Lycanthropos (30 page)

She placed her hand upon it gently and replied, "I would account it a great privilege, Herr Colonel."

Schlacht and
Petra
walked through the ballroom to the door and the colonel noticed from the corner of his eye how the heads of the men were turning to look at
Petra
.
I
understand perfectly
, he thought.
I myself never noticed the exquisite beauty of this woman.
He repressed a smile.
But it is not likely that I shall continue to be so blind.

They reached the door just as Himmler and his staff
entered through it. Salutes were exchanged and then Himmler
shook Schlacht's hand amicably. "This is a pleasant surprise, Schlacht," the diminutive S.S. leader said,
smiling broadly. "Thank you."

"We are honored by your presence, Herr
Reichsführer
," the colonel responded. "You visit
Hungary
so infrequently
that I felt it my obligation to see to it that you return to
Berlin
with pleasant memories." He put his hand upon the small of Petra's back and pushed her gently forward. "Allow me to introduce Fräulein Petra Loewenstein."

Petra
smiled and nodded slightly. "Herr
Reichsführer.
"

"Fräulein," Himmler responded, kissing her hand.

"Fräulein Loewenstein is the chemist who was transferred
to my command by Dr. Mengele," Schlacht said. "She has made great progress in researching the...phenomenon, shall we
say, of the Gypsy Kaldy."

Himmler's brows arched. "A chemist!" he exclaimed, and then frowned in mock annoyance. "It is unjust for one woman to possess such beauty and such intelligence."

She smiled impishly and replied. "It is inevitable, Herr
Reichsführer
. I am German, after
all."

"Yes, of course," Himmler said, continuing to feign
distress. "But I must be working Mengele too hard. Only a
madman would allow you be transferred away from him."

Schlacht saw that Himmler was in high spirits, and he asked, "We have champagne and hors d'oeuvres, Herr
Reichsführer
, if you wish to blunt the hunger and thirst of
your journey." As he spoke, the musicians began to play a
Strauss waltz.

"That would be most welcome, Schlacht, most welcome indeed. And later, I hope that I can meet with you and Fräulein Loewenstein in private to discuss your progress. I have been reading your reports with great care and great
interest." He looked around quizzically. "By the way, where is
the psychologist?"

"Gottfried, my wife's cousin? He should be here
somewhere."

"I should like him to attend our meeting as
well."
Himmler paused. "A pity about Festhaller."

"Yes," Schlacht lied. "He will be sorely missed."

"Another of these creatures, you said in your report." Himmler shook his head. "Incredible."

"Yes, very hard to believe," Schlacht agreed. "We will capture her as well, of course, eventually."

"Of course, of course," Himmler nodded. "Professor Festhaller's death has been officially listed as a combat
death."

"An excellent idea," Schlacht said.

"The Führer has awarded him the Iron Cross Second Class. Posthumously, of course."

"No one deserves a posthumous honor more than he,"
Petra
said, glancing at Schlacht and smiling. Schlacht knew what she meant, and he pursed his lips to keep from laughing.

"Well, Schlacht," Himmler said, "I do believe that I
shall go and explore the champagne and greet some of your
other guests. If you will excuse me, Fräulein?"

"Of course, Herr
Reichführer,
"
Petra
said, and watched as the little man walked away.

The lilting melody of the Strauss waltz had filled the
room, and Schlacht turned to
Petra
. "Would you care to
dance, Fräulein?"

"Oh, yes indeed, Herr Colonel," she replied, smiling demurely. "I would love to."

She took his arm again and they walked to the center of the room where numerous people were already dancing to the flowing strains of the waltz. As they danced, Schlacht relished the sensation of placing his hand upon the cool silk which covered the soft, smooth body beneath it. His clear blue eyes gazed into her warm brown eyes, and they whirled about the room without speaking, each seemingly lost in the gaze of the other. The music played on and on.

 

The next cycle of the full moon was two weeks away.

"We are rolling back the years, Kaldy, moving farther and farther into the past..."

"Yes…the past…."

"Where are you now, Kaldy?"

"Khanbaluc...we are in Khanbaluc
..."

"You are in the realm of the Mongols?"

"Yes...Khanbaluc..."

"When are you in Khanbaluc, Kaldy?"

"I do not know...Temujin is Khan...Temujin..."

"Who is Temujin, Kaldy?"

"The Genghis Kha Khan...Temujin is called the Genghis Kha Khan
...
"

"You have come to see Genghis Khan? It is the thirteenth century, and you have come to see Genghis Khan?"

"No...a shaman...we heard of a Mongol shaman called
Jagatuik..."

"You seek to die at the hands of Jagatuik, Kaldy?"

"Yes…yes…"

"What is happening? What is Jagatuik telling you and
Claudia?"

"Nothing...nothing...ignorant sheep herders...they worship thunder...they know nothing...they know nothing..."

"Back farther, Kaldy, back farther into your past."

"Yes...the past..."

"The years are moving backward, Kaldy, backward."

"Yes...yes..."

"Where are you now, Kaldy?"

"The
new
city
...
we are in the
new
city
..."

"Which
new city
, Kaldy?"

"Novgorod...new city...
Novgorod
..."

"You are in
Russia
? You are in
Novgorod
in
Russia
?"

"There is no
Russia
...the Varangians...Rurik of the
Rus..."

"Why are you in
Novgorod
, Kaldy?"

"To die...shamans...warriors with horned helmets..."

"Vikings, Kaldy? You have come to be killed by Vikings?"

"Shamans…runes…"

"Do you learn anything from these shamans?"

"No…nothing…ignorance…barbarians…ignorance…"

"Back farther, Kaldy. Go back farther. Remember the past
. "

"Yes...yes...
"
A pause. "Myrdden…Myrdden..."

"Where are you, Kaldy? When are you?"

"Myrdden
..."

"Is Myrdden a place, Kaldy? Where is Myrdden?"

"Myrdden is a man…a sorcerer…"

 

Gwynyth and Liam huddled together contentedly
beneath the sheltering outcrop of rock which was affording
them protection from the cold, wet wind. Neither Gwynyth's father, the shepherd, nor Liam's father, the oat grower, knew
that their children had crept quietly from their small thatched huts after sunset to keep this sweetly wicked assignation,
and if all went well they would both be back sleeping on
their straw beds before the cock crow awakened their elders.

Gwynyth gazed lovingly into the eyes of her love,
delighting in his smooth, beardless face and unfurrowed
brow, and Liam returned her wordless devotion as he studied
her long, honey blonde hair and her inviting, ruby lips. "You are
the world to me, dearest Gwynyth," he whispered.

"And you to me, Liam," she replied softly
stroking his cheek.

"We shall marry come springtime, when you are of age," he said, his expression and tone bespeaking that serious
certainty which the end of childhood leaves new adulthood as a passing heritage. "I shall persuade your father, and if he
still refuses, we shall leave together."

"Oh, Liam, where shall we go?" she asked happily,
relishing the prospect of adventure and excitement.

"North, to Pictland perhaps," he replied. "Or south, across the water to Belgia. It doesn't matter, as long as we are together."

"As long as we are together," she murmured, leaning her face forward and pressing her lips to his.

"Children!" a deep, aged voice called out to them from
the misty darkness. "What do you hear?"

They jumped to their feet, startled and frightened, all
semblance of adulthood lost in the childish fear of discovery. Gwynyth smoothed her skirts nervously as Liam asked with shaking voice, "Who...who is there?"

The mist seemed to part and an old man approached them
slowly. His face was a mass of wrinkles and his snow-white
beard was wide and long, covering his body from mouth to waist, hiding much of the thick robe which was a purple
so
dark as to be almost black. He leaned on a thick, gnarled staff which had been smoothed and polished so that the
moonlight was clearly reflected in the shiny wood. "You
know me, Liam mac Ceorn," the old man said ominously, "as do
you, Gwynyth ap Glendyn. Are you children fools to be out
here alone in the darkness on this night?"

"L...Lord Myrdden," the girl stammered. "We meant no
harm...
we wished merely to...we wished merely to..."

"Aye, I know what you wished," the old man growled
angrily, the moonlight illuminating his furious visage while
the deep darkness masked the amused twinkle in his ancient eyes. "And did you not hear the warning, foolish children? Were you not present in the village when the words were
spoken last week?"

"Y...yes, Lord Myrdden, but..." Gwynyth began.

"And what words were spoken, foolish ones? What was the
warning which I gave to the people of the village?"

"You...you told us of the beast, Lord Myrdden…"

"Yes, I told you of the beast!" the old man shouted.
"The beast that prowls about on the nights of the full moon, the beast that kills and devours little fools like
the two of you, the beast that has already killed many in
our land. I told you of the werewolf, did I not?"

"Yes...yes, Lord Myrdden," Liam said. "But we meant no
disobedience. I love Gwynyth, and..."

"Silence!" the patriarch bellowed. "Hie ye to your homes at once, and be thankful that I do not pull you back to
your fathers by your hair, impudent cubs! Get ye gone!" He shouted the last words in a voice of wrath and doom. The boy and girl ran from him in different directions, and he waited until they had disappeared into the distance before allowing himself to chuckle at their innocence and discomfiture. The old man shook his head in amused exasperation and then continued his slow, self-appointed patrol. He reached into
the pocket of his cloak and assured himself for the hundredth time that night that he had not forgotten to bring the bane
flowers with him from his high tower. Satisfied that he had,
he walked slowly forward, straining his ears and squinting
his eyes, looking, watching, searching…

When the terrified scream shattered the cold night, he
hobbled onward in the direction of the sound as quickly as
his stiff old legs would carry him.

But he was too late to save young Liam. By the time he reached the clearing one of the creatures had already torn off one of the boy's legs and was biting hunks of flesh from it while the other ripped into the dead boy's motionless chest with its claws, greedily seeking the sweet, blood-rich heart. The werewolves heard the old man approach, and they looked up at him menacingly, snarls of warning and growls of anger rumbling forth in a mad, hellish duet
.

As they prepared to spring at him, the old man dropped his staff and filled both his hands with the plant from his
deep pocket. The creatures were not prepared for what
happened next, for the old man, displaying a strength which
denied his age, himself leaped at them and pressed the plants into their faces. The creatures felt an instantaneous impotence, a numbing weakness, and as they fell to the
ground the old man knelt down between them and pressed the plant more forcefully down upon them. The creatures seemed
to lose consciousness. They lay insensate upon the wet forest floor and the old man remained motionless between them, praying that he would be able to maintain his vigil
until dawn.