The Grand Chapel was dimly illuminated due to every third candle being lit. A small choir, consisting of two rows of either too-young or too-old men, stood in front of the altar. Their song, although not perfect by any means, gave the chapel a divine touch. There were hardly a dozen people, mostly women, praying and listening to their fathers and sons sing. Their husbands were nowhere to be seen.
Jory watched the choir from the ledge above. He leaned on the small but sturdy stone handrail. Behind him was a place reserved for the organs, but it was empty now. As barely any light from the scarce candles reached him, he was mostly in darkness.
“Quite a sorry bunch, aren’t we?” A voice whispered from the darkness. Jory didn’t flinch. He noticed the priest a few moments ago. He wore soft slippers, but Jory heard him either way. The priest moved next to the handrail, looking down on the people from the village. “This place used to be cramped with people. Now, nearly everyone is gone. Off to fight and die in this stupid war.”
Jory didn’t move. His eyes were chained to the men singing. “I’ve seen worse,” he said after a moment. He turned to the priest. Thanks to the little candlelight that reached them, Jory could hardly see the man, but his clothes looked meticulous. He wondered if it was silk.
“Then I’ll pray for them. This winter will be hard, I can feel it. Every tenth man remained in our village. And the women…” the priest raised his hand, gesturing at the weeping women, “I guess they can be of some use.”
Jory grunted. “You didn’t call me here to discuss your plans for winter, your Holiness,” Jory said. “Why does a clergyman need the service of a hunter?”
The priest smiled, although his face remained in the darkness. “Straight to business, I see. Very well. I suppose that’s for the best.” The priest rustled his robe as he searched for something in his pockets. Then he pulled out a small satchel and handed it to Jory. “Take it. You will get the rest after you finish the job.”
Jory glanced at the leather satchel and took it, measuring its weight. “Tell me what I need to know,” Jory said, putting the satchel away. The choir sang below them.
“Every month, on a full moon, our shepherds lose a dozen or two of cattle. Sheep, goats, pigs… everything.”
Jory looked at the priest, furrowing his brow. “I am not-“
“Let me finish, please.” The priest lowered his voice when the choir below stopped singing for a break. “We organized raids of hunters and killed almost every wolf in the entire country, but nothing changed. Then, people started standing guard at the barns. In the morning, we’d find the men butchered and the cattle gone. Their throats would be cut, and the barns would be empty.”
“And it happens every time there’s a full moon?”
The priest contently nodded.
“And you think it is a werewolf?” Jory asked, smirking.
The priest nodded once more, now less confident.
Jory sighed. “Everyone thinks it is werewolves. Always.” Jory grabbed the bag of coins. “You have problems with poachers and bandits. I take care of the out-worldly and cursed. I will not hunt men.” He offered back the satchel.
“How can you be so sure?” The priest asked.
“Werewolves don’t leave their victims with cutthroats. They leave them without limbs. And if it was a werewolf, trust me, you would know it.”
“What if I told you that we know who the monster is?”
“The man?”
The priest nodded, smiling.
“And then again, you need me for?”
“Well, we just want to make sure that he is, in fact, the monster. Wouldn’t want an innocent man’s blood on my hands, would I?”
Wouldn’t be the first time, Jory thought but decided not to speak. “So, in case he does turn into a monster-“
“Your silver blade and your skills would be more than appreciated.” The priest chuckled. “I suppose we have a deal then?”
“If he turns out to be a normal man, I am taking this as a payment for my time” Jory waved with the satchel.
“That is… fair. But don’t forget to sharpen your blade, hunter.” The priest’s sly smile broadened.
The choir stopped singing below, and now another priest was talking to the crowd. “If that is all, your Holiness, I am leaving. We will see each other tomorrow evening.”
“Oh… yeah, It will be a full moon. I don’t know why I am surprised that you should know that. It does fall under your profession. Meet me at the chapel, as soon as the Sun sets. I have gathered a group of ten-“
“No” Jory cut him off. “Only you and me.”
The priest’s smile vanished. “Are you out of your mind?!” Jory was surprised that nobody below heard him. “There is no way I am going alone with you!”
“The smell of human blood will drive the werewolf mad. And it will make it feral. If it is a werewolf in the first place…” Jory turned away from the priest. “This way it will be easier for me to take the unfortunate creature down. He will only smell you.” Jory smiled and left the shocked priest behind.
“It is a suicide!” The priest called after the hunter. His slippers made faint noise as he hurriedly walked.
“Don’t worry about anything. Just point at the man, and I will do the rest. As far as I am concerned, you can run back to your home.”
“No. John’s boy will go with you then. He knows Aiden just as well as I do!”
“So, you wish to put a little boy’s life in danger in order to protect your own? Not very… priest-like of you, your Holiness.” Jory was at the top of a spiral staircase that led to the ground floor.
“Oh, for God’s sake… fine!” The priest gnarled, looking down on Jory. There was an angry frown on the priest’s face that Jory was so familiar with. In the background, he could hear the choir’s faint song once again.
#
Jory found a cosy room in the town’s inn. The main cook, who was the owner of the inn since her husband left for war, scanned Jory from head to toe. “Hunter, are ye?” she said while stirring the pot. Jory noticed a couple of chicken feet floating in the pot.
“I need a room,” Jory said, eyeing the stew. It didn’t look appealing but he was hungry for some real food. “And a bowl of whatever that is, with some warm bread.”
He sat alone on the bench, despite the room being full of people. People somehow knew how to evade him. Mostly women and children though. The only other man was an old man whose teeth fell out who knows when. He was eating the stew as well.
After eating, he climbed his way up the stairs, to a small room the innkeeper gave him. She had promised him that it was empty of fleas, but Jory felt them crawling after some time. Still, he fell asleep, tightly grabbing his dagger below the pillow.
The next day passed slowly and dully. Wearing a robe with a hood, Jory tried to glance around the village, but the hood gave little protection from the eyes. He visited a local smith, looking for a whetstone. “For the werewolf?” the large shirtless man asked. He was missing his left arm, but it didn’t stop him from hammering the iron. “I’ll give it for free, then.”
Jory thanked them for his unanticipated kindness. He left the village, and after making sure he wasn’t being followed, he found a small clearing in the surrounding woods. He placed his two swords and two daggers in front of him – two steel and two silver. First two for men, the latter ones for monsters. The Sun has passed its peak when he started sharpening them. The steel was easy to sharp, it required nothing but mindless work. His mind found peace in the rhythmic scraping of the metal. Silver… was a bit trickier. He took the dagger first and placed a fingertip on the steel. He winced when a drop of blood went down the blade. Then Jory whispered the words Mel had taught him. The air seemed to have stopped for a moment. Then it was filled with rhythmical sharpening. After dealing with the silver sword the same way, Jory stood up. The Sun was soon to set, he realised. He grabbed his rucksack and pulled out a small glass vial. It was filled with viscous greenish liquid that left residue on the vial’s walls. It was the last one he had. He realised he’d have to ask Mel to make him more of it.
He swallowed it in a second. Then he grabbed his stomach, trying to ease the cramps. After a moment of kneeling helplessly, he sighed. Jory stood up, picked up his rucksack and blades, and went his way back to the village.
#
“For a moment I thought you ran away with our money,” the priest said, standing in front of the chapel. He was surrounded by a dozen of men. Some were old, and some lacked limbs, but they were all strong and armed with whatever they could find; pitchforks, pickaxes, clubs…
“I told you we are going alone” Jory said, trying not to look at the men that surrounded him and the priest. Contrary to the other day, the priest was now dressed in plain clothes. If it wasn’t for the long silver cross pendant on his chest, Jory might have taken him for a regular villager.
“They will stay half a mile behind us. Just for added protection” the priest said, spreading his hands. The rugged men looked at Jory.
“Two miles.”
“Bah! This is not a negotiation!”
“Werewolves can smell human blood up to a mile and a half. They stay two miles behind us.”
The priest’s smile disappeared and a line took its place. “Do as he says” he murmured and one of the men near him nodded. Then he placed the forced smile again on his face. “Shall we then? It is going to be a short hike.”
Jory looked at the night sky. The full moon would reveal itself after a few hours. He looked at the men. “Two miles” he growled. They didn’t reply.
The priest was surprisingly fast as he made his way through the woods. He followed an old path that was hard to notice, even for Jory. The priest carried a lantern for a good part of it, but after a while, Jory took it from him. He ignored the priest’s protest and led the way himself, easily finding the path in the darkness. The priest tripped a few times behind him, despite knowing the path by heart.
“How can you see” he squealed as the cross dangled on his chest.
“There are barely any clouds. And the Moon is bright.”
The priest looked above. The Moon was slowly becoming the brightest item on the night’s canvas. “Why does it only cause them to turn when it is at the centre?” the priest asked, looking at the sky. “The Moon is full right now, isn’t it?”
A perversion of the Sun, Jory thought. But he didn’t say anything. He just grunted.
“You aren’t a really talkative hunter, are you?”
Jory grunted again, holding a large branch up so the priest could pass. “That looks heavy. You are stronger than I thought, hunter.”
“Do you talk so much because of the fear?” Jory asked, continuing the path. The animals in the forest were aware of the two of them just as Jory was aware of them. He could almost smell them.
“Fear? Of the monster?! No” the priest said, sighing. “I only fear God!”
“Are you afraid He won’t protect you?” Jory continued, looking at the darkness of the woods. Something was looking back at him, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A deer? A wildcat?
“Curse you, hunter, and curse your tongue” the priest murmured. “My faith is enough. I need nothing more. I don’t need you to protect me, I just need you to kill the thing!”
Jory stopped. The priest bumped into him.
“What on-“
Jory cut him off, showing him to stay quiet. Although he couldn’t see anything, he heard something. A slow crackling sound.
“He is making… fire?” Jory thought aloud.
“Huh?” The priest looked in the direction Jory was looking at. “I can’t-“
“Silent!” Jory whispered. “We’ll go around.”
Even for Jory, traversing wild forest grounds was hard. However, after some time, orange light illuminated the sky.
“There” the priest whispered, squinting.
Quietly, the two of them followed the light, Jory’s hand resting on the dagger. Soon, he could hear someone’s steps. Someone’s nervous steps.
Soon, the light of a bonfire blinded him. Jory was standing behind a large oak tree, while the priest was next to him, hiding behind a boulder.
In front of them, a man was pacing around the bonfire. The man wore tattered and rugged clothes, and his face was covered almost entirely with an unkempt wild beard. He was visibly famished. Behind the man was a small, ruinous cottage.
“That’s him” the priest whispered. “That’s Aiden!”
Jory turned to him and showed him to stay quiet and not to move. When his gaze returned back to the man in front of the bonfire, Jory realised the man was standing oddly still.
“What do you want!?” the man shouted. Jory heard the priest whimper. “I can hear you and I can… smell you. One small afraid man and…”
Jory stepped out into the firelight.
“…A hunter” Aiden whispered. Then he laughed. “So be it. It’s better this way.”
The man moved insanely fast for a human, getting next to Jory in a few seconds. Luckily, Jory was prepared. He pounced back, drawing the silver dagger. His fears, and the priest’s allegations, came true. Jory was dealing with a werewolf.
Seeing the silver in Jory’s hand, Aiden suddenly stopped. “You can actually do it?” he asked. Then he cried out in pain, as the bones in his face started to break and reform anew. The jaw elongated, making place for new, longer and sharper teeth. The little clothes on him that weren’t already torn started tearing as muscles enlarged on his limbs. Black claws burst out from his fingers, coating his hands in blood. A large werewolf, twice as tall as the man from the moment before, stood in front of Jory. The full Moon was above them, shining as strong as Sun.
Jory tossed the silver dagger into his left arm and drew the longer silver blade from the sheath on his back. Silver glistened in the moonlight, but this time, Aiden, or what was left of him, didn’t step back. He hurled onto Jory, swinging his razor-sharp claws. Jory ducked, rolling away, dodging the claws at the last moment. He remained untouched. Aiden wasn’t that lucky. The werewolf stood on its hind legs, looking at his left paw. A stream of blood was rushing down his elbow, and then onto the ground. Around the scar, the blood was boiling, as the flesh was cut with blessed silver.
The confused werewolf looked at Jory. Then he growled. It sounded like laughing to Jory. “Good… Hu… N-Ter” Aiden said through large canine teeth, spitting bile and spit everywhere. Then he jumped.
Jory’s heightened sense granted him the speed to parry the claws, but the weight of the attack made him fall to the ground. Aiden’s jaw opened, exposing long rows of sharp teeth. The jaw clasped, just an inch off Jory’s face. Aiden tried again, but Jory managed to keep him away with his hands. The blade was on the ground next to him. Growling in annoyance, the werewolf jumped back. Jory quickly got up, grabbing the blade.
Aiden growled again, imitating human speech. “Ss-Strong. H-How? Man?”
Jory’s eyes wandered in the darkness, looking for the priest. He found him in the same place where he was a few moments before. Hiding behind the boulder. Flee, fool! He thought. But the priest was chained by fear.
Aiden’s left hand, covered in thick black hair, continued to bleed. Wounds made by silver couldn’t stop bleeding. The werewolf jumped again. Jory welcomed him with the sword but missed the heart. A large, gaping wound opened on Aiden’s side. He’s careless, Jory thought. As if he didn’t have a large hole in his left side, Aiden swung with his arm, slashing at Jory. He tore his clothes and threw him in the air. Jory landed a few steps away from the petrified priest. “Run” Jory uttered.
Aiden jumped onto him, opening his jaw to take a bite from Jory’s face. Quickly, Jory lifted his forearm, jamming it in the beast’s mouth. Long black teeth cut deep into Jory’s flesh. Aiden tried to pull back while biting, hoping to tear off his arm. However, Jory, pushing through pain, pulled back. He was flexing his muscles, holding the beast’s head in place.
“Now!” Jory screamed at the priest. “Use the dagger!”
The priest looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Aiden was still pulling back with his teeth, surprised that he wasn’t able to tear off human flesh. “Now!”
The priest’s wits returned to him and he stood up. The dagger was close to him on the ground, partly hidden by tall grass. Luckily, silver shone brightly in the moonlight. The priest grabbed it and ran towards the werewolf. He jammed the dagger deep into Aiden’s open wound. The werewolf screeched in pain, letting go of Jory’s hand and swinging his arms madly. He hit the priest, throwing him into the air. Luckily, he landed on a soft patch of grass.
The werewolf took a few steps back. The silver dagger was jammed into his heart, and the blood around the wound was boiling. As death was taking him, Aiden turned partly back into a human. “How…” his voice returned as large teeth fell out. “You… you are not… How? How can you resist?” Aiden stood directly in front of the bonfire. As his torso shrunk, the blade fell out. “You are not man… you are… me.”
He tripped and fell into the raging fire.
“Finally!” the priest shouted proudly, getting up from the ground. “I killed him! I killed the beast!” At first glance, he seemed unharmed, although his clothes were torn in certain places.
Jory moaned with pain and exhaustion. He picked up his swords and returned them to their sheaths. The silver dagger was still on the ground in front of the bonfire, partly covered in blood, partly in ashes.
“Look inside, hunter!” the priest ordered. He was brushing dirt off his clothes. “There might be another.”
Jory looked at the ruined house. Its roof had caved in and the window frames were empty. There was darkness inside. Limping, Jory pulled the silver sword and ventured in. He kicked the old door open, revealing an empty cold room. There was almost nothing of furniture, just remnants of what was once a table and a few chairs. However, there were sturdy iron shackles tied to the stone wall, both for hands and feet. Jory lifted his eyebrow. These definitely were not used to hold cattle. He looked around the room. There weren’t any remains of animals. And the man, Aiden… he looked like he didn’t have a proper meal in ages.
A sharp smell reached Jory. Oil? But there weren’t any containers anywhere.
The walls.
They were coated in oil. And the hay which covered the floor was also drenched in it. “Merciful God…” Jory uttered. Aiden wanted to chain himself tonight and set fire to the house. He wanted to end his curse.
“He was no-“Jory said as he was leaving but he stopped upon seeing the crowd around the bonfire. The men from the village reached them. They stood around the priest, still holding their weapons. The rusty metal of pitchforks and pickaxes didn’t shine in the moonlight as silver did.
“Thief?” The priest chuckled. He was looking at the charred body in the fire. “He’s as much of a thief as I am a priest.” He grabbed the cross on his chest as if weighing it. Then he ripped it off. “Pure silver” he murmured as if talking to himself. “Deal with him, boys!”
Jory stood in the doorframe, gripping his blade. The silver dagger was still in front of the fire. “I will tell the women in the village how heroically you died in the fight with the werewolf, hunter.” The men started coming to him. “If I don’t forget, that is. After all, the Duchess of Alsbeck is paying me hefty sums to stay quiet!”
Jory counted the men. Twenty-two. Too much, even without his wounds. He could take maybe up to ten. He glanced at his injured arm. Black blood was seeping through his wounds, yet, none of the villagers seemed to notice its colour. The hunger within him was still there, gnawing at him to come out. The potion was losing its potency. The Moon was still looming above them.
Somewhere deep from within Jory’s mind, Mel spoke. Never let go. If you do, I don’t know if I will be able to return your humanity back.
A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Is it better to die?
“Hurry boys! I heard Ol’ Morty has a dozen of goats at his place.” The so-called priest walked over to the silver dagger with the werewolf’s blood on it. “Oh, this is a nice piece as well. Don’t mind if I do!”
Jory laughed. The men stopped advancing. The false priest lifted his gaze, confused.
Fuck it
A sense of relief, followed by a strong pain emerged from Jory’s body. The muscles on his legs and arms tightened, stretching and tearing the fabric. Dark hairs burst out all over his body. His jawbone broke, forming new tissue. He felt new sharp teeth emerge and he smelled the men. Jory smelled their blood.
It smelled their fear.
