Slavering Moon

Slavering Moon

-T.James Harris

It is said, that those of my ilk would eventually become cognitive, even during the worst of times.  Though I lived in the skin of a beast, my heart was still human.  However, reclaiming my humanity would take time.  A great deal of violence and uncertainty would transpire before reaching that goal.

My human name is Ieo Warren, and with the exception of a decent education, I was like any of the mortals that walked the streets of Woodlocke.  A fletcher by trade, I once made the best arrows, and was even contracted by the City Guard to provide them with my product.  Even the Royal Queen’s “Hounds” sought me out.  But with the discovery of black powder, and the invention of muskets and wheel-locks, my craftsmanship soon lost it’s value.  I had to take to hunting the Queen’s deer in order to feed my family.

It was on a poaching trip that I encountered my fate.

The moon was bright and high, so I was able to track my prey,  though not an easy feat in the pale light.  My success needed the dark.  But, being caught in daylight, with an ill-gotten prize, would have won me a noose.

While still within sight of the city wall, I spotted a buck that would have kept us in meat for a month.  I took aim with my best bow, and my truest  arrow.  But a moment before I released, the stag bounded quickly into the cover, and was lost.  I had not made a sound!  I had approached it down wind, and I wore colors that would blend easily into the shadows.  I lowered my weapon, and pondered which direction I should go, when the faintest of growls reached my ears.  I realized at that moment, that I had become the prey.

Of the attack, I could tell you little.  Dun colored fur.  Teeth and claws that ripped into me without effort.  Time seemed suspended as my body was tossed wildly about.  Suddenly, I heard someone shout, and then the crack of a wheel-lock as it fired.  The last thing I remembered was a chilling and defiant howl, and then blackness.  Not of sleep, but something much deeper.  Like falling through the bottom of myself. 

A sharp pain signaled that the world was not done with me yet.  I saw a silver cord attached to my chest.  It shone brighter then any light I had ever seen, and it pulled me soundly backwards.  I awoke in the dark, on my back, and in some kind of box.  The air was very stale, and thin...

I had been buried!

Panic reared up in me, as I franticly clawed at the thin wood.  I shouted, and cried out to any who might help me.  But no answer came.  Soon, I felt myself slipping away... but when I became aware again, I was back in the forest.  I was naked, and bloodied, and my mind was filled with questions.

I found a stream, and washed off the gore, and realized that I had not a wound on me.  My belly felt strangely full.  Better then I was used to.  But I had no memory of eating.

What of my wife?  My children?  They must have believed me dead.  Who had fired the single shot I heard?  Was it from the wheel-lock of a patrolman?  Had he reported that I was slain by some unknown forest demon?  But more importantly, if I had returned from the grave, what was I?

I could not go home.  My family would be in danger.  At the very least, they would be terrified of me, thinking my soul now belonged to the Dark Lord.  How could I explain something I did not understand myself?

While pondering my circumstances, I became aware of a change in my senses.  They fascinated and repelled me.  Colors were brighter then ever, and the scent of the forest become utterly intoxicating.  I spent the next several days wandering in the daylight, experiencing what my new senses had to offer.  However, the moment I viewed the moon, my memory faded.  When I became aware next, I was in a sorry, yet satiated state.  The events of the night, were a complete mystery.

One morning, I awoke to a wild odor.  I opened one eye slowly, and there, regarding me, were three young male wolves.  I sensed that they regarded me as a brother of the forest.  Indeed, in time, I did become a part of their small pack.  Each had his own personality,  so I gave them the names of my own sons.

It was during the new moon, that I decided I would return to the city.  I wanted to find out how my family had fared after my “death,”  free from the effects of the moonlight,   In the darkness, I was able to easily slip past the night guard.  I found a set of trousers and an ill fitting shirt draped over a balcony, so despite my feral look, I would be able to walk amongst men unnoticed.

My home on Carver street stood like a welcoming fire.  I had to keep myself from rushing to the door.  When I came to the steps, however, my nose detected the scent of another man.  I was able to leap onto the second floor roof, and peer into the window of the room my wife and I shared.  She had taken up with another man.  And this, less then a month after my funeral.  I managed to get across the roof without alerting the neighbors dog, and tried to glimpse the boys.  I could just make them out in their beds.

When I dropped to the back gate, I discovered a set of boots on the steps.  The scent they gave told me that it was Del, the butcher.  A man I knew well.  At least my boys would have meat on their table.  They would grow strong... even without me.

My heart broken, I left the city, and returned to the three companions who held the names of my beloved off-spring.  In their coats, I wept my tears, and vowed never to forget my precious sons.

I would have been happy in the woods, hunting and surviving.  But always, my mind would drift to my children.  How were they fairing with their step-father.  What kind of story had my wife told them about my death?  I became more dissatisfied with every moment away from them.  I needed money.  I needed to be a part of civilization, even  if I was some kind of monster.

I became a bandit. 

Several months passed, and during the day, I took to relieving fine fat merchants, of their heavy purses.  I can not say that no harm came to these men.  That would be a lie.  Had I my wish, no harm would have befallen them.  But some resisted.  Some took unnecessary chances.  Some died at my hands.  Not many, but all who perished received a Christian burial.

I had amassed enough wealth, that I could function meagerly inside the city.  I could do this.  I could watch over my sons.  Safe in the shadows I had claimed as my own.

Though I still suffered the curse of the moon, I had discovered that if I were not touched by it’s silver light, I would remain in the skin of a man.  My hair had  grown long.  I was leaner then I had ever been, even as a youth.  I removed any trace of beard that I used to carry proudly, and I dare say that if my wife were to meet me on the street, she would just take me as a distant cousin of her dead husband.

I took up residence in an abandoned house on Rope Street, next to the bridge.  It’s basement was very damp, but possessed no windows.  I then found work on Gallows Hill, ironically, serving the City Guard as a stableman.  It allowed me to earn a wage in the daylight, and give me access to conversation held by the Constables.  I might find out if there were more of my kind.

It was during the Autumn Festival that horrific murders were discovered.  Not the simple throat-cuttings of common thugs, but vicious attacks, that left female victims torn, and destroyed.  It could not have been me, or so I thought.  I  would usually awaken in the morning, in my clothing, and hungry.  But on further investigation, I discovered that when the moon was full, I was not immune to it’s effects, even in my hiding place.

To my horror, I realized that I must have dug my way out of the basement.  My fingernails were clogged with earth.  Worse, I carried on my skin the evidence of my crimes.  For the remainder of that day, I lay in the darkness, convinced that the Guard would be forcing their way into my underground home.  I would be tossed into a pit under Gallows Hill, or dancing from a rope over the city wall.  But no one came for me.

As soon as the sun had set, but well before moon rise, I ran like a man possessed to the stables.  I found a length of chain, and a pair of rusted shackles.  Once back home, I bound myself as securely as I could, even tying my ankles with rope thicker than my fingers.

It was pointless.  My attempt failed.  In the morning, I looked as bad as I ever had.  My wrists were torn, my legs as well.  My belly was once again, full.  The remains on me, were that of a person.  And then, I remembered.  Not all of the events.  Just images.  A woman... a street-walker perhaps.  Blonde.  She smelled of many men.  Her blood was sweet on my tongue.

I could not go on this way.  I watched as the wounds on me faded before my eyes, and realized why I had not died in the mouth of that forest monster months ago.  If I were to try to end my life, I would simply awaken anew.  I needed to be contained behind iron and armed guards.

I removed the vile traces of my rampage, and dressed in my usual clothing.  I would present myself to the Constable in charge, and beg him to put me in a cell.  Once there, they could keep me from harming anyone else.

Never has a walk seemed so dire, so long, and so arduous.  I arrived at the office of the man who would decide my fate.  I decided to tell him that a trial would not be necessary.  I would ask him to simply lock me away.  As I approached, he was deep in a conversation with a Queen’s “Hound.”

“Are you saying that the latest victim was killed by a man?”  The Hound asked.

“Yes.  When I arrived, there were boot prints in the blood.  The wolf print was secondary.  A dog of some kind, scavenged several mouthfuls, but the wounds on her were created by a blade.  Not a tooth.”  I saw my opportunity to step forward and speak.

“Was that how the others were found as well?”  I asked boldly.  Both men looked at me in a manner that told me I had stepped far beyond my rights to ask.  The Guard nodded, but the Hound dismissed me with a glare.

The guards answer to my question impacted me like a hammer’s blow. Perhaps I was not responsible for the murders after all.  I ran back to my home, and as I did, a wave of sickness fell on me like the coming of night.  My stomach emptied itself.  And what I saw, reassured me.  Feathers.  I had raided a chicken coop.

I was not the one they sought!

Still, I had to be sure.  There was one night left of the full moon.  That evening, I bound myself better then I had ever thought I could.  Chains, locks, even a muzzle.  And when the third night of the full moon graced me,  I retained my sense of self, and my human sensibilities.  Thee rage in me was profound, but there was a trace of humanity left inside my mind.  I forced myself to be calm.  To understand.  To adapt.

And when the moon grew full next, I was waiting.

The murders had resumed.  Again, the ladies of the evening were the intended prey.  I had taken up a watchful post on the top of a steeple.  The city street was clear and clean to my vision.  I saw a lone figure approaching a woman.  I lowered myself to an adjacent roof-top.  When I saw the flash of a blade, I sprang at him.  The woman screamed, but was able to run noisily away.  I stared at the dark man for moment, and knew that he could see me for what I was.  There was no mistake.  He did not drop his weapon.  Instead, his knuckles went white around the hilt.

“Ah, so you have grown tired of taking the blame for my deeds?”  He asked me with a leer and smile.  His clothing told me he was of means.  The blade he bore was probably a tool of his own profession.  A surgeon perhaps.  It did not matter.  I could not speak to him, but my bared fangs and stiff hackles conveyed my feelings.  This display rattled him.  Yet, he lunged at me with the weapon.  It sank deep into my shoulder, and I roared out my pain.  I struck him, not with my claws, but the back of my hand.  He reeled away several steps, and then took to sprinting his escape.  I was able to follow easily.

Once we reached Rope Street Bridge, he turned to me again, and I knew he would flee no more.  He spoke again, in a voice less steady and assured.

“Ironic.  A monster with the consciousness of a man, verses a man with no conscious at all.”  He raised another weapon, this time. a cane.  It was tipped in silver.  As it struck me, a fiery pain shot through me.  Regardless, I slashed at him with all my strength.  The rush of blood sprayed darkly across his face.  This I accomplished with one savage stroke of my claws.  The look of utter shock was frozen in his eyes, as I watched him fall slowly into a heap at my feet.

A call behind me told me that the Guard had arrived.  I hesitated, growling angrily over the body of my victim.  A second later, lead balls fired into my body.  I jumped to my feet with a savage roar, and staggered to the low stone wall.  Another volley of bullets pelted me, and I fell into the river.  Semi-conscious and in pain, I drifted past them in the current.

Lead could not kill me.

I returned to my life in the city.  Not as a fletcher, but a horseman.  Though the beasts shy from me, I manage to assure them that they would never become  my intended prey.  Somehow, they seem to understand this.  I see my sons, from a distance, regularly.  I send packages to the house, always from a “distant relation.”

I do not feed on the flesh of men.  But I hunt them.  The evil-doer.  The rapist.  The mugger.  Some would think it recompense for my brief roll as a bandit.   Perhaps they are correct.

I have taken a new sire name.  Vannick.  It is from an ancient tongue.  It means “wolf.”  It also means “guardian.”