Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (4 page)

Thal looked at his body. His feet were dirty.
His ankles scratched. His nakedness bothered him. He supposed he
should tie the fur around his loins when he continued.

Where was he going? He did not want to go
anywhere. He wanted to guide his pack and provide for his mate and
pups. Those straightforward duties had kept him content for a long
time. With sudden hope, Thal considered going back. He could find a
way to help the pack. He flexed his hands and recalled that he
could use them to make things like spears. Then he could hunt.

But his mate had not wanted him in this
state, and there was no undoing her rejection. An alpha did not err
in her judgment. He must have faith that his pack could go on
without him. He had shared his deep knowledge of this forest and
raised them well.

Thal wondered how long he had hunted
throughout these mountains. He had never wondered such a thing
before. Perhaps wanting to put a number to something was how a man
thought. Many seasons had passed. Hard winters and milder ones.
Welcoming springs with delicate flowers. Bounteous summers and
leaner ones. Autumns of rutting deer and colorful leaves
falling.

After thinking about the wolves he had guided
and raised to maturity and of the mates that had come and gone, he
tried to remember who had raised him.

He contemplated his origin for a long time.
Birds sang their songs many times while he stroked his fur or
played with his fingers. Slowly a woman emerged from his memory.
She had a striking face and a prominent nose that managed to be
magnificently beautiful in its boldness. Her hair was light brown
and her eyes blue. She smiled to him and stroked his cheek with
rough fingers that knew hard work.

Mother. He was sure of it as soon as he
dubbed her thus. A very natural longing for her consumed him, but
her name eluded him.

He struggled to recall his father. As he
delved for this memory, his body tensed like he was in danger.
Gradually Thal recognized that he was not afraid of some memory of
abuse but rather of immense respect. Apparently his father had been
a man who made even a leader among wolves cautious.

Unfolding a flap of his fur, he peeked at the
letters. A vision of a strong man with a shaven head writing the
letters in blood slammed into Thal. He gasped and jumped up. He
could almost hear again his father chanting words while carefully
inscribing his spell.

He wanted to flee and leave the strange old
fur in that lonely spot. But the ragged old hide suddenly became
shiny and fluffy. Its silvery sheen with tones of brown pulled at
his heart. He could not leave this thing behind. Its renewal forced
him to covet it.

Rushing back to the fur, he clutched it
lovingly to his chest. Its softness brushed him reassuringly, like
snuggling with mates in a warm den. His heart was racing, but
gradually the thudding subsided and he was comforted by his
decision to keep the fur. It was his only connection to his perfect
wolf state.

With his decision made, he examined its
lettering. The symbols arranged in straight lines tugged at his
thoughts, but the system was so wildly alien that comprehension
remained mired in a morass of forgetfulness.

When he looked across the landscape again,
the sun was sinking. Thal was startled to realize that he had been
so absorbed in the writing that he had neglected to check his
surroundings. He rubbed his temple. His head hurt and he was
exhausted.

Moving off the ridge, he sought a place to
rest. He tied his fur around his hips to alleviate his nakedness.
Places that seemed like good spots to sleep soon proved wholly
inadequate to his new form. The wind was kicking up with the
promise of a cold night. Gradually he realized that he could
fashion a shelter. He broke off pine boughs and propped them up
into a little conical tent. Rather pleased with the result, he
curled up inside. He sniffed the air and was reassured by the
absence of people, but a whiff of his pack cracked his broken heart
more deeply.

He wanted to return to his wolf kin, but his
transformed life demanded that he take another trail. Thal knew how
to move on. He had done it before. In times past he had slipped
away so that a maturing wolf could rise to a rightful place as
alpha. And when mates had faded away, their ferocious glory
undermined by the passing of too many seasons, Thal had known that
it was time to hunt alone again.

Why he had not aged he did not know. Touching
his face, he tried to judge if he was old. Smooth skin seemed to
indicate youth. Stubble on his chin made him hope that his fur was
growing back.

Deep exhaustion hauled him into a slumber of
vivid dreams. Men, women, children, buildings, fields, tools,
songs, bells, fences, gates, carts, oxen, the clang of a smithy,
and all manner of civilized sights roiled out of his hidden
memories like a pot of soup boiling over. Then he was on a forest
path. He preferred its mossy scent. The trees loomed larger when he
entered an ancient grove. A man was in front of a fire with his
back to Thal. When he turned, his dark dilated eyes were stark upon
his white face. His head was shaven.

Thal struggled to ask him questions, but the
singing soul of the night interrupted his dream. He opened his
eyes. Howling serenaded the stars. His pack was lamenting his loss.
The operatic grandeur made him forget any meaning he might have
extracted from his dream.

A new born crescent moon hung in the sky like
an eye just cracking open from a heavy sleep. Perhaps as the days
passed more memories would illuminate his mind.

Forcing himself not to cry, he listened to
the howling. The exquisite expression of his pack mates’ affection
for him told him that he had been a good and dutiful wolf. When the
howling stopped, he resigned himself to an unknown future and fell
asleep.

In the morning rumbling hunger rumbled in his
belly and sparked his interest in hunting. At least his manhood had
not robbed him of that natural urge. He returned to the ridge and
walked to the waterfall. After quenching his thirst, he followed
the winding stream down the mountain. When he saw fish, he
contemplated how to catch them. He knew from experience that
nabbing a fish with his snout from rushing water was possible but
not easy. He looked at his hands and wondered if he could grab one.
He decided that his hunger was not yet sufficient to spend time
getting cold and wet on a potentially fruitless task.

All day he hiked. The day warmed pleasantly.
Bumble bees cruised the young flowers. Susliks rummaged in leaf
litter seeking nuts and seeds. Thal eyed them out of habit even
though he knew better than to try catching one.

Taking a break, he settled among some tall
dead weeds. Keeping still, he soaked up the sunshine. Its hotness
on his bare skin felt strange but he liked it. He let his mind flow
with the surroundings until the scent of deer focused his
senses.

Across the stream a doe and her toddling fawn
emerged from cover. His mouth watered at the sight of white spots
on a red coat. The doe sipped from the stream and looked around.
When she moved along the bank, the fawn floundered in the muddy
edge. Thal leaned forward as he observed its shaky struggle to pull
its tiny hoof free.

Before his excitement deepened, Thal
considered the impracticality of trying to slay the fawn. He
touched his teeth. Their bluntness seemed almost useless. How was
he supposed to kill?

Men use tools, he told himself. They had
tools for everything, especially killing. I need to find men, he
decided.

After the doe and fawn disappeared, Thal
hiked onward. The land flattened and the stream slowed down until
it was entirely lazy. The forest grew wetter until the trees gave
way to bog. His bare feet squished into the peat, and dark water
squirted between his toes. After only a few steps he knew that he
did not want to cross the matted vegetation that would likely give
way to sucking mud. He glanced around and saw where the forest grew
past the bog. He spent the rest of the day hiking around the
bog.

Once he was past the wetland, he found
another stream and followed it down the next drop in elevation. At
the end of the exhausting day, he broke from the forest into a
pasture land. Only patches of woods remained, and sheep and cattle
dotted the hillsides. Men would be close to their livestock. Thal
had long known not to hunt in these grounds, no matter how
tempting. To kill here invited the wrath of men who would slaughter
a whole family over the loss of a few lambs.

On the horizon he discerned a hill with walls
encasing large blocky buildings. A pointy tower rose above them.
The sinking sun splashed the old stone complex with rosy light.

Mindful to keep himself hidden, he waited for
dusk before hiking across the open land. As night fell, his eyes
continued to serve him well. The land dipped again and he walked
down wooded slopes. He could smell water in the vale. The mountain
streams were gathering into a river. The scent of smoke and people
made him draw up next to a big tree.

He needed to gather his courage. When he was
ready he started through the trees quietly. Thal had quickly gained
some skill during his long hike and was no longer blundering
noisily.

Orange firelight pierced the darkness. Mixed
emotions assailed him upon seeing the hot fire. To an animal it
meant danger, but to a man alone in the dark, it meant safety.

Closer to the firelight he heard voices. The
sounds were bizarre and unlike the languages of the many creatures
he knew so well. The jumble of sounds produced a hopeless
complexity that made his heard hurt. Thal crept closer and spent
more time listening. Three men were around the fire.

Carefully he analyzed what he smelled. There
was food, cooked and mixed up. The pain of his long fast worsened
and gave him more courage to proceed. Being especially quiet, he
advanced. A larger camp with wagons and livestock sprawled along
the river beyond the three men.

He considered how to avoid alarming the trio.
He moved his mouth, attempting to smile. Although it felt strange,
he was sure that this was the signal not to fight, even if it felt
like a snarl.

An outburst of laughter among the men excited
him. He remembered that laughter was a good thing.

He was very close to them now but darkness
still concealed him. The fire made him squint and he waited for his
eyes to adjust.

A dog rushed out, barking fiercely. Thal
looked down at the relatively small canine with small teeth and
short legs. Abruptly the dog ceased barking and backed away but a
deep growl of animosity persisted.

“What have you got out there?” a man
asked.

The dog snarled with a surprisingly sinister
note, and the man took it seriously.

“Bless our asses, it’s something big,” he
gasped.

Thal entered the firelight and smiled or
hoped that he was smiling. He held out his hands, trying to enhance
his friendliness.

The men cried out in collective terror. The
dog started barking again and charged. Instinctively Thal stepped
toward the brave little dog and growled back. His natural ferocity
flashed from his eyes, and the dog retreated with a yipe.

In a panic the men jumped up. One reached for
a branch sticking out of the fire and swung the brand at Thal. He
dodged it and jumped closer.

A second man pulled a long hunting knife. The
polished blade flashed in the firelight.

The knife-wielding man yelled and waved his
weapon. Thal sidestepped away. Although menaced by fire and iron,
he struggled to communicate. A few garbled sounds came from his
throat.

While Thal was held at bay, the third man who
was noticeably fatter than his companions stumbled backward until
his rump hit his wagon. He had a hefty pistol and was ramming the
ammunition into the barrel and fumbling shakily with the wheel
lock.

The stinging smell of gunpowder blazed across
Thal’s mind. He realized that the man had a killing tool. Thal had
to assert himself. Trying not to hurt anyone he slipped around the
slashing knife and grabbed the man’s arm and tossed him forward.
Then he spun and avoided the hot impact of the burning stick and
knocked it from that man’s hand.

The third man was raising the pistol when
Thal reached him. The man’s eyes were wide, and Thal thrust his
potent gaze into those circles of fear. Power surged into his
spirit and sapped his opponent of the ability to function. In that
timeless moment of inflicted paralysis, Thal seized the pistol
barrel and angled it upward. It discharged with an awful noise and
blast of smoke. The man threw up his hands. Thal yanked the pistol
into his possession and stepped away.

Everything had happened very fast, but
already a yelling and barking horde descended on him. He had to
find a way to communicate his peaceful intentions. Submission did
not come easily to him, but he was just a naked hungry man with
nothing. He was not the leader of this pack.

Thal went to his knees and set the pistol in
the dirt. The little dog rushed him again, yapping victoriously,
but one low growl from Thal made the dog rethink its desire to
gloat. It dropped back to its pudgy master’s heels.

Men and women rushed up. Their dogs encircled
Thal. His wild eyes darted among the barking jaws but none of them
tried to bite.

“Oh! It’s just a young man. He’s naked,”
cried a woman who pushed to the front.

The man with the knife threatened Thal again
and yelled, “Be off with you crazy wild man!”

“Hush, Petro, he means no harm,” the woman
argued.

Latching on to her sympathy, Thal looked at
her earnestly. Her dark skin was lined and her round face was
friendly. Gray streaked her dark hair. A colorful and patched shawl
wrapped her broad shoulders.