Time of the Wolf
Title: Time of the Wolf, Part V
Fandom(s): original fic
Type: gen, horror
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings:None
Warnings Spotty historical research. Spotty French, which is worse.
Summary: May is supposed to bring life, a renewal of things lost during the frigid months of winter. Unfortunately, for the people of Hesdin, the thirty-one days bring only fear and grief, for every seven years creatures of darkest myth declare a bloody war on the town. Their only protection comes from the Normant family who has stood against the onslaught, defending their neighbors and friends, since their arrival. But now there are only two left: brother and sister whose youth have passed. Faced with their mortality, Vincent and Elodie decide to end this cyclical bloodbath by trying to discover the reason behind the Time of the Wolf.
Disclaimer: So much fiction, you could spot it from a satellite!
Elodie laid out Vincent’s body on his bed and undressed him. She then washed away the blood and the dirt. She changed his clothes to the ones he’d worn to the dance.
The final act of this tragedy was completed when she placed alongside Vincent's corpse his sword and daggers.
The grieving sister had no desire to use any of her brother's weapons. They were built for him; the cores contained his blood, which was what their father said would be required to make the weapons their own.
“Elodie,” Martin whispered from the doorway. She hadn’t heard him enter and she didn’t care.
“He looks almost alive,” Elodie whispered.
Martin’s eyes widened. Vincent’s corpse was well on its way to deterioration. The skin was turning color and the body had softened because rigor had already past.
“We have to bury him,” Martin said and grabbed Elodie by her shoulders. He peeled her away from her brother’s bedside. “Vincent deserves rest. To be reunited with your parents.”
Elodie closed her eyes but there were no tears. Only a small, tired sigh. Without a word she let Martin lead her away.
They marched towards the church, and people joined them. Jeannette along with Bridgette, and Joseph quietly walked behind the pair. Timothy’s pale and frightened face peeked outside to see the congregation but only for a moment. He ducked back into his shop and tripped over bags he’d packed after hearing about Vincent’s violent death, and the puzzling fact that the creature that killed him was covered in arrows.
The group entered the church, taking solace in the benign calm that encased them the moment they entered.
“I’ll find Gagner,” Martin said and disappeared. Feeling feverish Elodie sat in a pew, wiping her forehead with her hands. The townsfolk took the chairs at the end row, giving Elodie the privacy she required.
She wanted to fall asleep and forget everything that had happened since she’d discovered Vincent’s body. The approaching footsteps grabbed her attention.
She looked up to see Gagner, and instead of feeling comfort, dread snaked into her blood.
“I’ve heard of your brother’s demise,” Gagner said primly. “What could I do for you?”
“I want to bury him next to our parents,” Elodie said slowly. “The plot’s already been purchased by us years ago.”
“Which was approved by Père Jonelle, my predecessor,” Gagner prompted. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I cannot allow that.”
Martin turned to Gagner, paling with anger. “You cannot possibly deny a Christian man a proper burial. Especially after what he’s done for this town!”
“I wouldn’t, were he a Christian man,” Gagner said serenely. “But Vincent Normant, and for that matter, Elodie, is not Christian.”
Elodie’s anger turned to puzzlement. “I don’t understand. We are…”
“No, you’re not,” Gagner snapped. “Your grandmother was a Jew. And by the Laws of the Church, so are you.”
“My grandmother was a devout…” Elodie began hotly.
“She was a whore who abandoned her son to her sister so she could follow her lover here. And when he died, she was forced to live outside the town where she practiced her blasphemy until her death at the hands of these so-called friends of yours.”
Elodie slowly turned to the people behind them. And saw the truth in their faces.
“Your aunt raised your father who tracked his mother to Hesdin. But he was too late to save the witch. He was told a lie about the manner of her death, and so he and his pregnant wife settled here. He would’ve discovered the truth soon enough, but then the visitations began and the townsfolk discovered he was capable of doing something no one else could: kill the monsters.
“After that, well, the entire town, including Père Jonelle, kept their murderous little secret. Then you and your brother were born, and Hesdin continue to practice its deception until almost all had forgotten the truth.”
“So how could you possibly know?” Elodie asked hoarsely. “You only took Père Jonelle’s position eight years ago.”
“Because I can read,” Gagner answered. “And the truth can be had if the price is high enough. “ With that he pulled himself up to his full height. “You have my sympathies, but that is all you and your kind will ever get from me.”
He took two steps when Martin’s words rung out clearly in the church, shocking him to a standstill.
“You can bury Vincent in my family’s plot,” Martin said. “Even though it’s at the manor, it is consecrated ground, and the Bishop will have no problem with my decision.”
Gagner reddened noticeably. “You cannot bury a Jew…”
“Vincent was baptized,” Martin broke in calmly. “And my family’s cemetery is not in your misshapen guidance.”
Gagner took a step towards the Comte, which seemed to give allowance to Martin who rushed to face down Gagner.
“I don’t care who has appointed you to Hesdin,” Martin said in cold fury, “but mark this day because it will be the first day of the end of your stay here.” He leaned until Gagner could smell his breath. “And if I have any influence in the Court, the end of your life in the Church.”
Martin grabbed Elodie and dragged her outside. Gagner looked at the rest of the townsfolk and was surprised not to see a drop of hostility, only naked fear.
It was then Gagner realized what he really had done. He’d always known his position in this hateful town would be over the moment he spilt their ugly secret. But he’d never actually thought about what the Normants would do. Or would not do.
Gagner felt his legs weaken and collapsed onto a chair. He blankly watched the Comte lead Elodie out of sight.
“What if she leaves?” Jeannette asked Joseph. “What if she thinks we’re to blame for what is happening?”
Joseph closed his eyes and moaned - a low bellow that sounded like it came from a wounded cow.
Gagner wondered how quickly he could leave Hesdin with his skin still attached. Then he surrendered the idea: Could he actually leave? Because he would have to make his way through the forest and he doubted he could find an escort now.
Martin placed Elodie onto a settee and motioned for the servant to get them wine. He waited patiently until Elodie’s breathing became normal.
“I am sorry you had to deal with that,” Martin began. “If you wish we can bury him tomorrow. I will send Henri to Peroune, and he will have Père Philippe come as soon as the sun rises.”
Elodie remained silent, and not wanting to leave her alone, Martin called for Henri who took off in a hurry as soon as he was given his orders.
The maid returned not only with a flask of wine but also with sugared chestnuts. Her eyes were filled with tears as she placed the tray on a table next to Elodie. Then, without warning, the girl leaned over and squeezed Elodie’s hands.
“Your brother is in God’s arms,” she whispered before leaving.
Martin watched the maid’s words break through the fragile hold Elodie had on her grief. Once more, without a sound, she wept. Martin kneeled in front of her and took her into his arms.
His silence was as loud as hers as she drowned in her tears.
It was into this darkness that Jean and the Baron entered.
Jean’s eyes widened for a moment. “Oh, no,” he whispered.
“So it’s true,” the Baron said dully. “The son is dead.”
“Jean, prepare a room for Elodie,” Martin said, refusing to look up. “She will be staying with us tonight.”
“I can’t abandon Vincent,” Elodie finally spoke. “We’ve never been separated.”
“Henri has already seen to Vincent’s care,” Martin explained. “My men are bringing him to prepare for his funeral.”
Jean joined his father. “We’ll take care of him,” the son said, his voice knifed clean through by grief. “After all Vincent’s done for us, we can do this for him. And you.”
Elodie gave a single weak nod as agreement.
Père Philippe arrived mid-morning, his horse panting and sheathed in sweat. The man was even younger than Gagner but unlike his counterpart, Philippe was well known for his charitable spirit alongside a forgiving one.
“Where is the poor child?” Philippe asked, gratefully drinking the water given to him.
“He’s in the cooling house,” Henri answered. “Oh, his sister - that poor creature’s been halved, dear father.”
“I had always hoped they would find some peace after soldiering for God for so long.” Philippe wiped his mouth with the robe’s cuff. “But this was not what I had prayed for.”
“The town’s very upset,” Henri said. “And I’d suggest you do not visit Père Gagner. Not that you could: I don’t think anyone’s seen him since his outburst yesterday.”
Philippe gave Henri and knowing look. “And if he were wise, I won’t be seeing him before I leave.”
Henri crossed himself. “Follow me.”
He left Père Philippe in the cooling house so the priest could perform his duties over the body. When he entered the manor, he found a crowd had already gathered for the funeral.
Henri noted two things: everyone looked sad and scared. And he could understand why, for he held the same emotions. The second was that all the mourners were women.
Will Elodie leave after burying her brother? Or will she stay? But even if she does, how long could she last? If her grief won’t end her life, those hellish creatures will.
Henri shook off his dire thoughts and buried himself in his duties of which there were many.
Bridgette did not wear black like some women did. Instead she wore dark blue trimmed with grey. She didn’t think she knew Vincent and Elodie well enough to wear black. Cherise and Giselle were milling about, hands tightly clasped as if fearing they would be torn apart.
The Comte’s son had entered earlier and spoken to Cherise if only for a moment but with open tenderness. He looked unsure of Giselle but did whisper few words to the pale girl before taking his leave.
The women didn’t know what to do until the Comte entered the room.
“The funeral is about to start,” he told them. “Because of Elodie’s condition, Père Philippe will make it brief. Afterwards, my men will be escorting you to town in groups. If you do not feel comfortable, you may stay here until tomorrow morning. It will be no trouble.
“Please, follow me.”
The group of twelve women followed docilely and bunched even closer when they went outside. Jean noted that even with all the armed men, they found no safety. It was only when Elodie joined them that they visibly relaxed.
Giselle and Cherise flanked her while taking Elodie’s hands into theirs. And though they didn’t speak a single word, Elodie seemed to take great comfort in their presence.
Père Philippe stood over an opened grave which already contained Vincent’s casket. If Elodie knew where the Comte had gotten the coffin on such short notice, she didn’t say anything. Père Philippe took one look at her and mentally went through his repertoire of funeral services, and found one that was brief but not blasphemous.
And he sincerely doubted Elodie would hear a word he’d say. In fact, Père Philippe would bet his Sunday night suppers with the Widow Grace that he could recite the prices of grain and Elodie would remain oblivious.
She’s dying, Père Philippe concluded sadly, of grief.
He’d seen this often enough in elderly couples who’d been married for years. When one spouse died, it was inevitable the other would follow in matter of weeks if not in days.
The priest hoped the Comte would be generous enough to bury Elodie alongside her brother.
Père Philippe raised his right hand to signal the beginning of the funeral, and watched as the veiled heads bowed down in sadness, and probably fear.
Elodie refused company when she returned to her home. The last thing she wanted was a curious eye recording everything she was doing. And later regurgitating them to the Comte or the Mayor.
Feeling the crushing weight of grief and rage, Elodie sank to the floor. She never thought she would outlive Vincent. Even with his injury, her brother was a magnificent fighter: certainly better at handling weapons than she was.
Elodie knew only too well how she was able to survive as long as she did: speed and cleverness. She also had a preternatural sense about what the beasts were about to do. Elodie never knew if it was through familiarity or something more … divine, but even Vincent had commented when they began fighting that his sister at times displayed astonishing understanding of the creatures’ weaknesses.
Elodie reluctantly went to Vincent’s bedroom. She found the stack of reading materials her brother had gathered over the years. The monsters they hunted fascinated him: their duality, their eagerness, and the genuine regret some of them revealed as they died in their human skin.
But Vincent was most curious by their migration. And the map they'd seen during their recent visit to the Comte had stoked his curiosity ever further.
She studied the map Vincent had recreated by memory. It took Elodie only one glance to know it was a perfect copy.
She then laboriously read Vincent’s spidery handwriting. It took her a long time but she deciphered the words. He’d drawn a line alongside Rethel River, a tributary to Fruge. Elodie felt that cooling sensation in her veins as she realized what her brother was thinking. The Rethel came down from the north, running parallel to the Mosel until it met Fruge right outside of Hesdin proper.
North, Elodie concluded as a frisson of excitement went through her body. They always come from the north.
Elodie rarely practiced self-deception, no matter how pleasant or trivial. By herself, it would only be a matter of days if not hours before she would be killed in battle. Whether these creatures communicate with each other didn’t matter: in their human form they will learn of Vincent’s death. And then, they would come. There might be a few left as she had hoped only days before, but she couldn’t gamble the lives of her neighbors on wishful thinking.
Elodie began packing. She would head north, and find the fountain of this misery that had plagued Hesdin and finally murdered her brother. She would kill it, or die trying. She didn’t want to think of what will happen if she survived: if she would return to Hesdin and try to stitch back together her life or what was left of it.
If God is on my side I will die a swift death, but I will take this curse with me. And then everyone will be forced to tell the story of a Jewess who saved them from the beasts.
She locked the valuables into various chests and stored them upstairs, in the crawlspace between the roof and the ceiling. Elodie doubted anyone would steal from her home. The Normant name had earned great respect for their years of sacrifice, and in the case of her father, mother, and brother - the ultimate sacrifice.
She wrote a short note with painful slowness.
Went North to find it. Do not follow.
Elodie wondered if the Comte would understand her wishes much less obey them. She wanted to write more but couldn’t guarantee that it would be the Comte who would be the only one to read it. So, she desisted.
The sun was barely scraping the valley when Elodie rode out of Hesdin, the Rethel River her only guide and companion.
Martin was finishing his morning repast when Henri thundered through the door, startling everyone around the table.
He took one look at Henri’s ashen face and slowly asked, “Was there another attack?”
“No, it’s Elodie,” Henri wheezed out between gasping breaths. “She’s gone. She went north to track down…”
“Damn!” Martin roared, standing up so violently his chair flew back, banging into a wall. “Does anyone know when she left?”
“Deschamps found Beau’s stall empty when he went to feed the horses,” Henri answered. “He said its blanket was still warm so he just missed her.”
“She has two hours, probably less,” Jean calculated. “We could try…”
Martin shook his head. “It’s too late.”
The Baron stood up and straightened his coat. “No it’s not. If we gather all your men and…”
“Divide into groups,” Martin finished, “and take separate roads. Which is an acceptable plan until the beasts attack. In which we all become meals.”
The Baron sat down dejectedly. Jean paled when he understood what his father meant. Elodie’s plan was perfect. She knew they wouldn’t follow her during daylight and by sunset she would be too far for them to track.
“Won’t she need to stay in inns? Guesthouses?” the Baron asked. “Surely she won’t risk sleeping outside.”
“That’s exactly what she will do,” Martin said wearily. “Elodie is grieving, and I doubt she is thinking clearly. In fact, I believe she’s determined to meet her death with this act of madness.”
“Why did she go north?” the Baron asked.
“The creatures originate from there,” Jean answered. “Though exactly where is still a mystery.”
“She’ll find it,” Martin said. “The Normants have a gift for dealing with these things. The only question is when she will be killed.”
“If she succeeds, will she return?” Jean asked his father.
Martin replied grimly, “That I would not hazard a guess.”
Elodie made sure the rope had her secured to the tree. The branch she was resting on was broad enough for her to lie down comfortably. With a worried glance Elodie looked down at her horse.
She hadn’t needed to secure Beau for Elodie had taken care of the horse since it was a newborn foal. And if they were attacked, she wanted her horse to have a chance to escape.
Besides, she didn’t think she would get much sleep that night. Only once had Elodie traveled away from Hesdin for more than a day; when her brother had to seek extraordinary care in Paris for his shattered hip and leg. And she hadn’t taken much rest then, either.
Elodie closed her eyes and forced herself to get uneasy rest. To her surprise she woke up when the sun’s weak rays blanketed the branch she was resting on. The first thing she did was to look down, and smiled broadly when she spotted Beau standing right where she’d left him.
However, she took her time before making her way down. Elodie was only too well aware how vulnerable she was while she shimmied down the tree. After few feet Elodie couldn’t take the panic rising in throat and jumped. She landed gracefully enough on a pile of molding leaves and branches, so she was able to get up quickly.
She pretended nothing was out of the ordinary; that she didn’t spy a shadowy figure only thirty paces from where she stood. Instead, she took the reins and led her horse to a small stream she’d discovered last evening. Elodie had already drawn her drinking water from it, just in case she couldn’t find another ready supply.
Elodie had seen the obvious devastation in her three days of travel: abandoned farms, burned-out houses, and on occasion a small hamlet decimated with one or two stragglers barely making a living from the ruins. Only one of them would talk but what she said was enough to confirm Elodie’s suspicions that the creatures had a specific path they took every migration.
Elodie heard a small crunch and knew the sound wasn’t made by any animal. Feeling frustrated she blew out a huff of air and said,
“You’re not subtle. In fact, you’re anything but. Show yourself, now, and I might not slice open your throat.”
There was an embarrassed cough and a familiar figure slipped into view.
“Not you,” Elodie cried out in dismay before good sense could shut her mouth.
The Baron gave a toothy grin. “As your chronicler it’s my duty to ensure that my reader gets the most accurate…”
Elodie had enough. With single vicious motion she let the arrow fly. It pierced through the Baron’s elaborate hat and nailed it to the tree behind him.
The Baron gave a cry of fear and jumped aside. “You didn’t have to do that! I was being perfectly…”
“Useless,” Elodie snapped. “And you will slow me down, which I cannot afford. So, please, turn your laced ass around and go back to Hesdin before you get torn to pieces.”
The Baron seemed to take her tirade with unusual equanimity. “I have money,” he said simply. “Lots of it.”
Elodie rolled her eyes. “I know the truth about your estate…”
The Baron waved a negligent hand. “Oh, that - well, yes, it’s true. But my wealth is from my mother’s family. You see she was the only legitimate heir, and when my grandparents passed away, she'd inherited everything.”
Elodie had to pause at that. If he were speaking the truth, the Baron would have enough money not only to make the trip easier but also to buy the truth from people who would otherwise be unwilling to talk even to her. Especially to her, since her name was equally hated as loved outside Hesdin. Many towns had offered the Normant family plenty of money to protect them, but they had refused repeatedly. And though most understood the refusal, many hated them for the misery that came in shadow of their adamant ‘no’.
The Baron, sensing her weakness, added, “I have my own horse, and after what I’ve seen I will stand far away if we are attacked. That way you won’t be burdened with protecting me while fighting.”
Elodie sighed. “How did you find me?”
The Baron pulled out a map and pointed to a line. “I was lucky. I met up with a riverman who remembered seeing you. Your red cape was quite memorable, especially on your black steed.”
Elodie’s second sigh was longer and louder than the first.
“And, like I’ve said, I have written about your exploits, so I figured out what path you would take.” He paused for a moment, his usually jovial face turned grim. “You realize you are going to die if you continue.”
“I cannot fight in seven years,” Elodie said harshly. “And if these things decide to cooperate I won’t be able to survive seven days.”
“So, what are you looking for exactly?”
“These creatures hunt alone but we believed that they were directed in some manner.”
“You mean like a general?”
“More like a king, perhaps.” Elodie looked at the Baron with renewed interest. “In your writings, have you read anything about these creatures having such a thing?”
The Baron looked startled for a moment. “Yes, yes I did, actually. They have a hierarchy according to some of the literature I’ve read. But they don’t obey their ruler like we do.”
Elodie frowned. “Why bother having one, then?”
“The one who rules doesn’t have to be the oldest, the wisest, or the most vicious,” the Baron responded quickly. “It has something to do with heredity, not unlike us. But if they do so choose, they can and often do, dethrone the one who rules.”
“Why?”
He shrugged helplessly before looking about. “Could we maybe discuss this somewhere safer?”
“Where would you suggest?” Elodie asked in a flat tone.
The Baron paused and then added, “True, how about some place where there are people?”
Elodie sighed. He did have a point and she was hungry. Her provisions were scant, forcing her to eat lightly. “Let’s see if there’s anything up the river.”
The Baron rushed to get his horse and while doing so didn’t leave Elodie’s sight. She wanted to feel annoyed but felt pity instead. The man was obviously incapable of protecting himself; probably had servants see to his safety his entire life.
“Why are you without escort?” she asked reluctantly.
The Baron flashed a crafty smile. “I had to escape my keepers without them being wiser.”
“Oh,” Elodie said, imagining the look on the Comte’s face when he realized he’d lost the Baron. “That would definitely upset your keepers.”
“I would imagine he’d be redder than a sunset,” the Baron said breezily.
She glanced at her guest. “I’m guessing you’ve done this before?’
The crafty smile turned broader. “I’ve had practice. My mother, for instance, insisted I have protection since I was her only child. Then there were angry husbands and like.”
Elodie couldn’t help but laugh. The man might be a pompous brat but he wasn’t such a fool as she first thought. Unfortunately he still had a startling resemblance to his horse, especially since he had dressed in the same egg-colored outfit as his ride.
Elodie wanted to ask if everyone in Paris dressed so ridiculously as he did but decided not to. She didn’t want to act too familiar with the nobility, and then there was the chance that he could die before sunset.
The last thing Elodie needed or wanted was to become fond of ‘Guillaume’ only to bury him later.
“Is it true?” the baron asked suddenly, startling her out of her reverie.
“What is true?”
“That anyone who gets bitten by these creatures becomes one?”
Elodie shook her head vehemently. “No, and I know why people think that.”
The Baron looked delighted. “Why?”
“Rarely can a person survive a werewolf attack,” she answered. “The only ones who can usually are werewolves, which is why so many people believe a werewolf bite can be so dangerous.”
“Oh, I see,” he said. “I see. But how do you know of this?”
“Because we’ve met people who’ve been bitten,” Elodie said shortly. “And none of them had turned.”
The Baron looked at her with wide eyes. “You mean your neighbors?”
“Victims,” Elodie corrected. “Vincent and I’ve always taken precautions. Our father did, too. He was the one who first discovered that the bites do not transfer the curse.
“But we were always careful. We had to treat the survivors far away from town, just in case. And when we did, we always tied them up, to be sure.”
“But they remain unaffected?”
“Yes, and you must know the entire lunar thing…”
“Is nonsense,” he concluded. “That much I’ve discovered.”
“Where do you find books about these creatures?”
“All over the place, I’ve been searching for years, ever since I’ve heard about your family.” He saw the uncomfortable look dawn on her face and quickly added, “I apologize.”
“I am still having a hard time believing anyone would be interested in us. We are common folk.”
“Who slay creatures from mythology; from the darkest recesses of our nightmares.” He sighed and shook his head. “That is extraordinary, Mademoiselle Normant. And that makes you not in the least common.”
Elodie didn’t blush; she’d heard such compliments her entire life and thought them unnecessary at best, bothersome at worst.
“What do you want to do?” he asked curiously.
“I do not know, truthfully,” Elodie answered. “But I must stop the migration somehow.”
“Of course. I will do what I can to help you.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you help me?”
“Because I admire you and your family, and what you’ve accomplished. And I feel I owe you because I’ve chronicled all your achievements and earned quite a few praises for my works. So, it’s only fair I think to repay some of my debts.
“Also, I do not wish to be considered anything like my father who was by all accounts a boorish pig with manners befitting as such.”
Elodie smiled. “I see you have been told.”
“Often and usually with the person shouting at me,” the Baron informed her. “My father’s infamy echoed into Paris with resounding hatred. Which was why my mother kept my existence a secret for so long.”
“Did your father know?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered lightly. “I had no idea he was dead until my mother had passed. Only then did I discover who he was. Unfortunately I didn’t have my mother’s sensibilities and told a few close acquaintances about my parentage. Within days I became persona non grata in many of the social circles.
“My fiancée ended the engagement because she did not wish to be associated with my father’s name.”
“It is a wonder that your mother was able to keep her secret for so long, especially in a city like Paris.”
The Baron’s smile was crooked and surprisingly charming. “Not really. Her family was one of the Church’s greatest patrons and devout followers. You’d be amazed what money, power, and influential friends could buy you in a city like Paris.”
“Ahh, so even the Enlightenment can be had for a price.”
“Especially the Enlightened,” the Baron added dryly. “Though the price is quite a bit steeper than in the times of Galileo.”
“What’s Galileo?” Elodie asked, liking how the word rolled on her tongue.
The Baron didn’t look at all surprised, and for the following hours of the ride, he regaled her with the stories of the astonishing scientist-philosopher-genius.
Elodie had to admit traveling with a rich companion had its rewards. Such as this nice comfortable bed she was resting in, and the good duck roast in her stomach.
They had come across the inn in a small town that managed to survive the attacks by fortifying the entire area with walls built centuries before. As the garrulous innkeeper had informed them, any towns they would come across in this region would have such protection. Otherwise, they were destroyed in the last forty some-odd years by the onslaught of attacks.
To Elodie’s shock, she learned that the monsters didn’t appear every seven years, but every May this far north. And though their numbers had been dwindling of late, they appeared without fail.
“But the ones this year?” the innkeeper said with a smile. “They’re weaklings! Why, we managed to kill three ourselves and without losing any men. It’s a miracle!”
The Baron gave a nod and scribbled some nonsense on a roll of parchment. They had come to the inn with a disguise of sorts. The Baron was a wealthy chronicler from Paris and she, his young assistant. This rouse was easy because Elodie was dressed as a man, and unless one saw her bathing, no one would be the wiser.
Elodie sighed and blew out the single candle by her bedside. She wondered what the Baron was doing. He’d insisted she call him by his given name but Elodie couldn’t bring herself to call him ‘Guillaume’. She could barely call the Comte his given name even after two decades of his insistence.
Elodie felt tears sting as she thought about Hesdin, and what the townsfolk were doing now.
Bridgette made sure the doors and the windows were barred. She heard Joseph check their daughters’ doors too. They had bolts installed from the inside, to give Cherise and Giselle a chance to escape through their windows should a monster manage to break into the house.
Joseph was sitting by the fire. It had been only two days since the Guerre’s family massacre, but it seemed like he’d lost more than half his weight.
“The girls are sleeping,” Joseph whispered.
Bridgette rested her head on his lap. “She’ll come back.”
“She went north, to chase the monsters,” Joseph said, tears thickening his voice. “What was she thinking? What were we thinking? We should never have left her alone. Not after Vincent’s death...”
“And we didn’t,” Bridgette insisted. “The Comte was with her, and she managed to fool everyone. I think she and Vincent must have planned it for a while.”
Joseph rubbed his eyes. “At least we lost the baron.”
Bridgette smiled. “You think he really went after her?”
“I’m sure he did,” Joseph replied, “and was eaten the very night he left.”
“I feel sorry for him,” Bridgette confessed. “He was a fop but an entertaining one.”
“That’s like saying there are certain plagues that should be welcomed into one’s household because it would lessen the number of mouths to feed.” Joseph stood up, helping his wife to her feet. “Let’s retire, I…”
The howl stopped him, and the ones that followed froze their bones until they couldn’t move, even though they wanted to rush by their children’s side.
True darkness had come to Hesdin: one that no prayer could dispel.
Elodie took a deep breath and stood straight as she examined the destruction she had wrecked in the last few minutes.
“It’s safe,” she shouted and then looked at the tree where she’d thrown the Baron when they were attacked. A thin pale face peered down from the branches. Elodie marveled at the speed with which the man had climbed and the height he’d achieved in the few moments before they were ambushed by not one but four werewolves.
Elodie’s lips thinned to a bloodless gash as she studied the corpses. Like Hesdin, they were either very young or too old. Or too crazed as one body refused to transform into its human form.
The forest once more fell into unnatural quiet: all God’s beasts had long fled this land for a gentler version. She glanced at the trees and suspected the eldritch ones had never been visited by a man with an axe or a hungry human forager looking for fruit or nuts.
No one has touched these woods in hundreds of years, Elodie concluded grimly. For no one sane would enter these lands of their free will.
She heard a graceless thud and knew the Baron made his way to the ground.
“You are amazing!” he gushed as soon as he reached her side. “I have never seen such…”
“They were children,” Elodie snapped, revealing her frustration and shame, “or old men. There is no honor in killing them.”
“Why aren’t there any women?”
“We don’t know. Vincent thought it was impossible for women to become one, though we do believe they can become pregnant by the creature and give birth to one.”
“Which is obvious,” the Baron finished. He looked around the forest. “Is it just me or is it too quiet here?”
“It has been since we crossed the ford this morning,” Elodie said. “I don’t think the gypsies were lying when they said these were haunted woods.”
“So, we should be expecting more, yes?”
She studied the Baron’s pallor grow. “I don’t think these woods are their home anymore.” She toed the corpse that refused to turn. “Either that or there aren’t enough left to protect it.”
“What should we do next?”
Elodie’s reply was to climb a tree. She shimmied up the trunk until she found a branch that could hold her weight. She toed out until she was able to see above the tree line. The sight surprised her though she was half expecting it.
Without a word she leapt down. “There is a manor to the northwest of us.”
“Abandoned?”
“No, there is smoke coming from the kitchen chimney.”
The Baron gave a weak smile but followed her. His horse was definitely skittish though Beau didn’t act a whit disturbed.
The manor was grand, obviously a home to a noble born though it had fallen to disuse and neglect.
Elodie’s skin tingled as she smelled the creatures. Their heavy, musky scent perfumed the air, and Elodie imagined she could almost taste their blood at the back of her throat.
And even though the sky was a cloudless blue, Elodie thought she could see a film of darkness blanketing everything.
“This is certainly cheerful,” the Baron muttered. “I can’t believe anyone would want to live here.”
“If you are poor you have no choice,” Elodie said as she came to a halt in front of the main door. “And when you don’t have a choice, you make do with what you have in your purse.”
The Baron wisely remained silent as they tied the horse to a makeshift post.
Elodie tried the door and found it locked. “Someone definitely lives here.”
“And they’re human,” the Baron added. “Anyone who could turn into one of those creatures wouldn’t need locks.”
Elodie gave an admiring glance towards her companion before trying the windows. She found one that she could force slightly ajar. With a grunt she climbed in and then unlocked another, helping the Baron climb in.
“Oh my,” he said when he saw the sumptuous decorations and woodwork.
“Whoever owned this place has or had a lot of gold,” Elodie concluded as she fingered the ancient tapestries hanging by the fireplace. “The only home I’ve seen that has this much wealth is the Comte’s manor.”
“More,” the Baron corrected as he calculated the wealth displayed. “Much more, in fact.”
“So, a nobleman?”
“Definitely,” he answered, pointing to a coat of arms hanging above the mantel. “I don’t recognize it, but I doubt it’s French.”
Elodie tried the door and found it unlocked. She slowly peeked into the hall. Feeling they had company, Elodie nervously made her way to the back of the house.
The wealthy on display made Elodie feel even more unsettled than she had been in the forest. No one in their right mind would leave all this behind; not even the richest would forego the pleasure of tapestries, ornate furniture, and silverware. Even the candelabras were still standing where they were placed.
“I am even more frightened than I was in the woods,” the Baron confessed.
“That makes two of us,” she whispered. “Don’t wander away.”
“I don’t plan to step out of your shadow,” was the fervent answer.
There was a single room that took the entire back of the house. Elodie gasped when she saw how richly it was decorated.
“It’s the portrait hall,” the Baron explained. “Any family of importance has one.”
Elodie touched the frames, amazed by the display. She’d never seen such loveliness entwined with history, all laid out for anyone to examine and admire. It wasn’t until the last few portraits that she felt unease.
She leaned closer and examined the faces. The Baron did the same.
“Do you recognize any of them?”
“No, but if they’re not French, then I would not know them.”
Elodie traced the jawline of the beautiful and fragile woman in front of her. “I know her … I think … I’ve seen her before, somewhere…”
Suddenly the display turned into a pageantry of horror for Elodie. Her eyes widened in complete shock. “Oh no, no, this can’t be…”
The Baron turned to her. “What? What can’t be?”
“She looks … she looks…”
“She looks like her grandson,” a decrepit voice hissed from the doorway.
They whirled around; Elodie taken back that someone managed to sneak up on her without her knowing.
“You took too long getting here,” the woman said, between gasps of air.
Even from where they were standing, they could hear her lungs’ death rattle.
“Who are you?”
“Why, I’m the housekeeper, of course,” she answered with a crazed smile. “My name’s Albine. I lived here my entire life, and I’m going to die here, I think.”
“Whose mother is she?”
“The King’s if you must know.”
“What king?”
“The King of our kind,” Elena answered with a hint of pride. “She was pregnant with him when she ran. Not that she got far. Her husband found her and brought her back, but she had her taste of freedom and taught it to her boy. So that when he took the crown…”
“He didn’t stay but moved,” Elodie finished, “all the way to Hesdin.”
“To his mother’s family who had a place ready for him. And no one was the wiser.”
“And after he died … his son - Martin - is why they keep coming.”
“A King who refuses his duties is useless. For years we wanted another ruler - someone who could take control and lead. Instead, we have chaos; families fighting one another for dominance. And then there was your cursed kind: the Normants. A filthy pack of Saracen rats who’ve always been a bane to our world!”
Elodie took a step back, shocked by the woman’s vehemence.
“You and your family protected those gelded bastards. Why? Why would you not let us have peace?”
“Wait a moment,” the Baron interrupted. “So, the Comte’s the reason for the attacks?”
“That’s right. And this spring was our last chance to rid of the bastard. So, those of us who are left had no choice but to attack in force.”
“But I’m not there,” Elodie said hoarsely. “Oh, dear Heavens: I’m not there anymore.”
Elena smiled, showing rotting teeth and whitened gums. “No, you’re not,” she chortled loudly. “Not anymore!”
Elodie’s heart pounded faster than the hoofbeats under her. So determined was she that Elodie nearly missed her companion’s hollering.
“What?” she yelled impatiently. “We don’t…”
The Baron pointed at a riverboat floating its way southward. He got off his horse and went to the bank.
“Hello!” he yelled as loudly as possible. “We need your help!”
The man, steering the boat with a pole, gave a wave and shouted, “You need a hire?!”
“Us and the horses!”
He stuck his head below deck and yelled something. Two more men appeared, both looking scruffier and more disreputable than the captain. They helped steer the boat to where the Baron stood and stopped it from going any further.
A solid plank did well enough for them to cross over.
“I’m Donat,” the man said, “and that’s all the name you need to know.”
The Baron pulled out two gold pieces. “We need you to take us to Hesdin.”
Donat’s eyes widened in shock: the gold pieces could have easily taken the wayfarers twice the distance. He then felt something sharp poking at his abdomen. He looked down to see a sword embedded into his vest.
“And I suggest you take that as full payment,” Elodie said harshly. “You and your men try anything foolish and I will be happy to throw your bodies overboard and take the boat myself.”
“I suggest you listen to the lady,” the Baron said. “Mademoiselle Normant does not…”
“Normant?” Donat’s eyes flickered to Elodie. “You’re the Normant girl?”
His two men exchanged frightened looks and retreated until they were behind Donat.
“I am she.” Elodie studied at them with hard eyes. “And the Baron is correct. I have no patience. Especially now.”
Donat took the coins and said, “I like Hesdin; the whores there are friendly and don’t mind that I’m old. Some of them are really sweet like Minuette. And she told me about you and your brother. Tie your horses, we’ve got the wind and with little luck, we’ll be at Hesdin by tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” Elodie said, then reached out and gave a grateful squeeze on Donat’s leathery hand.
The captain looked down and saw the numerous scars and burns on hers. He paused for a moment then turned away, blinking furiously.
“What are you idiots gawping at?! Get the sails!” he roared, kicking the shit bucket for emphasis.
Part IV * Conclusion
Fandom(s): original fic
Type: gen, horror
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings:None
Warnings Spotty historical research. Spotty French, which is worse.
Summary: May is supposed to bring life, a renewal of things lost during the frigid months of winter. Unfortunately, for the people of Hesdin, the thirty-one days bring only fear and grief, for every seven years creatures of darkest myth declare a bloody war on the town. Their only protection comes from the Normant family who has stood against the onslaught, defending their neighbors and friends, since their arrival. But now there are only two left: brother and sister whose youth have passed. Faced with their mortality, Vincent and Elodie decide to end this cyclical bloodbath by trying to discover the reason behind the Time of the Wolf.
Disclaimer: So much fiction, you could spot it from a satellite!
Elodie laid out Vincent’s body on his bed and undressed him. She then washed away the blood and the dirt. She changed his clothes to the ones he’d worn to the dance.
The final act of this tragedy was completed when she placed alongside Vincent's corpse his sword and daggers.
The grieving sister had no desire to use any of her brother's weapons. They were built for him; the cores contained his blood, which was what their father said would be required to make the weapons their own.
“Elodie,” Martin whispered from the doorway. She hadn’t heard him enter and she didn’t care.
“He looks almost alive,” Elodie whispered.
Martin’s eyes widened. Vincent’s corpse was well on its way to deterioration. The skin was turning color and the body had softened because rigor had already past.
“We have to bury him,” Martin said and grabbed Elodie by her shoulders. He peeled her away from her brother’s bedside. “Vincent deserves rest. To be reunited with your parents.”
Elodie closed her eyes but there were no tears. Only a small, tired sigh. Without a word she let Martin lead her away.
They marched towards the church, and people joined them. Jeannette along with Bridgette, and Joseph quietly walked behind the pair. Timothy’s pale and frightened face peeked outside to see the congregation but only for a moment. He ducked back into his shop and tripped over bags he’d packed after hearing about Vincent’s violent death, and the puzzling fact that the creature that killed him was covered in arrows.
The group entered the church, taking solace in the benign calm that encased them the moment they entered.
“I’ll find Gagner,” Martin said and disappeared. Feeling feverish Elodie sat in a pew, wiping her forehead with her hands. The townsfolk took the chairs at the end row, giving Elodie the privacy she required.
She wanted to fall asleep and forget everything that had happened since she’d discovered Vincent’s body. The approaching footsteps grabbed her attention.
She looked up to see Gagner, and instead of feeling comfort, dread snaked into her blood.
“I’ve heard of your brother’s demise,” Gagner said primly. “What could I do for you?”
“I want to bury him next to our parents,” Elodie said slowly. “The plot’s already been purchased by us years ago.”
“Which was approved by Père Jonelle, my predecessor,” Gagner prompted. “Yes, I know. Unfortunately, I cannot allow that.”
Martin turned to Gagner, paling with anger. “You cannot possibly deny a Christian man a proper burial. Especially after what he’s done for this town!”
“I wouldn’t, were he a Christian man,” Gagner said serenely. “But Vincent Normant, and for that matter, Elodie, is not Christian.”
Elodie’s anger turned to puzzlement. “I don’t understand. We are…”
“No, you’re not,” Gagner snapped. “Your grandmother was a Jew. And by the Laws of the Church, so are you.”
“My grandmother was a devout…” Elodie began hotly.
“She was a whore who abandoned her son to her sister so she could follow her lover here. And when he died, she was forced to live outside the town where she practiced her blasphemy until her death at the hands of these so-called friends of yours.”
Elodie slowly turned to the people behind them. And saw the truth in their faces.
“Your aunt raised your father who tracked his mother to Hesdin. But he was too late to save the witch. He was told a lie about the manner of her death, and so he and his pregnant wife settled here. He would’ve discovered the truth soon enough, but then the visitations began and the townsfolk discovered he was capable of doing something no one else could: kill the monsters.
“After that, well, the entire town, including Père Jonelle, kept their murderous little secret. Then you and your brother were born, and Hesdin continue to practice its deception until almost all had forgotten the truth.”
“So how could you possibly know?” Elodie asked hoarsely. “You only took Père Jonelle’s position eight years ago.”
“Because I can read,” Gagner answered. “And the truth can be had if the price is high enough. “ With that he pulled himself up to his full height. “You have my sympathies, but that is all you and your kind will ever get from me.”
He took two steps when Martin’s words rung out clearly in the church, shocking him to a standstill.
“You can bury Vincent in my family’s plot,” Martin said. “Even though it’s at the manor, it is consecrated ground, and the Bishop will have no problem with my decision.”
Gagner reddened noticeably. “You cannot bury a Jew…”
“Vincent was baptized,” Martin broke in calmly. “And my family’s cemetery is not in your misshapen guidance.”
Gagner took a step towards the Comte, which seemed to give allowance to Martin who rushed to face down Gagner.
“I don’t care who has appointed you to Hesdin,” Martin said in cold fury, “but mark this day because it will be the first day of the end of your stay here.” He leaned until Gagner could smell his breath. “And if I have any influence in the Court, the end of your life in the Church.”
Martin grabbed Elodie and dragged her outside. Gagner looked at the rest of the townsfolk and was surprised not to see a drop of hostility, only naked fear.
It was then Gagner realized what he really had done. He’d always known his position in this hateful town would be over the moment he spilt their ugly secret. But he’d never actually thought about what the Normants would do. Or would not do.
Gagner felt his legs weaken and collapsed onto a chair. He blankly watched the Comte lead Elodie out of sight.
“What if she leaves?” Jeannette asked Joseph. “What if she thinks we’re to blame for what is happening?”
Joseph closed his eyes and moaned - a low bellow that sounded like it came from a wounded cow.
Gagner wondered how quickly he could leave Hesdin with his skin still attached. Then he surrendered the idea: Could he actually leave? Because he would have to make his way through the forest and he doubted he could find an escort now.
Martin placed Elodie onto a settee and motioned for the servant to get them wine. He waited patiently until Elodie’s breathing became normal.
“I am sorry you had to deal with that,” Martin began. “If you wish we can bury him tomorrow. I will send Henri to Peroune, and he will have Père Philippe come as soon as the sun rises.”
Elodie remained silent, and not wanting to leave her alone, Martin called for Henri who took off in a hurry as soon as he was given his orders.
The maid returned not only with a flask of wine but also with sugared chestnuts. Her eyes were filled with tears as she placed the tray on a table next to Elodie. Then, without warning, the girl leaned over and squeezed Elodie’s hands.
“Your brother is in God’s arms,” she whispered before leaving.
Martin watched the maid’s words break through the fragile hold Elodie had on her grief. Once more, without a sound, she wept. Martin kneeled in front of her and took her into his arms.
His silence was as loud as hers as she drowned in her tears.
It was into this darkness that Jean and the Baron entered.
Jean’s eyes widened for a moment. “Oh, no,” he whispered.
“So it’s true,” the Baron said dully. “The son is dead.”
“Jean, prepare a room for Elodie,” Martin said, refusing to look up. “She will be staying with us tonight.”
“I can’t abandon Vincent,” Elodie finally spoke. “We’ve never been separated.”
“Henri has already seen to Vincent’s care,” Martin explained. “My men are bringing him to prepare for his funeral.”
Jean joined his father. “We’ll take care of him,” the son said, his voice knifed clean through by grief. “After all Vincent’s done for us, we can do this for him. And you.”
Elodie gave a single weak nod as agreement.
Père Philippe arrived mid-morning, his horse panting and sheathed in sweat. The man was even younger than Gagner but unlike his counterpart, Philippe was well known for his charitable spirit alongside a forgiving one.
“Where is the poor child?” Philippe asked, gratefully drinking the water given to him.
“He’s in the cooling house,” Henri answered. “Oh, his sister - that poor creature’s been halved, dear father.”
“I had always hoped they would find some peace after soldiering for God for so long.” Philippe wiped his mouth with the robe’s cuff. “But this was not what I had prayed for.”
“The town’s very upset,” Henri said. “And I’d suggest you do not visit Père Gagner. Not that you could: I don’t think anyone’s seen him since his outburst yesterday.”
Philippe gave Henri and knowing look. “And if he were wise, I won’t be seeing him before I leave.”
Henri crossed himself. “Follow me.”
He left Père Philippe in the cooling house so the priest could perform his duties over the body. When he entered the manor, he found a crowd had already gathered for the funeral.
Henri noted two things: everyone looked sad and scared. And he could understand why, for he held the same emotions. The second was that all the mourners were women.
Will Elodie leave after burying her brother? Or will she stay? But even if she does, how long could she last? If her grief won’t end her life, those hellish creatures will.
Henri shook off his dire thoughts and buried himself in his duties of which there were many.
Bridgette did not wear black like some women did. Instead she wore dark blue trimmed with grey. She didn’t think she knew Vincent and Elodie well enough to wear black. Cherise and Giselle were milling about, hands tightly clasped as if fearing they would be torn apart.
The Comte’s son had entered earlier and spoken to Cherise if only for a moment but with open tenderness. He looked unsure of Giselle but did whisper few words to the pale girl before taking his leave.
The women didn’t know what to do until the Comte entered the room.
“The funeral is about to start,” he told them. “Because of Elodie’s condition, Père Philippe will make it brief. Afterwards, my men will be escorting you to town in groups. If you do not feel comfortable, you may stay here until tomorrow morning. It will be no trouble.
“Please, follow me.”
The group of twelve women followed docilely and bunched even closer when they went outside. Jean noted that even with all the armed men, they found no safety. It was only when Elodie joined them that they visibly relaxed.
Giselle and Cherise flanked her while taking Elodie’s hands into theirs. And though they didn’t speak a single word, Elodie seemed to take great comfort in their presence.
Père Philippe stood over an opened grave which already contained Vincent’s casket. If Elodie knew where the Comte had gotten the coffin on such short notice, she didn’t say anything. Père Philippe took one look at her and mentally went through his repertoire of funeral services, and found one that was brief but not blasphemous.
And he sincerely doubted Elodie would hear a word he’d say. In fact, Père Philippe would bet his Sunday night suppers with the Widow Grace that he could recite the prices of grain and Elodie would remain oblivious.
She’s dying, Père Philippe concluded sadly, of grief.
He’d seen this often enough in elderly couples who’d been married for years. When one spouse died, it was inevitable the other would follow in matter of weeks if not in days.
The priest hoped the Comte would be generous enough to bury Elodie alongside her brother.
Père Philippe raised his right hand to signal the beginning of the funeral, and watched as the veiled heads bowed down in sadness, and probably fear.
Elodie refused company when she returned to her home. The last thing she wanted was a curious eye recording everything she was doing. And later regurgitating them to the Comte or the Mayor.
Feeling the crushing weight of grief and rage, Elodie sank to the floor. She never thought she would outlive Vincent. Even with his injury, her brother was a magnificent fighter: certainly better at handling weapons than she was.
Elodie knew only too well how she was able to survive as long as she did: speed and cleverness. She also had a preternatural sense about what the beasts were about to do. Elodie never knew if it was through familiarity or something more … divine, but even Vincent had commented when they began fighting that his sister at times displayed astonishing understanding of the creatures’ weaknesses.
Elodie reluctantly went to Vincent’s bedroom. She found the stack of reading materials her brother had gathered over the years. The monsters they hunted fascinated him: their duality, their eagerness, and the genuine regret some of them revealed as they died in their human skin.
But Vincent was most curious by their migration. And the map they'd seen during their recent visit to the Comte had stoked his curiosity ever further.
She studied the map Vincent had recreated by memory. It took Elodie only one glance to know it was a perfect copy.
She then laboriously read Vincent’s spidery handwriting. It took her a long time but she deciphered the words. He’d drawn a line alongside Rethel River, a tributary to Fruge. Elodie felt that cooling sensation in her veins as she realized what her brother was thinking. The Rethel came down from the north, running parallel to the Mosel until it met Fruge right outside of Hesdin proper.
North, Elodie concluded as a frisson of excitement went through her body. They always come from the north.
Elodie rarely practiced self-deception, no matter how pleasant or trivial. By herself, it would only be a matter of days if not hours before she would be killed in battle. Whether these creatures communicate with each other didn’t matter: in their human form they will learn of Vincent’s death. And then, they would come. There might be a few left as she had hoped only days before, but she couldn’t gamble the lives of her neighbors on wishful thinking.
Elodie began packing. She would head north, and find the fountain of this misery that had plagued Hesdin and finally murdered her brother. She would kill it, or die trying. She didn’t want to think of what will happen if she survived: if she would return to Hesdin and try to stitch back together her life or what was left of it.
If God is on my side I will die a swift death, but I will take this curse with me. And then everyone will be forced to tell the story of a Jewess who saved them from the beasts.
She locked the valuables into various chests and stored them upstairs, in the crawlspace between the roof and the ceiling. Elodie doubted anyone would steal from her home. The Normant name had earned great respect for their years of sacrifice, and in the case of her father, mother, and brother - the ultimate sacrifice.
She wrote a short note with painful slowness.
Went North to find it. Do not follow.
Elodie wondered if the Comte would understand her wishes much less obey them. She wanted to write more but couldn’t guarantee that it would be the Comte who would be the only one to read it. So, she desisted.
The sun was barely scraping the valley when Elodie rode out of Hesdin, the Rethel River her only guide and companion.
Martin was finishing his morning repast when Henri thundered through the door, startling everyone around the table.
He took one look at Henri’s ashen face and slowly asked, “Was there another attack?”
“No, it’s Elodie,” Henri wheezed out between gasping breaths. “She’s gone. She went north to track down…”
“Damn!” Martin roared, standing up so violently his chair flew back, banging into a wall. “Does anyone know when she left?”
“Deschamps found Beau’s stall empty when he went to feed the horses,” Henri answered. “He said its blanket was still warm so he just missed her.”
“She has two hours, probably less,” Jean calculated. “We could try…”
Martin shook his head. “It’s too late.”
The Baron stood up and straightened his coat. “No it’s not. If we gather all your men and…”
“Divide into groups,” Martin finished, “and take separate roads. Which is an acceptable plan until the beasts attack. In which we all become meals.”
The Baron sat down dejectedly. Jean paled when he understood what his father meant. Elodie’s plan was perfect. She knew they wouldn’t follow her during daylight and by sunset she would be too far for them to track.
“Won’t she need to stay in inns? Guesthouses?” the Baron asked. “Surely she won’t risk sleeping outside.”
“That’s exactly what she will do,” Martin said wearily. “Elodie is grieving, and I doubt she is thinking clearly. In fact, I believe she’s determined to meet her death with this act of madness.”
“Why did she go north?” the Baron asked.
“The creatures originate from there,” Jean answered. “Though exactly where is still a mystery.”
“She’ll find it,” Martin said. “The Normants have a gift for dealing with these things. The only question is when she will be killed.”
“If she succeeds, will she return?” Jean asked his father.
Martin replied grimly, “That I would not hazard a guess.”
Elodie made sure the rope had her secured to the tree. The branch she was resting on was broad enough for her to lie down comfortably. With a worried glance Elodie looked down at her horse.
She hadn’t needed to secure Beau for Elodie had taken care of the horse since it was a newborn foal. And if they were attacked, she wanted her horse to have a chance to escape.
Besides, she didn’t think she would get much sleep that night. Only once had Elodie traveled away from Hesdin for more than a day; when her brother had to seek extraordinary care in Paris for his shattered hip and leg. And she hadn’t taken much rest then, either.
Elodie closed her eyes and forced herself to get uneasy rest. To her surprise she woke up when the sun’s weak rays blanketed the branch she was resting on. The first thing she did was to look down, and smiled broadly when she spotted Beau standing right where she’d left him.
However, she took her time before making her way down. Elodie was only too well aware how vulnerable she was while she shimmied down the tree. After few feet Elodie couldn’t take the panic rising in throat and jumped. She landed gracefully enough on a pile of molding leaves and branches, so she was able to get up quickly.
She pretended nothing was out of the ordinary; that she didn’t spy a shadowy figure only thirty paces from where she stood. Instead, she took the reins and led her horse to a small stream she’d discovered last evening. Elodie had already drawn her drinking water from it, just in case she couldn’t find another ready supply.
Elodie had seen the obvious devastation in her three days of travel: abandoned farms, burned-out houses, and on occasion a small hamlet decimated with one or two stragglers barely making a living from the ruins. Only one of them would talk but what she said was enough to confirm Elodie’s suspicions that the creatures had a specific path they took every migration.
Elodie heard a small crunch and knew the sound wasn’t made by any animal. Feeling frustrated she blew out a huff of air and said,
“You’re not subtle. In fact, you’re anything but. Show yourself, now, and I might not slice open your throat.”
There was an embarrassed cough and a familiar figure slipped into view.
“Not you,” Elodie cried out in dismay before good sense could shut her mouth.
The Baron gave a toothy grin. “As your chronicler it’s my duty to ensure that my reader gets the most accurate…”
Elodie had enough. With single vicious motion she let the arrow fly. It pierced through the Baron’s elaborate hat and nailed it to the tree behind him.
The Baron gave a cry of fear and jumped aside. “You didn’t have to do that! I was being perfectly…”
“Useless,” Elodie snapped. “And you will slow me down, which I cannot afford. So, please, turn your laced ass around and go back to Hesdin before you get torn to pieces.”
The Baron seemed to take her tirade with unusual equanimity. “I have money,” he said simply. “Lots of it.”
Elodie rolled her eyes. “I know the truth about your estate…”
The Baron waved a negligent hand. “Oh, that - well, yes, it’s true. But my wealth is from my mother’s family. You see she was the only legitimate heir, and when my grandparents passed away, she'd inherited everything.”
Elodie had to pause at that. If he were speaking the truth, the Baron would have enough money not only to make the trip easier but also to buy the truth from people who would otherwise be unwilling to talk even to her. Especially to her, since her name was equally hated as loved outside Hesdin. Many towns had offered the Normant family plenty of money to protect them, but they had refused repeatedly. And though most understood the refusal, many hated them for the misery that came in shadow of their adamant ‘no’.
The Baron, sensing her weakness, added, “I have my own horse, and after what I’ve seen I will stand far away if we are attacked. That way you won’t be burdened with protecting me while fighting.”
Elodie sighed. “How did you find me?”
The Baron pulled out a map and pointed to a line. “I was lucky. I met up with a riverman who remembered seeing you. Your red cape was quite memorable, especially on your black steed.”
Elodie’s second sigh was longer and louder than the first.
“And, like I’ve said, I have written about your exploits, so I figured out what path you would take.” He paused for a moment, his usually jovial face turned grim. “You realize you are going to die if you continue.”
“I cannot fight in seven years,” Elodie said harshly. “And if these things decide to cooperate I won’t be able to survive seven days.”
“So, what are you looking for exactly?”
“These creatures hunt alone but we believed that they were directed in some manner.”
“You mean like a general?”
“More like a king, perhaps.” Elodie looked at the Baron with renewed interest. “In your writings, have you read anything about these creatures having such a thing?”
The Baron looked startled for a moment. “Yes, yes I did, actually. They have a hierarchy according to some of the literature I’ve read. But they don’t obey their ruler like we do.”
Elodie frowned. “Why bother having one, then?”
“The one who rules doesn’t have to be the oldest, the wisest, or the most vicious,” the Baron responded quickly. “It has something to do with heredity, not unlike us. But if they do so choose, they can and often do, dethrone the one who rules.”
“Why?”
He shrugged helplessly before looking about. “Could we maybe discuss this somewhere safer?”
“Where would you suggest?” Elodie asked in a flat tone.
The Baron paused and then added, “True, how about some place where there are people?”
Elodie sighed. He did have a point and she was hungry. Her provisions were scant, forcing her to eat lightly. “Let’s see if there’s anything up the river.”
The Baron rushed to get his horse and while doing so didn’t leave Elodie’s sight. She wanted to feel annoyed but felt pity instead. The man was obviously incapable of protecting himself; probably had servants see to his safety his entire life.
“Why are you without escort?” she asked reluctantly.
The Baron flashed a crafty smile. “I had to escape my keepers without them being wiser.”
“Oh,” Elodie said, imagining the look on the Comte’s face when he realized he’d lost the Baron. “That would definitely upset your keepers.”
“I would imagine he’d be redder than a sunset,” the Baron said breezily.
She glanced at her guest. “I’m guessing you’ve done this before?’
The crafty smile turned broader. “I’ve had practice. My mother, for instance, insisted I have protection since I was her only child. Then there were angry husbands and like.”
Elodie couldn’t help but laugh. The man might be a pompous brat but he wasn’t such a fool as she first thought. Unfortunately he still had a startling resemblance to his horse, especially since he had dressed in the same egg-colored outfit as his ride.
Elodie wanted to ask if everyone in Paris dressed so ridiculously as he did but decided not to. She didn’t want to act too familiar with the nobility, and then there was the chance that he could die before sunset.
The last thing Elodie needed or wanted was to become fond of ‘Guillaume’ only to bury him later.
“Is it true?” the baron asked suddenly, startling her out of her reverie.
“What is true?”
“That anyone who gets bitten by these creatures becomes one?”
Elodie shook her head vehemently. “No, and I know why people think that.”
The Baron looked delighted. “Why?”
“Rarely can a person survive a werewolf attack,” she answered. “The only ones who can usually are werewolves, which is why so many people believe a werewolf bite can be so dangerous.”
“Oh, I see,” he said. “I see. But how do you know of this?”
“Because we’ve met people who’ve been bitten,” Elodie said shortly. “And none of them had turned.”
The Baron looked at her with wide eyes. “You mean your neighbors?”
“Victims,” Elodie corrected. “Vincent and I’ve always taken precautions. Our father did, too. He was the one who first discovered that the bites do not transfer the curse.
“But we were always careful. We had to treat the survivors far away from town, just in case. And when we did, we always tied them up, to be sure.”
“But they remain unaffected?”
“Yes, and you must know the entire lunar thing…”
“Is nonsense,” he concluded. “That much I’ve discovered.”
“Where do you find books about these creatures?”
“All over the place, I’ve been searching for years, ever since I’ve heard about your family.” He saw the uncomfortable look dawn on her face and quickly added, “I apologize.”
“I am still having a hard time believing anyone would be interested in us. We are common folk.”
“Who slay creatures from mythology; from the darkest recesses of our nightmares.” He sighed and shook his head. “That is extraordinary, Mademoiselle Normant. And that makes you not in the least common.”
Elodie didn’t blush; she’d heard such compliments her entire life and thought them unnecessary at best, bothersome at worst.
“What do you want to do?” he asked curiously.
“I do not know, truthfully,” Elodie answered. “But I must stop the migration somehow.”
“Of course. I will do what I can to help you.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you help me?”
“Because I admire you and your family, and what you’ve accomplished. And I feel I owe you because I’ve chronicled all your achievements and earned quite a few praises for my works. So, it’s only fair I think to repay some of my debts.
“Also, I do not wish to be considered anything like my father who was by all accounts a boorish pig with manners befitting as such.”
Elodie smiled. “I see you have been told.”
“Often and usually with the person shouting at me,” the Baron informed her. “My father’s infamy echoed into Paris with resounding hatred. Which was why my mother kept my existence a secret for so long.”
“Did your father know?”
“I don’t think so,” he answered lightly. “I had no idea he was dead until my mother had passed. Only then did I discover who he was. Unfortunately I didn’t have my mother’s sensibilities and told a few close acquaintances about my parentage. Within days I became persona non grata in many of the social circles.
“My fiancée ended the engagement because she did not wish to be associated with my father’s name.”
“It is a wonder that your mother was able to keep her secret for so long, especially in a city like Paris.”
The Baron’s smile was crooked and surprisingly charming. “Not really. Her family was one of the Church’s greatest patrons and devout followers. You’d be amazed what money, power, and influential friends could buy you in a city like Paris.”
“Ahh, so even the Enlightenment can be had for a price.”
“Especially the Enlightened,” the Baron added dryly. “Though the price is quite a bit steeper than in the times of Galileo.”
“What’s Galileo?” Elodie asked, liking how the word rolled on her tongue.
The Baron didn’t look at all surprised, and for the following hours of the ride, he regaled her with the stories of the astonishing scientist-philosopher-genius.
Elodie had to admit traveling with a rich companion had its rewards. Such as this nice comfortable bed she was resting in, and the good duck roast in her stomach.
They had come across the inn in a small town that managed to survive the attacks by fortifying the entire area with walls built centuries before. As the garrulous innkeeper had informed them, any towns they would come across in this region would have such protection. Otherwise, they were destroyed in the last forty some-odd years by the onslaught of attacks.
To Elodie’s shock, she learned that the monsters didn’t appear every seven years, but every May this far north. And though their numbers had been dwindling of late, they appeared without fail.
“But the ones this year?” the innkeeper said with a smile. “They’re weaklings! Why, we managed to kill three ourselves and without losing any men. It’s a miracle!”
The Baron gave a nod and scribbled some nonsense on a roll of parchment. They had come to the inn with a disguise of sorts. The Baron was a wealthy chronicler from Paris and she, his young assistant. This rouse was easy because Elodie was dressed as a man, and unless one saw her bathing, no one would be the wiser.
Elodie sighed and blew out the single candle by her bedside. She wondered what the Baron was doing. He’d insisted she call him by his given name but Elodie couldn’t bring herself to call him ‘Guillaume’. She could barely call the Comte his given name even after two decades of his insistence.
Elodie felt tears sting as she thought about Hesdin, and what the townsfolk were doing now.
Bridgette made sure the doors and the windows were barred. She heard Joseph check their daughters’ doors too. They had bolts installed from the inside, to give Cherise and Giselle a chance to escape through their windows should a monster manage to break into the house.
Joseph was sitting by the fire. It had been only two days since the Guerre’s family massacre, but it seemed like he’d lost more than half his weight.
“The girls are sleeping,” Joseph whispered.
Bridgette rested her head on his lap. “She’ll come back.”
“She went north, to chase the monsters,” Joseph said, tears thickening his voice. “What was she thinking? What were we thinking? We should never have left her alone. Not after Vincent’s death...”
“And we didn’t,” Bridgette insisted. “The Comte was with her, and she managed to fool everyone. I think she and Vincent must have planned it for a while.”
Joseph rubbed his eyes. “At least we lost the baron.”
Bridgette smiled. “You think he really went after her?”
“I’m sure he did,” Joseph replied, “and was eaten the very night he left.”
“I feel sorry for him,” Bridgette confessed. “He was a fop but an entertaining one.”
“That’s like saying there are certain plagues that should be welcomed into one’s household because it would lessen the number of mouths to feed.” Joseph stood up, helping his wife to her feet. “Let’s retire, I…”
The howl stopped him, and the ones that followed froze their bones until they couldn’t move, even though they wanted to rush by their children’s side.
True darkness had come to Hesdin: one that no prayer could dispel.
Elodie took a deep breath and stood straight as she examined the destruction she had wrecked in the last few minutes.
“It’s safe,” she shouted and then looked at the tree where she’d thrown the Baron when they were attacked. A thin pale face peered down from the branches. Elodie marveled at the speed with which the man had climbed and the height he’d achieved in the few moments before they were ambushed by not one but four werewolves.
Elodie’s lips thinned to a bloodless gash as she studied the corpses. Like Hesdin, they were either very young or too old. Or too crazed as one body refused to transform into its human form.
The forest once more fell into unnatural quiet: all God’s beasts had long fled this land for a gentler version. She glanced at the trees and suspected the eldritch ones had never been visited by a man with an axe or a hungry human forager looking for fruit or nuts.
No one has touched these woods in hundreds of years, Elodie concluded grimly. For no one sane would enter these lands of their free will.
She heard a graceless thud and knew the Baron made his way to the ground.
“You are amazing!” he gushed as soon as he reached her side. “I have never seen such…”
“They were children,” Elodie snapped, revealing her frustration and shame, “or old men. There is no honor in killing them.”
“Why aren’t there any women?”
“We don’t know. Vincent thought it was impossible for women to become one, though we do believe they can become pregnant by the creature and give birth to one.”
“Which is obvious,” the Baron finished. He looked around the forest. “Is it just me or is it too quiet here?”
“It has been since we crossed the ford this morning,” Elodie said. “I don’t think the gypsies were lying when they said these were haunted woods.”
“So, we should be expecting more, yes?”
She studied the Baron’s pallor grow. “I don’t think these woods are their home anymore.” She toed the corpse that refused to turn. “Either that or there aren’t enough left to protect it.”
“What should we do next?”
Elodie’s reply was to climb a tree. She shimmied up the trunk until she found a branch that could hold her weight. She toed out until she was able to see above the tree line. The sight surprised her though she was half expecting it.
Without a word she leapt down. “There is a manor to the northwest of us.”
“Abandoned?”
“No, there is smoke coming from the kitchen chimney.”
The Baron gave a weak smile but followed her. His horse was definitely skittish though Beau didn’t act a whit disturbed.
The manor was grand, obviously a home to a noble born though it had fallen to disuse and neglect.
Elodie’s skin tingled as she smelled the creatures. Their heavy, musky scent perfumed the air, and Elodie imagined she could almost taste their blood at the back of her throat.
And even though the sky was a cloudless blue, Elodie thought she could see a film of darkness blanketing everything.
“This is certainly cheerful,” the Baron muttered. “I can’t believe anyone would want to live here.”
“If you are poor you have no choice,” Elodie said as she came to a halt in front of the main door. “And when you don’t have a choice, you make do with what you have in your purse.”
The Baron wisely remained silent as they tied the horse to a makeshift post.
Elodie tried the door and found it locked. “Someone definitely lives here.”
“And they’re human,” the Baron added. “Anyone who could turn into one of those creatures wouldn’t need locks.”
Elodie gave an admiring glance towards her companion before trying the windows. She found one that she could force slightly ajar. With a grunt she climbed in and then unlocked another, helping the Baron climb in.
“Oh my,” he said when he saw the sumptuous decorations and woodwork.
“Whoever owned this place has or had a lot of gold,” Elodie concluded as she fingered the ancient tapestries hanging by the fireplace. “The only home I’ve seen that has this much wealth is the Comte’s manor.”
“More,” the Baron corrected as he calculated the wealth displayed. “Much more, in fact.”
“So, a nobleman?”
“Definitely,” he answered, pointing to a coat of arms hanging above the mantel. “I don’t recognize it, but I doubt it’s French.”
Elodie tried the door and found it unlocked. She slowly peeked into the hall. Feeling they had company, Elodie nervously made her way to the back of the house.
The wealthy on display made Elodie feel even more unsettled than she had been in the forest. No one in their right mind would leave all this behind; not even the richest would forego the pleasure of tapestries, ornate furniture, and silverware. Even the candelabras were still standing where they were placed.
“I am even more frightened than I was in the woods,” the Baron confessed.
“That makes two of us,” she whispered. “Don’t wander away.”
“I don’t plan to step out of your shadow,” was the fervent answer.
There was a single room that took the entire back of the house. Elodie gasped when she saw how richly it was decorated.
“It’s the portrait hall,” the Baron explained. “Any family of importance has one.”
Elodie touched the frames, amazed by the display. She’d never seen such loveliness entwined with history, all laid out for anyone to examine and admire. It wasn’t until the last few portraits that she felt unease.
She leaned closer and examined the faces. The Baron did the same.
“Do you recognize any of them?”
“No, but if they’re not French, then I would not know them.”
Elodie traced the jawline of the beautiful and fragile woman in front of her. “I know her … I think … I’ve seen her before, somewhere…”
Suddenly the display turned into a pageantry of horror for Elodie. Her eyes widened in complete shock. “Oh no, no, this can’t be…”
The Baron turned to her. “What? What can’t be?”
“She looks … she looks…”
“She looks like her grandson,” a decrepit voice hissed from the doorway.
They whirled around; Elodie taken back that someone managed to sneak up on her without her knowing.
“You took too long getting here,” the woman said, between gasps of air.
Even from where they were standing, they could hear her lungs’ death rattle.
“Who are you?”
“Why, I’m the housekeeper, of course,” she answered with a crazed smile. “My name’s Albine. I lived here my entire life, and I’m going to die here, I think.”
“Whose mother is she?”
“The King’s if you must know.”
“What king?”
“The King of our kind,” Elena answered with a hint of pride. “She was pregnant with him when she ran. Not that she got far. Her husband found her and brought her back, but she had her taste of freedom and taught it to her boy. So that when he took the crown…”
“He didn’t stay but moved,” Elodie finished, “all the way to Hesdin.”
“To his mother’s family who had a place ready for him. And no one was the wiser.”
“And after he died … his son - Martin - is why they keep coming.”
“A King who refuses his duties is useless. For years we wanted another ruler - someone who could take control and lead. Instead, we have chaos; families fighting one another for dominance. And then there was your cursed kind: the Normants. A filthy pack of Saracen rats who’ve always been a bane to our world!”
Elodie took a step back, shocked by the woman’s vehemence.
“You and your family protected those gelded bastards. Why? Why would you not let us have peace?”
“Wait a moment,” the Baron interrupted. “So, the Comte’s the reason for the attacks?”
“That’s right. And this spring was our last chance to rid of the bastard. So, those of us who are left had no choice but to attack in force.”
“But I’m not there,” Elodie said hoarsely. “Oh, dear Heavens: I’m not there anymore.”
Elena smiled, showing rotting teeth and whitened gums. “No, you’re not,” she chortled loudly. “Not anymore!”
Elodie’s heart pounded faster than the hoofbeats under her. So determined was she that Elodie nearly missed her companion’s hollering.
“What?” she yelled impatiently. “We don’t…”
The Baron pointed at a riverboat floating its way southward. He got off his horse and went to the bank.
“Hello!” he yelled as loudly as possible. “We need your help!”
The man, steering the boat with a pole, gave a wave and shouted, “You need a hire?!”
“Us and the horses!”
He stuck his head below deck and yelled something. Two more men appeared, both looking scruffier and more disreputable than the captain. They helped steer the boat to where the Baron stood and stopped it from going any further.
A solid plank did well enough for them to cross over.
“I’m Donat,” the man said, “and that’s all the name you need to know.”
The Baron pulled out two gold pieces. “We need you to take us to Hesdin.”
Donat’s eyes widened in shock: the gold pieces could have easily taken the wayfarers twice the distance. He then felt something sharp poking at his abdomen. He looked down to see a sword embedded into his vest.
“And I suggest you take that as full payment,” Elodie said harshly. “You and your men try anything foolish and I will be happy to throw your bodies overboard and take the boat myself.”
“I suggest you listen to the lady,” the Baron said. “Mademoiselle Normant does not…”
“Normant?” Donat’s eyes flickered to Elodie. “You’re the Normant girl?”
His two men exchanged frightened looks and retreated until they were behind Donat.
“I am she.” Elodie studied at them with hard eyes. “And the Baron is correct. I have no patience. Especially now.”
Donat took the coins and said, “I like Hesdin; the whores there are friendly and don’t mind that I’m old. Some of them are really sweet like Minuette. And she told me about you and your brother. Tie your horses, we’ve got the wind and with little luck, we’ll be at Hesdin by tomorrow morning.”
“Thank you,” Elodie said, then reached out and gave a grateful squeeze on Donat’s leathery hand.
The captain looked down and saw the numerous scars and burns on hers. He paused for a moment then turned away, blinking furiously.
“What are you idiots gawping at?! Get the sails!” he roared, kicking the shit bucket for emphasis.
Part IV * Conclusion