Gonji: A Hungering of Wolves (3 page)

They had bestowed on him a sigil in the form of a medallion, a signet designed to represent the Knights of Wonder. He had worn it graciously about his neck as he and his company had ridden off.

Tarrying so near the Papal States and the powerful influence of the Holy Roman Church, they had quickly come to know the disfavor in which the Wunderknecht movement was held; they seemed ever under the watchful, hostile gaze of columns of comb-morioned light cavalry. But when the ambush struck as they made their camp in an inland valley on the night following their departure from the Knights’ assembly, they knew not whether the attack was generated by political, fanatical, or conspiratorial evil forces.

All would have had their reasons.

Gonji’s company struck camp under fire. They fought from horseback for a space of miles until they had climbed out of the valley. Breathless and blood-spattered, their steeds lathered and maddened by fever and injury, they had reassembled and counted their losses. Three Milanese adventurers, two Austrian Landsknechts, and a young idealist from Lucca who had joined their wandering band had fallen. Numerous wounds had been taken: Gonji suffered cuts to the thigh and forearm; Orozco had taken a lead ball in the leg; Father Sebastio’s priestly robes had not spared him the cleaving sword thrust that had shallowly opened his side.

Their assailants had been mercenaries, but the only one taken alive was run through by Buey’s vicious
ranseur
before he could be made to talk—the free companion had pounced on Luigi Leone in an effort at seizing his pistol.

Later, they had bound their wounds and buried their dead in grim silence, their common thinking reflected in the face of every warrior: Perhaps there was no direction under the sun in which they’d left behind them no enemies. The powers of darkness plotted against them endlessly, circumscribed them in every land.

Perhaps they had reached the crossroads: Choose a path that promoted the common good—a way to noble death, or shatter the fellowship…for the common good.

“Pistol-proof armor,” Orozco had said through gritted teeth as his leg wound was cleansed by a solemn barber-surgeon. “That’s the stuff we need. They’ve perfected a pistol-proof armor up north. Guaranteed under pain of death to the manufacturer—my personal guarantee! Costs a goddamn golden shit-brick. But thanks to Gonji’s benefactors we’ve got nearly as much money left as we have secret enemies…”

Gonji had not shared in the others’ mirth. He had instead had been watching as his old friend Kuma-san took up the hilt of a
schiavona,
which hefty blade the priest thenceforth carried lashed to his back, as they made their way toward the sea.

Father Jan was an expert with the staff—the weapon of merciful chastisement. He had decried all other weapons for their violence. Now even he had taken up the sword.

And the samurai was deeply troubled, for it was because the devoted priest had joined Gonji’s company that he now compromised a deep-seated conviction.

* * * *

Dancing now, hand-in hand…a cloying field of wildflowers in night-blooming opulence…his partner cool and distant…the touch unfriendly…smiling…faceless…

Yet smiling
…

* * * *

“What is the proof of their virtue, their fidelity, their—their
reality?
How can you know when a woman is…what she says she is?”

Gonji emitted a soft
whuff
of breath as he pondered the werewolf’s questions. Cold rain slanted across his line of vision, enmeshing the sea’s far-off swells in dreamy gauze.

“How can you know when
anything
is what it seems to be? All life is illusion and deception, you know, my friend. Have you gazed into any moonlit pools lately?”

Simon gurgled something low in his cavernous throat.

Gonji peered closely at him, eyes narrowed, his voice waxing sincere. “I know something of the insecurity you feel. But there are no sureties in these things. The souls of all creatures are hidden from view. For my part, I have always played a game of testing.”

“Testing?”

“Ever probing into the heart of the hidden truth around me. Prodding people to gauge their reactions. Haven’t you watched? Always…challenging the allegiances of those who call themselves friend. Some call that cynicism. For me it has ever been just another tool for survival.”

Simon exhaled sonorously, dissatisfied with the answer.

“You must devise your own tests,” Gonji concluded. Then, smiling benignly, he added: “I don’t envy you. Surely the test of love is the most complex, the most difficult to evaluate. But there are ways. Have you chanced to…know this woman, carnally?”

The lips rolled back from the great wolf snout to reveal huge white fangs that might estrange an elk’s parts with passing fair speed. “Ruttish heathen swine! I knew that sooner or later you would interpret this as an
amour
—a mere illicit love affair, a dalliance.
Non, monsieur le samurai,
I do not share your casual way with women.”

Gonji’s brow furrowed, and he cast the hulking creature a hostile glare.
“Gomen nasai
—so sorry, but our relative moral codes are not being judged here. At any rate, my ‘way with women’ has never been casual. War-torn might be a more apt description. But…
n’importe?
Of what importance is that? My concern is for you. We’ve shared much pain, much tragedy, and the conspiracy that plots against us bodes more of the same,
n’est-ce pas?”

Simon’s ears perked. “You’ve touched upon a sore point. I…”

When Simon left the void unfilled, Gonji spoke again earnestly. “You
have
considered what consummation of your love with a woman might mean?”

“Oui.
I am at a loss. I can only leave such dread consequences to be sorted by the hand of God.”

“So be it, then,” Gonji said, standing and stretching languidly. He began at last to decide his course. “I think…I think, Simon-san, that this is more than a simple infatuation for you,
neh?”
He let out an amused breath, whispering softly into the night air in his native tongue:

“The werewolf is in love.”

“Qu’est-ce que c’est que cela?
What’s that?”

“Nothing. So what part do I occupy in this? How can I help you in your love pangs?”

“Make no jest, warrior. No one smiles in the Saone Valley these days. The province of my sainted mother—Burgundy.”

“Burgundy?” Gonji’s brow furrowed. “Always a hotbed of trouble, I’ve heard it said. But I understood all that was settled some years ago.”

The werewolf growled disdainfully. “A black stain of evil has spread over the territory. It began near Dijon, with strange murders in the night. Fiends stalk the mountain valleys, and they are protected by the…the powers that hold sway. You have a stake in this, if you be true to your Knights of Wonder, they who venerate your oriental footsteps. Catholics and Huguenots slay one another, their fervor fueled by the mocking evil that ravages the countryside.”

“Wait a moment—you’re beginning to sound like these other misguided souls. I am
not
the prince of the Wunderknechten. I admire certain of their principles. It seems common sense not to slaughter one’s countrymen whilst foreign oppressors slaver over the prospect of devouring the survivors, but—” Gonji’s eyebrow cocked pensively. “I thought there was a proclamation—an edict—the Edict of Nantes. Have not your French brothers ceased their religious warfare?”

“Hah! Since when was evil ever arrested by an edict of man? I tell you there is danger in Burgundy of a hideous nature. To the people. To her…Even to me—although you know I fear not the stroke of death! You’ve surely seen ample evidence of that. It’s only that…she’s given me reason to think of life as something more than torment and guilt and an endless round of savagery and solitude. I’ve even given thought to foreswearing my oath of vengeance against Grimmolech—him who made me what I am. But I must know the truth of love, of trust. And I have reason to doubt that I can ever embrace such things in my life.”

“Why?”

Simon turned away. “Another time, perhaps.”

Gonji fancied that a shiver coursed the creature’s huge frame, as if from a sudden chill. But the Beast jerked about and fixed on the samurai with his flashing silvery eyes.

“I operated in the territory for some time on the people’s behalf. Some knew of my presence, protected me. Some suffered for it when my position became compromised. I was involved beyond my capability to cope when I was discovered. I had spent the final full moon there chained in a cellar, disdaining this monstrous form—with good reason. It was because of this…
thing
I become that I was found out—”

Simon was trembling now, his jaws clacking as he indicated his wolfish body with raking black talons. “And even
with
its power I was at a lack. I’m—” Laughing gruffly now, as the samurai stared with fascination. “—not the monster I once was, you see. One too many adventures with you, monsieur knight-errant. I don’t heal as quickly as I once did. One hamstring has been severed; the heel tendon of the other leg, twice; certain of the Beast’s senses are not as keen as in days gone by. I don’t know how many quests I have left in me…”

Gonji eyed the lurking Beast sympathetically as he went on.

“…I became aware of your actions in Avignon, went seeking you, found the wretched result of your campaign. There
was
a connection, I believe—the very same stain of evil I speak of has spread throughout France even as King Henry turns his ambitions abroad. I followed you to Spain and have now lost a year in your company again. You do owe me something of your deep sense of duty.”

Gonji nodded somberly, aware now of the uncharacteristic pleading in Simon’s voice. “What is the nature of this…evil seed?”

The werewolf squatted down on its dog legs, folding its golden-furred, corded arms on its knees.

“Je ne sais quoi
—it is hard to find words to describe it. You must trust me. It may be best to enter the fray with no clear expectations of the shape of the enemy. Your present state of multilateral suspicion may be your most potent armor in the quest I propose.”

Gonji strolled as he spoke, stroking his stubbled chin, caught up in a crowding press of roiling ideas. “You ask a great deal. It will be hard to convince the others—especially Kuma-san. Leone’s become strangely preoccupied, as well. You want me to outfit an armed party to invade French territory, where I’m already persona non grata, where we’d be nothing more than a marauding band of outlaws. What’s wrong with King Henry? Has anyone appealed for his help? It is his land. Has he decided what Christian sect to embrace yet? He reminds me of my noble father in his machinations!”

A rasping sigh hissed out behind him. “He’s been Catholic again for a span of years now. So spare me your infidel sarcasm. He’s been a boon to the people. The Burgundians did approach him once—two years ago—for help in their trouble.”

“And?”

“No satisfaction, naturally. Evil employs many clever misdirections, many disguises when threatened. A certain…family, a clan of demons, rules in Burgundy. They cannot be defeated by simple direct assault of a cavalry column. Only a band experienced in battling evil in all its abominable wiles stands a chance. Such challenge was made, and the result was a clear warning to the people against soliciting aid through the normal channels. You see, a column of the king’s troops was deployed against the tyrant clan. They were never seen again—alive.
I
found them some time later, frozen into blood-caked statues in the drifts of an unnatural passing blizzard. Hardly recognizable as men anymore. Memorials, you see, to the work of the arrogant fiends you must help me deal with.”

Gonji knelt before the ominous creature and drew his sheathed swords from his
obi,
laying them on the ground between them. He bowed shallowly. Then he withdrew from a pocket his
hachi-maki,
the headband of resolution. This he tied about his forehead.

“All right, Simon-san.”

The Beast stood.
“Domo…arigato.”

The samurai’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Simon, why didn’t you just take the woman with you when you left?”

“How could I know her heart? Expect her to leave her homeland, to run with me, perhaps under pursuit that might last us all our days?”

“All you had to do…was
ask
her.” Gonji’s look reflected his perplexity.

The lycanthrope shook its great canine head. “It’s not that simple. Believe me.” It turned away, shunning Gonji’s piercing gaze.

Again Gonji was certain that Simon was concealing something, but there was no penetrating his stubbornness, and the samurai was weary of probing him. “I envy you,” he said finally, “having someone who so inspires you. To fight for.” He slowly drew the Sagami halfway out of its scabbard until he espied the nick on its edge. “I must repair this reminder of your berserker rage before ever attempting to return home.”

“It wakes,”
Simon growled in sharp warning.

And when Gonji peered closely at him, the eyes of the tortured soul trapped within Simon’s sphere of existence bore into Gonji’s own, lancing him with crimson tines of hatred.

* * * *

Wolves be a-hungering, on timbered trails…

He could not recall where he had heard the words; nor, in fact, whether they had been spoken or read or sung beside some dream-stirring campfire. But he associated the memory with the grim winter they’d spent in France.

They’d left behind them a docile Genoese clime, and Gonji wondered whether their first mistake had not in fact been the decision to decline Simon’s chosen path through Savoy and over the rugged Alps in favor of taking ship to the southern French coast. Gonji and Simon had argued the samurai’s decision to proceed with caution. Simon refused to ride the sea again, striking out alone on the bowshot course through the rugged mountains, impatiently reminding Gonji of the place where they would rendezvous. To Gonji the lycanthrope’s insistence seemed a foolhardy, enervating effort at making up time best conceded to karma. But from the outset Gonji’s crusading party was beset by myriad difficulties.

Too many wild-eyed, blustering young adventurers had joined the company, most of them not yet blooded by combat. They represented a new faction among the Wunderknechten—young idealists on a nebulous quest after glory, seeking to establish reputations based on close association with the samurai. Still worse, certain trusted comrades failed to take part in the venture: Luigi Leone had taken up with a young widow, claiming discontent with his long life on the road; and Father Jan Sebastio, while offering a halfhearted blessing on the pier, had refused to be an accessory to any such militant affair, gently reminding Gonji of his appointment with the pope.