Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (6 page)

Emerald explained, “Sometimes there’s stories
of a boy or even girl that ended up in the woods and survives
without people. When they’re found, they walk on all fours and
can’t talk.”

“Have you seen such a one?” Thal said.

“No, just stories. Gypsies hear lots of
stories. Sometimes people drop a few coins to listen to me tell
them,” she said. She caught sight of the skinny girl slinking
behind the wagon and hollered for her to come clean the pots. The
girl glanced at Thal as she obeyed her mistress. She had dark hair
and a gentle face and a string of glass beads around her neck. His
gaze held her for a moment. Her attractiveness pleased him.

Forcing his attention back to Andreli, he
said, “What can I do to help?”

“What are you good at?” his host
rejoined.

For a moment Thal felt useless. He had no
idea if he had ever possessed any skills, but then he knew his
answer. “Hunting,” he said.

Mildly impressed, Andreli said, “Only a few
of the men have bows or spears, but it would be nice to get a deer
or boar.”

“You have many to feed,” Thal commented while
scanning the camp. Having enjoyed the kindness of these people, he
very much wanted to contribute in some way. It was only
natural.

“Best not let any locals notice,” Emerald
warned.

Andreli frowned at the unnecessary
comment.

Addressing Thal, she continued, “We’ve not
been given leave to hunt these lands, but we can fish.”

“Someone can tell you not to hunt?” Thal
said, disturbed by the notion.

“Rosenbergs, or any baron for that matter,
can say how their lands are used or not used,” Andreli said.

“But how can that be?” Thal wondered,
confused. Hunting was so basic to life, and he could not conceive
of denying anyone the right.

“The common lands aren’t as common as they
once were. And even less so for interlopers such as we, but worry
not, friend Thal. If you’re a good hunter, as you say, then you
must be good at not being noticed.”

“When need be,” Thal murmured. Of course he
knew how to be stealthy, but there were also times when revealing
his predatory presence gave the advantage of unnerving a target,
but this was not one of these times. He did not want to bring
trouble to the Gypsies, but obviously Andreli was not against
sidestepping rules.

“I’ll look around for game and come back.
Have your men and dogs ready,” Thal said.

“Very good. We’ll be waiting for you,”
Andreli agreed.

“Good luck getting some work out of them,”
Emerald said.

“Oh, blunt your sharp tongue you mouthy
witch,” Andreli said teasingly.

She rolled her eyes and then smiled at Thal.
“Find me a boar. I like that meat,” she said.

“You think he can take requests like a
musician?” Andreli said.

“There’s no reason not to tell him what I
want. I’ll give any man a chance to do what I tell him,” she
said.

“I shall try,” Thal said.

When he stood up, the clothing moving against
his skin still felt a little weird. He tossed his fur over his
shoulder and slipped out of the camp while trying to ignore the
many curious looks that tagged him.

******

Thal patted one of the dogs trotting happily
alongside him. The explosive excitement of the dogs at being taken
on a hunt was only beginning to settle. Game was proving sparse so
close to settled lands. Peasants hunting through a cold hungry
winter had thinned the local stock, but Thal found signs of deer
slipping into pastures and budding orchards.

Then the dogs dashed off chasing rabbits.
They caught a couple and tore them up and gulped them down before
any men got close. Thal could not blame the lean beasts for
claiming the meal, but he asserted his leadership and got them back
on the trail of larger game.

Near the edge of the woods, he spotted
grazing cattle and felt the old temptation, but that easy meat
plodding along had consequences. Thal suspected that Gypsies
killing a local steer might earn the same punishment as hungry
wolves that dared to take livestock.

Eventually, he led his hunting party into
brushy canyons. He and the dogs circled ahead of three deer and
drove them toward the hunters.

One was slain. In the privacy of the woods,
the men gutted the buck. The dogs feasted gruesomely on the
entrails. The bloody sight triggered powerful feelings in Thal and
he needed to look away.

Instead of retracing the meandering route of
the hunt, the group cut straight across country back to the river
camp. The sinking sun cast lovely golden shafts and intensified the
flowering green of springtime.

Andreli and his men were jubilant. The
prospect of plenty of meat was a welcome boon to their community,
even if it was not the season for fat game.

Walking beside Thal, Andreli said, “A fine
hunt, Thal. You must’ve been apprentice to a kennel master at some
castle. I swear these dogs have only eyes for you now.”

Thal was growing used to Andreli’s frequent
speculations about his background. The comments were not unwelcome.
They helped to loosen details that had been long forgotten.

“I don’t recall being apprentice to anyone,”
Thal said.

“So you worked the fields with your father
then,” Andreli guessed.

The face of Thal’s father loomed in his mind.
His bare head was bright like a full moon. A fleece hung around his
shoulders and tattoo runes crisscrossed his bare chest.

“I don’t think my father was a farmer,” he
said.

“No,” Andreli agreed pensively. “I suppose
that does not fit.”

“Emerald will be disappointed we didn’t find
a boar,” Thal said.

“I’m proud of our venison. I think we can
force her to admit that we did a good job,” Andreli said.

The woods grew thinner and the land opened on
fields and orchards. The Gypsies hung back in the shadows of the
tree line so hopefully no one would spot them with their poached
game. But Andreli steered Thal into the open while the other men
went on. Thal shooed the dogs toward the men carrying the meat.

Once clear of the trees Thal saw what Andreli
was showing him. Blooming orchards and orderly gardens surrounded
an impressive cluster of red-roofed buildings inside a stone wall.
Tall poles radiated cords tethered in a circle and the first thick
green shoots of hops vines were twining up the cords. A few men in
white and black robes were working throughout the property. A
church tower overlooked it all.

“The Vyssi Brod Monastery,” Andreli said.

“It’s a nice looking place. What goes on
there?” Thal asked.

“They’re men devoted to God and Christ,”
Andreli explained.

Thal nodded, starting to recall the
omnipresent role of religion.

“But they’re really not so boring as that
sounds,” Andreli continued. “Some here are literate, and I have a
friend who might be able to read the words on your fur.”

Thal touched his fur possessively. He feared
that whatever the words revealed would best be kept private, but he
was undeniably curious.

“We’ll visit here tomorrow,” Andreli said.
“And let’s pray that my Devil’s tongue will convince them to share
some beer with the needy of the world,” he added with a laugh.

The throbbing metallic ringing of a bell
called the brothers to prayer as Andreli and Thal slipped back into
the woods.

******

Thal was excited as he approached the
monastery. The thick stone walls encircling the hill overlooking
the river beckoned him back to a realm that had become alien to
him.

Strolling toward the main gate, Andreli waved
pleasantly to the lay brothers working the land. Fresh soil dirtied
the bottom edges of their undyed robes. Simple wooden crosses hung
around their necks on leather cords. No one said anything, and only
two brothers waved back.

“No women live here?” Thal asked.

Andreli rolled his eyes. “It’s a monastery,”
he said, and Thal gathered that it was a place of only men.

The gate was wide open. Two monks in the
courtyard spotted Andreli and rushed into a dormitory.

“They don’t seem interested in your arrival,”
Thal noted.

“Brother Ondrej is a very pleasant fellow.
Wasted on the Church in my opinion, but he’s got a nice life here I
suppose,” Andreli said.

When they walked through the gates, Thal
paused to take in the scene. A church naturally dominated the
collection of buildings. Stone pavers connected all the buildings
and green turf filled the gaps. Andreli headed toward a large
building opposite the church. Ivy and moss clung to the creamy
stucco walls. The main door stood open to let in the fresh spring
breeze. The exuberant morning sun fell on the stone front steps and
a trio of tabby cats sprawled on the warm stone. They scampered
away at impressive speed when the men trotted up the steps.

“Brother Ondrej!” Andreli boomed like it was
his own house. He called a few more times until a scrawny
buck-toothed young man rushed out.

“Who let you in here?” the lad demanded with
more temerity than his appearance could lend him.

“I go where I please. Where’s Brother
Ondrej,” Andreli said.

“He’s not receiving visitors,” the monk said.
His eyes strayed to Thal.

“Ondrej loves visitors,” Andreli
protested.

The monk tore his eyes from Thal and stamped
his foot. “He’s got no more alms for you. He should’ve never given
you begging Gypsies so much as a turnip. You’ll be hanging on our
gate till next spring,” he complained.

“You awe me with your Christian sentiment,”
Andreli said.

Thal studied the fascinating exchange. He
wondered why the Gypsies were disliked. They had been kind to him,
and Andreli’s resilience in the face of rejection was
inspiring.

“We have work to do. What do you want?” the
monk said.

“Ah, so you’re willing to give me something,”
Andreli said triumphantly.

The monk stamped his foot again.

Thal was weary of the confrontation. Gently
he said, “I seek a man of letters to help me read something. I mean
no dishonor to your God.”

“You have a letter then?” the monk said,
irresistibly curious.

Thal touched his fur.

“Nothing for you to read,” Andreli
interjected. He barged past the monk and shouted for Ondrej
again.

The monk finally came puffing down a
staircase. The black scapula over his shoulders and chest bisected
his white habit that draped his bulging frame. Dabs of ink stained
his right hand. His round face lit up pleasantly upon seeing
Andreli.

“I should’ve known who was shouting down
here,” Ondrej said.

“Good morning, my good brother,” Andreli said
and bowed elaborately.

Then he patted Ondrej’s tummy. “It seems
you’ve not been getting enough hard labor.”

“Accuse me not of the sin of sloth. My labors
are not done with axe and shovel,” Ondrej said.

The feisty monk was annoyed by the friendly
exchange and said, “Brother, we told these Gypsies we’d only help
them through till spring.”

Ondrej scolded, “Be more charitable.”

“The Abbot will hear of this,” the monk
warned.

“And then forget about it before the next
bell rings,” Ondrej said without the slightest concern. He flapped
a pudgy hand in the face of his scrawny colleague and the
disgruntled monk stomped away.

“He’s a man truly moved by the example of our
Savior,” Andreli noted.

“Oh hush you troublemaker. You’d be no more
pleasant if he walked into your house uninvited,” Ondrej said.

“I don’t have a house,” Andreli noted.

“Then join us Cistercians and have a home,”
Ondrej proposed but he could not keep a straight face and guffawed
at his own idea. Andreli laughed as well.

“And who is your new rogue?” Ondrej asked,
looking Thal up and down.

“A wanderer,” Andreli said.

Ondrej lifted his eyebrows. That designation
had to mean something coming from Andreli.

“I am Thal.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ondrej said a little
dreamily, suddenly lost in his contemplation of the young
stranger.

Andreli explained that Thal had something
that they needed help reading.

Ondrej perked up. “That sounds interesting.
That’s why I welcome you, Andreli. You’re always interesting,” he
said.

Ondrej led them upstairs. Thal looked around
as he climbed the steps. The feeling of the building enclosing him
was distracting. The straight lines of cut stones, the wood grain
of the door trim, and the creak of the floor boards pressed hard on
his senses and herded his brain toward a once familiar pen. He
imagined the trees that had once been green and growing upon the
hills and now their guts were split and entombed in stone and none
of the smell of the forest remained. This complicated structure
crafted by the hands of men stimulated him immensely. Being inside
was strange yet comforting. It gave Thal an unexpected sense of
safety. He supposed this was why most people lived inside.

A cluttered desk, a table, and two stools
furnished Ondrej’s study. Books lay open on the table and stacks of
blank paper awaited his quill. Broken wax seals clung to opened
correspondence. The man seemed to be in the middle of five writing
projects. He hauled a tome off his desk to make room and set it on
another table with bang.

“Oo, watch it,” he muttered in apology to the
book.

Ondrej sat on his stool. His prodigious ass
overhung the edges and the situation did not look too comfortable.
Andreli grabbed the other stool.

He leaned over the desk and peeked at what
Ondrej had been writing. “Copying some holy scripture?” he
inquired.

“Copying? Get thee with the times. Scripture
is done with the printing machine these days. These are of more
important matters,” Ondrej said and patted the paper. “I’m
recording my latest beer recipes.”