbalist…”
#“Shut your mouth, Aklas!” The Priest did not even turn his head. “I’ve had enough of you people!”
#“How do you know me, sir?” Aklas’ went wide-eyed. “You speak with such informality; do we know each other…could it be?!” Aklas held a hand to his mouth. “Could it be, you are Toffin, back from the dead?”
#“Who the bloody hell is Toffin? Speak quickly, dolt!”
#“He was my brother!”
#The Priest released the woman, and picking up his spear, strode over to hang its edge over Aklas.
#“Your brother? Because I know your filthy name, do you think the best explanation is that I am your dead brother? Answer me, Aklas!”
#The priest lowered the spear until it rested on Aklas’ chest, right below the throat. “Answer me, did your brother—Don’t even try it!” the Priest pointed to his left with a quivering finger at the Hunter, whom he could see in his peripheral was laying an arrow to his bow.
#“Answer me, Aklas, did your brother look anything like me? Answer me quick, before I kill a second monster in as many days!”
#“You look just like him!”
#“Careful, Aklas, careful! I’m feeling very strained at the moment, this is not a time to be dense. Now think clearly: how do I resemble your brother?”
#“In your height, your eyes, your bearing…”
#“Yes, yes, and what else?”
#“I could swear he had a cloak just like that one!”
#“These are sacred vestments, you imbecile! Was your brother a priest?”
#“Toffin? No, not at all, not him! Why would you ask such a thing?”
#“Aklas,” the Priest spoke quietly and precisely, “Aklas, listen to me. Listen to me closely, as if your life depends on it. Can’t you think of any other reason I would know your name, and be shaking your wife, than that I am a brother come back from the dead?”
#Aklas looked at his wife as if she could whisper an answer to him like a fellow apprentice under the lash of their cruel master.
#He looked around at the other villagers, who were shaking their fists.
#Aklas looked up slowly, wide-eyed, as before.
#“Are you…are you, my father?”
#The priest slew Aklas and let him collapse in the mud with his herbs spilling from his bag.
#His wife screamed and fell beside him.
#The villagers tried to upbraid the priest, but the priest in his wroth denounced their impiety and cowed them into subservience.
#“You will dig two graves,” the Priest told the villagers, “And tomorrow we will bury these two bodies, one with curses and spells to keep it from rising, and the other with prayers that he may be met with an understanding soul in the afterlife that can translate his foolishness and bear his naivete, gods bless him. For now, though, I require a bath and a bed.”
#The villagers looked around awkwardly, muttering to themselves, until the Herbalist’s Widow rose from the body of her husband, and said quietly, “I have the only tub in the village, and I also now have an empty bed.”
#The Priest eyed the Widow, looking for any sign of treachery, and then satisfied, motioned for her to lead on, and she did so, silently weeping into her hands.
#The bodies were kept in the Pit, a village meeting place where rituals and prayers, and sacrifices were done to ease the spirits of the dead into the next world.
#The Wise Woman commenced her services for both bodies, not trusting the Priest enough to separate the stinking body from that of Aklas, or not trusting enough to go to the trouble of performing separate rites.
#The graves were dug next to the Pit; the Wise Woman decided that a burial mound there would keep other monsters at bay.
#The smoke from the sacrifice went up long into the night. The Priest watched from the window of the Widows house, disapproving but silent, and then went to sleep in Aklas’ bed.
#Aklas Widow slept at a neighbor’s hut.
#In the morning, the Priest rose and went to the Pit to prepare the bodies for burial with his superior rites, kicking aside an old dog who was sleeping on the path in the priest’s way.
#When he got to the Pit, the Priest saw that the werewolf’s body was gone.
#The Priest gathered the villagers again and interrogated them as to who could have taken the monster’s body.
#He also could not believe such a theft could have happened without anyone from the village knowing about it.
#“You!” the Priest pointed at the Hunter, “I know a monster’s body has many parts that could be sold to sorcerers and necromancers! Quite a bit of coin to be made, eh! Speak! Did you take the body?”
#The Hunter shook his head.
#“You!” the Priest shouted at the Wise Woman, “I knew when I entered this village that dark arts were being practiced here. I could feel it in the air, and only kept silent out of politeness until I had proof, but now! Can there be any doubt? You must be behind this madness! Admit it!”
#The Wise Woman shook her head, and then spat with disdain, “You’re not much of a Priest, are you? Anyone called to a sacred office could tell by looking at me I am rivetted, [ancient term for menopause] I’m too occupied to be casting dark magic about the place, just to make bodies disappear!”
#The Priest continued his interrogation until he got to the new Widow, Aklas’ wife.
#“Out for revenge, looking for some retribution for your fool husbands’ demise? It must have been difficult to wash the back of the man who killed him, and then sleep under the same roof with him! No one could blame you for spending the night tossing in bed and imagining to yourself ways to be avenged!”
#He put his arm around her.
#“Life is difficult to live alone. No one doubts you can’t be blamed for one mad act. Tell me where the body is, and all will be forgiven.”
#The Widow only stared forward, making no sound or gesture.
#The Priest began to shake her by her shoulders until the village went into revolt and demanded he free her.
#“Damn all of you for intervening in divine justice!” the Priest braked, purple in the face.
#He retrieved his spear and started swiping at the crowd, who started to surround him with all manner of tools in their hands.
#A young girl came hollering into the circle, past the Priest, and under the swipe of his spear, until she collapsed breathless at the feet of the Wise Woman.
#“She…She’s here! I…I just spoke with her…She wants…Ohh! She wants to see him…She’s asking for him…”
#The Wise Woman knelt to the girl and held her as she caught her breath. The villagers gave the Wise Woman such deference and quiet that the Priest stopped swiping his spear, though he still held it up and eyed everyone warily.
#“Who is it, girl? Who is here?” The Wise Woman asked patiently.
#The Girl caught her breath and stood up.
#“I did what you asked! I stood guard and looked out for strangers! Can I have my scrolls back?”
#The Wise Woman nodded. “Tell me what you saw, and you may have one back. It’s strange for a girl to be reading! One at a time, and you may escape people’s suspicions. Now, tell me! Who is here!”
#The Girl glowered and considered it for a moment, and then said loudly, “There is a Blind Woman here, asking for the man who killed the werewolf!”
#The villagers spread out, looking in the direction the Girl had come.
#At the outskirts of the village, they could see a single form standing alone on a path. They watched her standing still, and some of them even sat to watch from a more comfortable position.
#The Priest brushed past them and marched towards the figure, his spear in hand.
#He was glad none of the villagers followed him and stayed where they were, watching. He wanted to speak to this woman alone and believed the slow-witted villagers would only detract with their maddening inanity.
#As he got close to the woman, the Priest saw her dressed in a simple dark robe, leaning on a walking stick, barefoot and bare-armed and without any adornment.
#When he stood before her, he noticed the reek about her person, the same distinct odor of the werewolf he’d slain. The musk sat in the air around her, and he took a step back as quietly as he could.
#The Priest pointed the spear at her.
#“Identify yourself. Who are you, and what are you doing here? Who are you to come looking for me?”
#The woman sniffed the air and tilted her head as he spoke, and then raising her head until her dead eyes nearly looked on his, she smiled.
#“I am a daughter of sorrow!”
#The Blind Woman lifted her hands as she let the smile fade from her face, still looking in his direction with wasted white eyes until her chin trembled.
#“A year ago, I was taken from my village and made into an animal monster by the werewolf you slew! Now that he is gone, I’ve come to speak to you, inquire of you, and ask you for something!”
#The Priest raised his spear until the point was level with the Blind Woman’s nose and shook the shaft. Her lifeless eyes did not move or react.
#One of the creature’s victims! None of my brethren ever spoke to a survivor such as this, someone who inherited their attacker’s curse. None of them!
#Satisfied, he dropped the spear and looked over her more carefully.
#She was blind, but her body was extremely healthy. She had round curves where most of the starving people in the region did not. Her shoulders were knotted with muscle, and held her rags aloft, almost like a man’s. Her flesh was fat and radiant without any jutting bone. Her bear arms and ankles were strong and enticing.
#“Your story has moved my heart!” the Priest said, “But I cannot speak to you when you smell so much like the monster I slew. I ask you to bathe in the village; you may enter with my permission and bathe in a tub we have ready, and then we may speak about whatever you wish.”
#The Blind Woman smiled and then nodded.
#The Priest walked back to where the villagers waited and instructed the Widow to fetch the Blind Woman and walk her to the Widow’s home, and to then prepare her a bath.
#The Wise Woman went with the Widow back to the Village edge to each take an arm from the Blind Woman to lead her into the village.
#The Priest called the rest of the villagers to the Pit, next to the freshly dug graves, to have a gathering. As the villagers ambled their way in, the Priest went about the edge of the building with the end of his spear, carving various spells in the dirt around it.
#The Blind Woman was scrubbed clean, The Widow even made a special soap for her, but the scent still lingered about her.
#The Widow gave the Blind Woman the Widows only summer dress and then took her by the hand on their way to the Pit.
#The summer dress fit awkwardly on such a healthy body, and the Priest noticed this and directed her to sit next to him at the fire in the center of the Pit where he could look down at her.
#He threw a colored rod into the fire, and thick green smoke rose from the fire.
#The Priest held a marble sphere in his hands and blessed the assembly.
#Handing the sphere to the Blind Woman, he asked her to speak.
#“Thank you for your kind welcome.
#“My name is Khana.
#“I was abducted from my village a year ago and made into a monster by the very man or creature that this good priest slew.
#“I understand you saw his body and smelled the odor of the beast on him.
#“The smell was the first thing I noticed.
#“I was being tormented by some of the women of my village, and while I would usually put up with their insults and abuse, that day I could not take it any longer, and I went after them with a cane! One of them, my special tormentor, ran off into the bush to escape me, and I pursued as long as I could, not wanting to lose her before my anger subsided, and I went further into the bush until I could no longer smell the area around me. There was a stink, so powerful and offensive that all my sense of direction was thrown off, and being blind, the sense of smell is too much to lose.
#“The creature spoke to me and asked me questions about the village, all in an unnatural voice that was so frightening I couldn’t respond.
#“He got closer, his stench increased, and he asked me if I wanted my sight again.
#“That question shook me out of my fear, and I asked him if he were a god.
#“He laughed at that, he enjoyed that question and he had me ask it again, and when I did, he told me that he was more than a god because he could be what he was not and that no god could do that.
#“I denounced him as an impious wretch, and he bit me.”
#Khana the Blind stopped speaking and asked for wine. Someone brought a clay pitcher of the better yard beer, and she gulped it down.
#After she drank to her satisfaction, she resumed.
#“It was something to live as a monster. To be restored! To see again, after so long! To hear everything, to smell again, to be strong! I hope I can be forgiven for enjoying so much of being a monster.”
#The Priest looked strained; his face pulled into a suffering mask that flowed from his upturned eyebrows to his quivering chin.
#“Do you see now, good people? Do you see how crucial it is to be supportive of a Priest in the midst of his duties? Can you see how, not only was I able to destroy a monster who fed on your livestock and very soon would be feasting on your little ones and your very selves, but have freed this innocent woman from her life of torment, and-”
#“Can you free her?” asked the Wise Woman.
#The Priest glared at her, “I have done so! She is under the creature’s spell no more!”
#“Is that true?” the Wise Woman asked Khana. “Now that he is dead, is it true you are freed from the curse, and can no longer change into the form of a wolf?”
#“While it is true that I am freed from my mate’s oppression and can now choose what to do,” the Blind Woman said, “as of now, I can still make the terrible change into the wolf.”
#“How is that possible?” whispered the Priest, aghast. “Your mate is dead, and all his evil arts should have died with him!”
#“That is not the case.” the Blind Woman replied.
#The Priest was dumbfounded, his face spread into a ghastly open-mouthed stare, not unlike a fish, and his eyes not able to rest on any object they saw but wandered around as if searching for answers on the faces of the villagers.
#The villagers only murmured to themselves, and some of the backed away from the Blind Woman, while others took their place and tried to get a better look at her.
#“What kind of priestly duties do you specialize in?” the Blind Woman asked.
#“I…uhh….Well, I…I am trained in arts of extispicy.”
#“What a wonderful word! What does it mean?”
#“I read the organs of animals for omens.”
#“How delightful!” the Blind Woman clapped her hands together. “Is there any way I could see such a ritual? Could you tell me the god’s omens for me?”
#“It’s not possible, I only read on the first day of the week, and then only from sheep.”
#The Blind Woman stood up.
#“Does anyone here have sheep?”
#“There is only one sheep alive in the village!” someone shouted.
#“I see, and who does that sheep belong to?”
#The villagers all looked away from the Widow.
#“I can feel a charge in the air, but if you are pointing at someone, I’m afraid I cannot tell.”
#The Widow stood, stone-faced, and then sighed as she walked away toward her house.
#The Priest stood and waved his hands. “It does not matter; it is not the right day for it! It requires ritual preparation, for both the animal and myself, and there is the altar to consider, and the-”
#“I believe,” said the Blind Woman, touching the Priest’s arm and resting against him, “that through your reading of omens, you could tell me how to be freed from this curse. Perhaps I must go with you on a difficult journey, but whatever the cost, it cannot be any higher than doing nothing!”
#The Priest looked down at her for a long time. Occasionally he looked as if he were going to answer, but it only ever resulted in a frown.
#The Widow returned with her sheep, and standing next to the Blind Woman, she forced the line into the Priest’s hands. Her expression was unreadable.
#The Village gave the Priest an hour to prepare himself, and then he came to their makeshift altar where the sheep was waiting.
#He cut the throat and drained the blood, lifted the sheep onto the altar, and began slicing into the sheep and reaching in to find the liver.
#While he was working, the Blind Woman walked slowly up to the Altar from the other side, her back to all the villagers who were watching, and expecting something remarkable to occur.
#When he had the liver, the Priest cut and pulled, and lay the liver on a tray, noticing how shiny it was.
#The Blind Woman whispered, “In my village, I was known for my gift of reading the will of the gods from the blood of animals.”
#The Priest snorted, “This is hardly the same thing! Some backwoods superstitions don’t compare to the methods of trained priests taught in the cities of the Gods!”
#“You don’t think they compare? Perhaps one is a distant relation to the other.”
#“Enough of that! Why don’t you take your seat and let me tell you how the Gods favor you!”
#The Blind Woman smiled. “You’ve found something favorable in the liver?”
#“Absolutely! The Gods show great favor for your future and your plans and look favorably on you as a whole.”
#“That is a relief!” the Blind Woman exclaimed. “I’m so grateful! Let me read some of your future!”
#And she thrust her hand into the opened sheep.
#The Priest was dismayed, “What are you doing? Desist, and stand back! Now we’ll have to wash you again! Your ignorance has cost us-”
#“I see your future!” the Blind Woman called out, raising her other hand to the sky. “I see the will of the gods! They demand justice! They demand justice for her!”
#The Blind Woman pointed sideways at the Widow, who looked up from her despair and frowned.
#“This woman was robbed! A predator has come among you, a mate-killer, and the gods have decided this creature must be put down!”
#The Blind Woman started to grow.
#The Priests training held his hands over the liver as if they were stuck in a vise, as he had not yet determined the full quality of the liver’s ‘head’.
#The Villagers at first could only see the back of the Blind Woman, and from their perspective, it looked as if the Blind Woman were being lifted up, until the top of her head split open and tufts of black hair rippled down her back.
#As they watched, the Blind Woman bent her head down, and it turned sideways into a long snout, which bellowed into the Priest's face and sprayed him with saliva and blood.
#The Hunter and his apprentices ran out from the Pit.
#The rest of the villagers scattered, trampling each other in every possible direction.
#The Werewolf roared and lunged, biting the priest across his face, each row of teeth crushing one of his ears.
#The Priest cursed into her mouth everything he could get out of his jaws, and blinked back pain as the Werewolf laughed, and then she pulled back, wrenching him over her shoulder and onto the altar.
#He could not breathe and so, he could not scream.
#With another roar, she sank the claws of one arm into his belly and started to rummage around his entrails.
#Her voice was deeper and carried in the air like ripples, like the sound itself was wet.
#“I don’t know much about reading sheep innards, but I have some experience with the guts of humans, and my predictions are always right.”
#Her lips pulled back over her teeth in a terrifying smile.
#“Having just met, I’m afraid you’ll have to trust me!”
#He voice lapped the air and his shredded ears like water against rocks.
#“Trust me! Trust me, Priest!”
#She curled and yanked some intestine around her claw, and the Priest swooned, but the bite had done something to him, and he could not lose consciousness.
#“I predict you are going to have a rough time of the next few days, and then you will succumb to a life of docile obedience, that will bring the first real satisfaction of your adult life.”
#As he stared up at her, the wolf face seemed sincere for just a moment.
#“Some people are just made to serve, and not being in charge gives them a sense of real relief.”
#Pain rocked him and he arched back with a guttural bellow, and when he was aware of his surroundings again, the Werewolf was gone.
#2.
#The whole village was there to try and patch up the Priest before he went on his hunt for the Werewolf.
#They surrounded him, suggesting how to push his insides back into him and sew up his torso.
#The Priest kept screaming, both in pain and for quiet, and it was all a mess until the Wise Woman drugged the Priest a tonic that she used to knock out sows during a breach birth, in order to cut out the piglets.
#The Priest showed more resistance to the tonic than even a full-grown sow and did not cooperate enough to fall asleep, but he did stop yelling, and that, at any rate, was a mercy.
#“Fold them, you must fold the tubes…or else it won’t all get back inside…”
#The Hunter pulled the Priest’s head in his direction.
#“Your guts are one thing, but chasing after her tonight is another! You’ll be bedridden for a month!”
#The Priest stared, trusting his subtle contempt to convey his feeling now that he could not shout.
#“Clay…bring me clay, and the branding iron…”
#Some villagers went, even then a single command was enough for them, but the Hunter scoffed.
#“What’s that going to do?”
#The Priest breathed deep and then took hold of the Hunter’s arm.
#“In…my satchel…there is a bottle…bring it to me!”
#“Drinking won’t make sense of your nonsense…”
#The Priest cried out, “Will anyone! …Anyone! …Bring me my satchel?!”
#Someone else left, and an eager onlooker filled in their place to watch the surgery more closely.
#“We have to hold the skin together, or I can’t sew a thing!” the Wise Women grunted.
#There was no shortage of hands to help, and the Priest bit into the Hunter’s arm as the skin around the laceration was folding into place. Some of the hands deposited branches and leaves and thorns into the open wound, and though the Wise Woman was sympathetic to the attempt, she dug most of it out before she resumed.
#“Gods, why won’t he pass out?!” the Hunter screamed.
#“He took something before the wolf-woman turned, it’s repelling my swine mixture.”
#The satchel was produced, and the Priest lifted it high like a newborn child, and pronounced, “Inside this satchel, is a bottle of Khrakha! After this woman sews me up, apply the clay liberally to my abdomen, and then coat the clay with the Khrakha…and then, you must, immediately after…you must light it with fire…”
#And then he fell back into exhaustion.
#The villagers grew quiet with an earnest interest, and the Wise Woman looked up from her work with a squint.
#“You want us…to set you on fire?”
#The Widow pushed her way forward. “I’ll do it!”
#The Priest nodded to the Wise Woman.
#“The Khrakha will act as a binding agent, and the fire will cook the clay into a cast that will allow me to move.”
#“I’ll do it…”
#The Wise Woman snorted, “I’ve never heard of Khrakha, was is it intended for?”
#The Priest shook his head and bit down on a branch someone had placed in his mouth. When his spasm was over, he spat the stick and said through the foam of his mouth, “It is for mending the statues of the Gods!”
#“I’ll do it…”
#The Wise Woman nodded at the Widow, “Yes, dear, we know.” She went on with her sewing, but grunted through her teeth, “Something smells, Priest, and I don’t feel like lighting you up with something intended for the Gods!”
#The Priest reached for his stick and again, clamped down on it, and then groaned, “Temple Business! Sometimes, the Gods want corrections made to their statues, when the original artificers made a mistake in their depiction! Oh, Gods!”
#The leftover branches and thorns inside him were compressed against his vulnerable and nerve-wracked insides as the last of the stitching was done with truly agrarian hardihood, and the Priest did indeed pass out.
#The Wise Woman shook her head, “I can see us all impaled for this kind of blasphemy, but as I don’t know what to do with that bitch in the woods either…”
#She sat back as the clay was applied, and then uncorked the bottle of Khrakha with her few remaining molars and drenched the clay.
#Without prompt the Widow set the priest ablaze, and though the sight was near incandescent against the blackness of the night, the priest slept through it all, without a single pained expression, though the Widow did note that he was in extreme pain when he woke hours later.
#The Villagers tried to say things to him, but he found them all equally distasteful.
#He did not want to talk to them. He did not want to look at them or smell them.
#The Priest only wanted the Werewolf.
#The Priest recovered enough of himself to order the Herbalist’s Widow to mix him some of the reagents he carried, and they threw together the necessary ingredients to make some powerful stimulants, and not able to decide between them, the Priest took them all.
#After imbibing enough painkillers and heart accelerant for ten men, he set off.
#When he passed out, he’d dreamt of running through the trees.
#When he woke, the night in all its dizzying menace called to him.
#The villager watched him go with the peasant suspicion so many people have known throughout history, the kind followed by the acidic aftertaste of those who can do little or nothing about their suspicions and bear it all with resignation.
#With his mind spinning and with the armor of an idol about him, the Priest pursued his prey into the dark of night.
#Her path was easy to see.
#Gods, it’s like she left so wide a path on purpose, she must think me an idiot to leave so obvious a trail!
#With his ribs screaming and the pulse of the drugs bursting in his ears, the Priest followed the trail of the werewolf to the place she intended him to go.
#There was a clearing with a stone table, and the Werewolf stood in front of it, watching the Priest make his way closer
#On the table were four layers of branches and the body of the Werewolves mate, and all of it was on fire.
#The burning skin smell and the sound of the dead man’s fat popping swarmed over the Priest, and he made the rest of his way with a hand in front of him as if blocking him from the sun; waving here to brush the smell away or shielding there to keep from being hit by crackling fat.
#“I have found most humans to be interchangeable,” the Werewolf said.
#The Priest adjusted his spear to strike a blow.
#“The ones who stand out to me are the ones marked by chance,” she continued. “Those poor souls chosen at random to suffer more than the others. Damned souls intrigue me.”
#The Priest took a breath and then thrust the spear towards the Werewolf’s chest.
#She stepped aside, and the thrust carried him forward into the stone table, his spear buried thick into the burning pyre and lodging in the dead creature’s thigh.
#The Priest could not pull the spear out at first and started to work it back and forth until it would come loose. This caused the body to move about in the fire in conjunction with his efforts.
#“That Widow in the village intrigues me,” the Werewolf went on, “and I think I want to know her better and see why fate has decided to be so cruel to her.”
#The Priest was perspiring from both the effort and the heat. His sweat was acerbic.
#The drugs were making him reel.
#“What do your gods do?” she asked quietly.
#“What do the Gods do for what?” he demanded.
#“What do they do about cruelty? What do they do about injustice?”
#The Priest let go of the spear and turned to confront the Werewolf, staring up at her with mad eyes and gnashing his teeth as he spoke.
#“The Gods embody cruelty! They are cruelty’s master! They master all things; brutality and pain are their servants! What humans think is injustice is the Gods’ will, made manifest here in the flesh. What you call chance, is their deliberate decision!”
#“I do not like you or your gods.”
#The Werewolf stepped closer to the table and pulled the spear from the body.
#Part of the shaft was burning, and she blew it out; a human gesture produced with a wolf's anatomy.
#The Priest shook from a chill.
#She handed him the spear, and then walked into the clearing, each footfall padded with an eerie softness. She spread her arms out and looked up at the sky.
#“Can you tell where you are, Priest? Can you tell by the stars where you are? Can you visualize it on a map in your brain?”
#The Priest tried to get a better grip on the spear.
#“You are in a nothing area, in between three kingdoms. You stand in a forgotten realm sharing a border with three of the most advanced human civilizations on the planet.”
#The Priest took a step towards her and then winced at the sound, as his footfalls were so much louder than hers.
#“I intend to create a nation of werewolves, starting here on this spot.”
#The Priest lifted the spear, thinking this time to use a throwing attack.
#“My mate, burning there behind you, wouldn’t even think about a nation of our own. As he was the one who bit me, he had some kind of damned hold over me, I never found out how to break its grip! I tried so many times, but somehow, he held a creator's hold over a creation. This domination of the will, biter and one bitten... I think if I had bitten another person and become a creator myself, I would have broken his hold, but I did not get to test my theory.”
#The Priest stepped and hurled; the spear flew from his hand with all the force his training had conditioned him to exploit.
#The Werewolf turned and caught the spear, and in one motion drove it into the ground and leaned on it like a shepherdess leaning on her staff.
#The Priest fell over and spasmed with the pain of the fall.
#“The real problem is the smell. Werewolves could fade in an among people, anywhere, doing anything, if we can get rid of the smell. I’ve been toying with some concoctions, but nothing works. Something I noticed, back there in the village, was how quickly the Herbalist’s Widow could grind up a soap for me. I watched her. I think she was the real Herbalist, and her husband simply picked the herbs and took the payment.”
#Again, the Priest gritted his teeth, and again he made his way closer, this time crawling on his side, pulling himself along the ground with his left hand while clutching his right hand to the side with the sutures and searing.
#“I think she can help me with the smell, and after that, well, it becomes a practical matter of choosing people who won’t be found until they turn.”
# The Werewolf made a noise, an incredible noise, all muffled through her Werewolf parts, and as he caught the rhythm of the noise, he would almost say she was laughing.
#“I like this,” said the Werewolf. “It pleases me to talk out loud.”
#The Priest stopped crawling.
#Something had occurred to him, like a new idea. Something had caught him in his tracks.
#He could hear someone sliding through the trees at the end of the clearing where he had come. He could hear their movements.
#The sense data rippled through his brain. He wondered, if he tried, could he possibly smell them?
#He lifted his head and was about to sniff, when the scent of the werewolf invaded his every thought, it was like it had taken over his mind.
#The Priest could smell… healthiness. He could smell… female, adult, and young.
#Again, everything entered his mind like concepts, like ideas, and his poor mind was having trouble keeping up with the information he received.
#Whoever was sneaking around in the tree line just held their breath.
#The whistles of the arrows were too much, too loud, and when some of them sunk into the werewolf, she screamed, and that was beyond too much. Everything hurt him when she screamed.
#He covered his ears and moved away from her.
#He wanted to be by himself, in a comfortable place, and everything in the clearing was uncomfortable to him.
#The village Hunter and his apprentices came out of the trees. They bounded out, as if they were in pursuit! The Hunters were acting as if they were always hunters, as if they would always be hunters, and that was very sad.
#He wanted to tell them how sad it was, but the Werewolf was making a hellish racket, and the Hunters themselves were screaming also, as if screaming was contagious!
#The Priest had had enough of everyone’s silliness.
#The least painful way to move was to take a step sideways and only turn the body as needed for the next foot to come up.
#The Priest held his guts so secure, that though he could not be sure, he was nearly sure that none of his intestines were sliding out of him.
#The motion with his feet started to even out on its own, and the pain from his belly started to fade! He could see better in the dark and could smell not only the trees around him but the trail of the hunters who’d followed him, which made it easier to backtrack their steps to the village.
#The Priest wondered if he was being blessed with a renewal from the Gods who needed him so desperately at this moment.
#A new sound delighted his ears and brought him to a full stop.
#Oh! That is exquisite, what is that?
#He listened even more intently, and his gaze was pulled toward a dying tree trunk, which he could now see in wonderful detail.
#With a mad and stupid grin across his face, he got close to the dying trunk and pressed his ears against it.
#What is that?
#He tried to match the wonderful sound with anything from his memory, and before he was aware of it, he was imagining a beetle working its way through a soft wood.
#It’s a beetle! Oh, beetles are so bizarre and beautiful!
#Looking up from the trunk, he examined the wood with even more attention.
#The sounds from the clearing were just as loud as before, with snarling and screams, but he could mute them with his thoughts. He did not want to hear them, and so they muffled, still there, still existent, but not as nagging and obtrusive as before.
#I swear it, I will spend more time in the trees from now on, the trees are incredible, and I was a dullard my whole life not to see how magnificent they are.
#By the time he’d returned to the village, the Priest was moving over rocks and in between trees like a native, and as he leaped into the Pit, he realized he was very hungry.
#But, no matter what, he absolutely would not eat the Widow.
#It was decided, he didn’t even have to think about it.
#Hadn’t she already given too much?
#The Priest felt pride in himself, he beamed with it, he worried he’d alert the whole village he was beaming so bright.
#It was right not to eat the Widow.
#He was doing what was right, and that was a very fine thing.
