Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (34 page)

The Constable cussed and hopped and tried to
shake off the little dog. His grimy underling watched in baffled
amusement.

Thal barged between them and kept walking. He
called off Pistol with a single grunt and did not look back.

After a string of curses, the Constable
hollered, “I best not see you again!”

The threat meant little to Thal. Dead man
talking.

Thal wandered the square, deaf to the pleas
of vendors hawking their wares. His vision swam with red murder.
Terrible emotions twisted at his guts until he wanted to tear off
his clothes and scream the spell that would give him all the powers
of a beast.

Then his feet stopped. The cobblestones were
stained black and cracked by the roaring fires that had heated
them. Scrubbing had not been able to remove all the sooty
stains.

He was in the place near where gallows were
erected whenever the need arose. In this companion place to the
kingdom of the noose were stacked the pyres where those associated
with the Devil were burned to death.

His knees shook. Sweat ran down his back. The
bustling voices of the square and the buildings disappeared. White
light consumed his vision. Clearly he heard his mother calling his
name. He recognized her voice. It was the voice that had soothed
him when he was ill. The voice that had praised his
accomplishments. The voice that had been raised in anger and bade
him not to seek his father.

A rough wet tongue on his face brought him
back. The benign blue sky above contrasted to his ragged state.

“Is the fellow having a fit?” a man said.

Thal had collapsed. He was sore where his
body had hit the dirty cobbles. He sat up. Two laborers were
looming over him.

“Need any help, Sir?” one of the men
said.

Thal looked around. Embarrassment seized him
and he dashed off. Pistol trotted ahead and presumed to lead. Thal
trusted his little friend and followed him onto a street. He
stopped and put out a hand to lean on the corner of the building.
People glanced at him wondering if he was drunk. He drew ragged
breaths, trying to revive his wits.

With shaky hands he took off his hat and ran
his fingers through his wet hair. Pistol yipped and wagged his
tail. Thal recognized the street now. The young woman who had known
his mother lived on it. His dog kept trying to coax him
forward.

“You like her, don’t you?” he murmured.

Pistol pranced in circles, urging him to get
going.

Thal obliged. When he strolled by her house,
he studied the house sign and learned that it was the residence of
the Fridrich family.

The Magistrate, he recalled stormily. The
thought of a Court official having kinship with the young woman
bothered him deeply. He did not want to accept that any taint of
crime was upon her. She had wept for Gretchen. His mother must have
been kind to her.

As he realized his conflicted feelings about
her, he came to a full stop and stared at her house. The shutters
were open. Curtains fluttered. He could smell the food cooking back
in the kitchen.

If Thal had known her name he would have
called to her. Then as if his spirit had summoned her, she came to
a window. Her face was alert, and her intelligent intuition
enhanced her beauty.

She gasped when she saw him and jerked back
from the window like startled prey. Thal was distressed that her
appearance had been so fleeting, but then she delighted him by
stepping back into view and confronting his probing gaze.

Alarm still radiated from her, but she owned
her fear and looked at him. Her confidence wooed Thal in a way new
to his heart.

He wanted to ask her name, but their silent
connection was too dazzling. The forbidden curiosity aroused by
their secret recognition of each other was too precious to risk
with words, at least for that single blissful moment. Thal soaked
up her sympathy. They were bound by the loss of a woman neither of
them could admit to loving.

Thal decided not to risk upsetting her
family. At this moment it was enough to know that she would be
receptive when he approached again. He lifted his hat to her.
Before he turned away he saw the pleading shine in her eyes that
wanted him to stay.

The sweet and sympathetic sight of Gretchen’s
young associate soothed his grief considerably. Her vibrant and
daring spirit that had met his impermissible peeping with bold
interest excited him.

He headed back to the Little Quarter. Halfway
across the bridge, he stopped and climbed onto the edge. Sitting
there he watched the water flow. The Vltava offered him a thick
slice of the wilds within the urban sprawl. He felt in the passing
water the distant quiet places where snow had melted and trickled
downhill. Perhaps one of his former pack had lapped at this water
and recalled their old leader. His mother’s remains were part of
the river now, carried away to new destinies of the spirit. Softly
he apologized for not being there to protect her. He would have to
live with that lapse.

And then he spoke his promise to fulfill the
demand of her final spell. She would have her retribution. All who
had contributed to her doom would die.

Because of the approaching summer solstice,
the day was long and the twilight lingered. Thal sat on the bridge,
soaking up the peacefulness. He needed to renew himself. Collapsing
in the square had been startling and he must never let himself
succumb to such weakness again.

The pale details of the full moon rose over
the city before night had entirely come. Looking like a lace
covered pearl, its celestial shine revealed the insignificance of
the teeming city.

As the stars came out and the moon
brightened, Thal naturally felt the call of his werewolf power. Not
tonight, he told himself. His song last night had been meant to be
sung only once.

Lanterns in the streets and the flicker of
candles in windows began to twinkle across the city, mimicking
imperfectly the rippling reflections of moonlight upon the river.
Thal recalled the party of his hostess. Lady Carmelita was
expecting him. Being hungry and needy for the company of his
friends, he prepared his mood for the affair.

“Shut the door,” Vito said.

Rainer pulled on the door a couple times but
it did not entirely fit into its sagging frame.

“That will suffice,” Vito said, setting aside
his annoyance with the dilapidated building.

Rainer’s knuckles were scraped and scabbed.
Circles were under his dull eyes. Vito pitied Rainer when he was
like this. Every full moon was so hard on him. Then the days would
pass, and Rainer would heal a little before descending back into
his accursed misery.

Vito gestured to the chair. Rainer slumped
into it and clasped his face.

“I’m not going to lock you up tonight,” Vito
said quietly.

Rainer looked up, bright with gratitude, but
then his conscience dragged him back to despair. “I’ll leave the
city. Head for the hills,” he said.

“No. We shall find another way, Brother
Rainer,” Vito said.

Rainer wanted to believe in his guidance.
“How?” he said.

Vito had already planned his next words. “If
God will not cleanse your curse, then I have come to believe that
God wishes for your curse to have a purpose,” he said.

Rainer’s silent confusion encouraged Vito. He
continued, “You possess a frightening power. If applied correctly
you can advance the mission of the Jesuits, the whole Church even.
I’m going to let you loose in the city tonight.”

“No, no, Master, you mustn’t!” Rainer
cried.

“Quiet,” Vito said, not wishing to be
overheard by the other monks.

Rainer shook his head.

“Listen to me. Brave men have fought for
centuries for the Church. You will just be fighting for God in a
different way,” Vito said.

“How can what happens to me serve God?”
Rainer argued timidly.

Vito only needed to provide Rainer with a
convincing answer. The man’s need for redemption made him easy to
manipulate.

“You have to make your presence known. We
both heard the beast last night. The real werewolf. Not some victim
like you but a true follower of a devilish sorcerer. We have to
find him and send him back to Hell. If he knows you’re in Prague
he’ll come to you. Stay with him until he returns to his man form
and then lead him back here so my men can trap him. We must deal
out God’s justice. Christians cannot suffer one so corrupted as him
to walk among them,” Vito said.

Rainer recalled his encounter with Thal. That
man had been in complete command of the werewolf transformation.
Easily Rainer envied his power, but his sense of kinship with Thal
made it difficult to see him as an enemy. But if he had voluntarily
taken on the power, then he was an abomination most vile, as Vito
said. Rainer could not imagine willingly taking on the beast power
that forever separated the soul from God.

“When you’re loose tonight, you’ll hunt and
kill. Howl for him. He will hear you and come,” Vito explained.

“I don’t want to kill anyone,” Rainer
whispered painfully. He knew he would do it though. He had done it
before.

“Go to the Jewish Quarter. If you slaughter
some Jew, it won’t really be like murder,” Vito said.

Rainer winced. “They’re still people,” he
whispered.

Vito put his palm on his forehead. He was
continually amazed that sweet-hearted sheepish Rainer had survived
a werewolf attack.

“Then pick some squalid drunk in a gutter. Do
society a favor and remove useless scum. Remember it is to serve
your brothers. Put the fear of God into Prague so that I can offer
them guidance. You must flush out the real werewolf. Such sorcery
must be stomped out,” Vito insisted and smacked his table. “Would
you have all good Christians suffer as you do? If sorcerers and
heretics are not put down, then how many Devil beasts like the one
that bit you will roam the land? Turn your curse into a holy power,
Rainer. Have faith that we are following God’s plan and do as I
tell you. Your ultimate redemption relies upon it.”

“Are you sure I can serve God with my curse?”
Rainer asked.

“Yes! Reveal your power and it will draw out
the magic workers. They’ll seek you as one of their own and then
you will lure them into God’s justice. Together we’ll purify Prague
and show the holy might of Mother Church. Save people from the
Devil-begotten lies of the vile Protestants that encourage all this
madness,” Vito said.

Rainer looked out a window. The daylight was
so soothing and safe, but he could not escape the monstrous magic
that would seize him again that night. The beast must hunt. It must
kill. Rainer could not contain it, no matter how much he wished and
prayed.

“Thank you Brother Vito for showing me a new
way forward in the service of God. I shall do as you say,” he
whispered.

Vito set a hand on his head and whispered
loving prayers of praise for Rainer’s loyalty to God despite his
affliction.

“Amen,” they said together.

As a last bit of encouragement, Vito said,
“It is God’s will that the Reaper takes lives. Tonight you shall be
the Reaper’s servant. That is all. Whoever you take, be safe in the
knowledge that you are only the instrument of his fate,” Vito
said.

Rainer touched the cross on his chest and
nodded vigorously. He would teach the beast within him to kill
without sin.

The music coming from Lady Carmelita’s house
was familiar to Thal. A servant opened one of the double doors for
him. He brushed his fingers across the scene carved into the wood.
An ancient warrior was confronting a horse with wings. Thal
wondered where flying horses lived.

The foyer was resplendent with dozens of
candles on silver candlesticks. The conspicuous wealth of
Carmelita’s new home was still dazzling to Thal. Every handle and
knob was a finely crafted object. Rosettes and leaves were carved
into the woodwork. Two fresh bouquets of flowers stood on stone
pedestals flanking the broad doorway to the lady’s main hall.

The fine voice of Regis was enthralling the
guests. Only people at the periphery of the crowd were chatting.
Thal slunk along a wall trying to avoid people. He filled a plate
at the buffet and flung a treat to the floor that Pistol snatched
up. He stood in a corner eating. A servant was kind enough to come
by with a tray of drinks and he grabbed a wine.

While attending to his hunger, he observed
the room. Men wore finely woven leggings and tunics or poufy
breeches. Because of the warm night most of them had taken off
their heavier doublets or cloaks. Bright white linen sleeves
flounced along their arms and velvety vests with shiny buttons
contrasted smartly with their shirts. Some wore extravagant collars
of layers of lace that ruffled up high on their throats. Swords and
daggers hung from men’s belts.

Layers of delicate fabric hugged the women
with precise tailoring. Beads were stitched on bodices. Rows of
ribbons ran down their sleeves. Tiny bundles of fragrant and
festive nosegays fluttered on wrists. Their rustling skirts
surrounded their feet that tapped in shoes with high heels and
square toes.

Thal spotted Carmelita holding court on a
bright red couch. A white silk headdress was wound around her dark
hair. A big man with long and curly brown hair and a trim beard sat
beside her. Shiny armor covered his chest and gold earrings
accentuated his olive skin. Sitting on the couch had required him
to shift his rapier across his lap. Carmelita smiled often at
whatever he was saying and playfully batted him with a fan.

When Regis finished his song, everyone
applauded. Thal was happy for his friends as they bowed to their
admirers. They found true joy in performance.