by Dante Graves
Chapter 12: Justice
“Your narrow escape has wiped the smile right from your face.”
Soundgarden, “Hunted Down”
The U.S., some town. Present days.
Judge Caius easily picked up the trail of the werewolves. They openly walked through the thicket, leaving traces of urine and hair. It looked as if they had taken to the mountains. Both monsters, still young and inexperienced, moved heedlessly, clearly in a hurry. Caius inspected the werewolves’ traces and concluded that they were not simple lycanthropes. Periodically he saw footprints of four wolf paws, then two paws and two human hands. Sometimes he saw only human footprints. It was a cloudy morning, and the Judge deduced that these two could transform at will in the daylight. But, judging by the messy traces, the transformation was easy only for one of them, probably the older one. The second was not yet able to control its shape and was changing into a wolf, and then back into a man. Using his sense of smell, Caius determined that something was wrong with one of them. The werewolf was injured or sick, and the second was helping him through the woods, away from people.
This alarmed the Judge. Werewolves were not hostile to each other, but they did not live in packs like wolves. Despite all the legends, these animals were similar to each other only in appearance and preferred to settle in solitude in the wilderness, where people rarely visited. Sometimes madness struck werewolves, and then they became mardagyle, wild creatures that had lost the ability to regain their human form, indiscriminately devouring livestock and attacking people. But Caius rarely heard of cases of this disease, and it had never occurred in North America. Here werewolves hardly ever crossed the borders of each other’s territories and almost never made their way through the woods together. Perhaps, the Judge thought with satisfaction, this case would be more interesting than he had first imagined.
He had been sent to a town, a rare occurrence. Usually Judges of his age and experience determined for themselves the route of their movements across the country. If a Judge received an assignment, the matter allowed no delay. Caius had been given an assignment for the first time in a year and a half, which surprised him, and he was disappointed when he arrived in the town. A local boy named Danny Bright had gone hunting alone, and, he said, was attacked by a huge bear, sustaining severe injuries. A group of hunters heard his screams and found him. They took him to the hospital, despite his protests. His wounds were serious, and the doctors thought he would not live through the night. But to their surprise, Danny’s condition improved during the evening, and he even asked the nurses to let him go home. That night, he disappeared from the hospital. No one was surprised that Danny went hunting alone and did not want to go to the hospital. The people in town thought Danny was quiet and polite, but not the brightest bulb in the shed, and nobody kept company with him. His only relative was his Uncle Caleb, an old drunkard, deaf in one ear, who, according to the townspeople, did not like Danny, but rather tolerated him. When the police went to Caleb’s house looking for Danny, Caleb told them that the boy had not come home, had not called, and that he, Caleb, did not know his nephew’s whereabouts and was too old and too busy to find out. The police kept watch at Caleb’s house for a couple of nights, but there was no sign of Danny, and after a few days they ended the surveillance. They figured that if the lad was strong enough to leave the hospital and the town, it was unlikely he was dying somewhere.
The townsfolk discussed the disappearance of Danny Bright, the police faked some vigorous search activities, and a young newspaper journalist from a nearby town arrived to cover the story, so excited that she couldn’t say a pair of words without blushing. But two days later, the town had a new topic for gossip. On local farms closest to the forest, chickens and rabbits began to disappear. Sometimes the animals were found mauled. The townsfolk concluded that it was the same bear that had attacked Danny. But Caius knew that for the last thirty years, local hunters were wounded only when they shot themselves, usually because they were drunk, and no wild animal had ever attacked livestock.
Hunters went out in force to shoot the bear but were unable to find it. When Judge Caius arrived, the bear hunt petered out. Soon Caius himself became the main topic of discussion. Everything associated with him sparked interest, especially among the children. They discussed his long, shabby brown leather coat and his old minivan, a Stout Scarab with painted windows and extra lights on the roof. The main topic of conversation was the stranger’s inquiries about the disappearance of Danny. The police asked Caius why he had come to the city, but he put them off. They weren’t sure how to behave with a stranger who looked as if he might be a retired police officer—or perhaps an undertaker—so they left him alone. The hunters looked at him in disbelief and kept their distance. Only the children were interested, telling each other stories about the stranger with the long coat and strange car. The most popular tale was a horror story that said that Caius was a demon in human form that stole children, hid them under his coat, and took them in his car to a land of nightmares. Caius did not like the attention, but eventually he got used to it. As long as it did not impede his mission, there was no problem.
The Judge checked his weapons. For hunting werewolves, he took two harpoons with silver arrows. There were different ways to kill a werewolf: blow it up, chop it into pieces, inflict so many wounds that it would be powerless to heal them all at once. Or just wait for him to die of old age. Silver was still the most terrible plague for werewolves, but it had to stay in a werewolf’s body for a certain amount of time to kill it. The closer to the heart or brain the wound was, the faster the creature died. Bullets were not ideal. Bullets could pass through the body of a werewolf, resulting in an injury as serious as a mosquito bite. A bullet would, however, provoke the werewolf to attack the shooter. Arrows were similarly ineffective. You could cover the shaft with silver, but this would not be enough to send a mature werewolf to kingdom come. Besides, the monster could pull out an arrow that struck him and escape. That’s why Judge Caius chose harpoons.
Harpoons for hunting werewolves were different from those used for spear fishing. They were much heavier, used gunpowder instead of compressed air, and had reinforced arrow bracings to prevent the monster from escaping. A harpoon that found its mark never passed through. When it entered the body, steel clutches attached to a silvered tip burst open inside, making it impossible to pull out the arrow. Similar clutches were hidden in the butt-end of the harpoon, and after a successful shot, the hunter could remove the cover from the butt-end and plug it into the ground. The arrow and the harpoon were linked with a chain, limiting a werewolf’s movements. The werewolf could not escape, and a Judge could wait until the monster died in agony, unable to flee or remove the arrow from its body, or finish the beast with one shot to the head or heart from another harpoon. Carrying two harpoons was not easy, but after learning that there were two werewolves, the Judge was glad he had brought both.
Caius followed the traces out of the woods. As the Judge expected, the werewolves had moved to the mountains, probably hoping to hide in caves. The Judge found traces of fresh blood on soil and rocks. The scent was neither human nor werewolf. Apparently, on the way to find shelter, they had decided to hunt. For Caius everything was going as well as possible; if the monsters had eaten recently, they would have to sleep, and the blood of their prey would show him the way to their lair.
The blood trail soon led the Judge to a cave. Observing the utmost caution, Caius approached the entrance. His shoes and arms were wrapped in thick cloth so he wouldn’t make noise while walking. The Judge uncovered one of the harpoons, leaving the second one behind. There was no sound from the cave, but the traces of blood left no doubt that the monsters were in there. The entrance was wide, and it was impossible to enter unnoticed. Caius pondered his options and decided that appearing in the open could be dangerous, but the werewolves were young and inexperienced. Even if they did notice him, they might hesitate and give him the few moments he needed.
T
he wide entrance allowed gray daylight to fall into the cave. It was surprisingly clean and seemed as if it might have been inhabited. A fire burned in the center of the cave, near which a naked girl slept. The Judge was momentarily surprised. It obviously was not Danny Bright. The girl was young, eighteen or nineteen years old, with short brown hair and a slightly upturned nose. Her body had not lost all of its girlish fragility, but had begun to assume feminine curves. The girl slept uneasily, as if dreaming, and as she tossed and turned and moaned in her sleep, a wave swept through her body, and fur of the same chestnut color as her hair covered her skin. From her mouth, which was smeared with blood, came growls instead of groans.
The second werewolf, thought the Judge. He had assumed that the one who turned Bright was older, but the girl was younger than Danny and very pretty. The sight of her body, periodically covered with fur, mesmerized Caius. She lay on her side and he could not see her breasts, but he saw enough to arouse him. His lust rose, and the Judge barely resisted the urge to touch the sleeping girl. He knew he should not be tempted, especially by monsters. He hated himself. He would have to punish himself. But that would come later. Now he must deal with the girl, and then find Danny. Lust poisoned the body and the soul, the Judge was sure of that. It was sent to us by the Devil to test our faith in God. Lust enervated him and made him lose concentration.
“Who are you?” said a frightened voice behind him. Cursing himself for staring at the girl and exposing himself to danger, the Judge turned. At the entrance of the cave was a naked young man, tall and thin, jug-eared, and with a big nose—Danny Bright. His frightened eyes looked sadly at Caius, and then at the girl. In his blood-smeared hands, he held the carcass of some small animal.
“Who are you?” Danny repeated, his voice sounding even more frightened than before. The Judge heard a rustle behind him. He quickly turned back while lifting the harpoon. The girl had awakened and was now standing. She looked a little sleepy, but obviously was not as frightened as Danny.
“I came for you, Danny,” the Judge said over his shoulder without dropping the harpoon.
“Look, I know the whole city is looking for me, but I’m not going back,” Danny replied. “We—me and Jill—will get out of here, and we won’t be anyone’s problem.”
Jill. The judge had heard about this girl in the town. She was one of the most popular school beauties. She had gone to visit her cousin a couple of days after Danny’s disappearance. Or so she had told her parents.
“Whose idea was it to turn you, Danny?” asked the Judge, turning to the boy.
The boy was surprised at first, as if he saw the face of the Lord, but then his shoulders slumped. He looked like a naughty schoolboy who had just realized it was stupid to deny his guilt.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” Bright said without much conviction.
“Mine,” said Jill. The Judge turned to her.
“It was my idea. I wanted to escape from this damn city. And I needed a helper. Someone who would understand me and never give up.” The girl’s every word was like a bullet, as if she was firing back, defending her position.
“And why did you choose Danny, babe?” Caius asked.
“Because he was willing to follow me. Everyone else wants only my beauty and sex. nothing more. They did not want to be with me, did not want to get out of here, and did not want to lead a life like mine. Danny is the only one who agreed.” With the last sentence, Jill’s voice became warmer.
“And you agreed, Danny? Agreed to be bitten?”
The boy hesitated before answering. “Yes, I … I was … For us it was the first time. Jill was hurt, and she bit me a little harder than necessary,” mumbled Bright. The girl looked guilty.
“A little harder? Man, she nearly tore you apart. Are you aware of that?” Caius pointed his harpoon at Danny.
“It’s not her fault,” Danny said.
“She attacked you.”
“Not on purpose!” cried Jill.
“She didn’t want it!” Danny protested. “Please let us go. There will be no more problems because of us. We stole from the farm to help me heal. I’m okay, and we are ready to go. We do not want to do evil. We never harm people.” Danny’s voice was pleading. Someone else might have been affected by the boy’s sincerity, but not Judge Caius. The girl was a mongrel and had violated the Pactum and attacked a man, even though the man was not opposed to it. As for Danny, the Judge could not find him guilty of anything except that he was in league with the mongrel. But in the end, there were only him and the two werewolves, and the Judge could pass sentence and give it effect on the spot.
Caius shot. At the same moment, Jill rushed him from behind. The shot was clumsy because of the blow. The arrow went lower than the Judge expected and struck Danny in the thigh. The boy cried out, and his cry turned into a roar. Jill hadn’t transformed yet, so Caius easily dropped her and stuck the butt of the harpoon between some large stones, fixing the chain to its shortest length. A mighty blow sent Caius flying into the far corner of the cave. He tumbled head over heels over sharp stones, cutting his hands and bruising his elbows and knees.
Jill had turned into a wolf, and Danny was desperately trying to pull the arrow from his hip. Blood, shock, and inexperience prevented him from choosing which form he should take, human or wolf, and he changed rapidly from one to the other, screaming and howling, the cave filled with the sound of his bones crackling as they reconstructed after each transformation. Jill rushed the judge. In wolf form she was smaller than the Judge thought. Her chestnut hair was standing on end on the back of her neck, and her eyes were full of human malice. Her chaps were aiming for the Judge’s throat, but Caius covered his face with his arms, and Jill’s teeth snapped on his forearm. Howling in pain, the werewolf jumped aside. Under his cloak, Caius wore steel bracers. Jill had not expected it and now stood between the Judge and Danny, pondering her next move, growling and making false lunges every time Caius reached toward the second harpoon on his back.
Whining and squealing came from behind Jill. Danny had finally decided which shape to take, and had dug his fangs into his leg, trying to bite it off and escape. His blood gushed to the cave floor. When Jill heard Danny’s screams and turned to him, an incredible howl of horror and despair came out of her mouth. That was enough for the Judge to grab the second harpoon and take a shot. The arrow hit Jill in the back, near the heart. From this distance Caius never missed. Almost instantly, Jill began to change shape, trying to escape, but the Judge had secured the harpoon, and Jill jerked against the taught chain and fell to the ground. She rolled onto her side and tried to crawl to Danny, whose howling was becoming crazier. But the Judge began to reel in the chain, and despite all her efforts, Jill couldn’t reach Danny. Caius pulled her close. Her body was still trying to take the wolf form, but her strength was not enough, and just a touch of fur, which prompted another surge of lust in the Judge, covered her skin before disappearing again.
Danny’s leg was nearly detached from his body, only skin and bits of sinew holding it. The werewolf tore his leg off and launched himself at the Judge. Danny was a young werewolf, but larger than Jill, and the weight of his body, even without one leg, was enough to knock the Judge down. But he made the same mistake as Jill and went for Caius’s throat. The Judge covered his face and neck with his hands, and Danny’s chaps bit the steel bracers. However, unlike Jill, Danny did not unclench his teeth. He began to wrench his opponent’s arm from side to side, his paws pounding the Judge’s chest and slipping on his leather coat. A sharp pain shot through Caius’s shoulder, and he thought it might be dislocated. But he felt no fear. Monsters prompted his disgust and contempt, but not fear. One hand was useless, but with the second he tried to unbutton his cloak, even as werewolf claws struck it. The beast had become weaker from loss of blood but was still dangerous, so the Judge had to act quickly. He knew that if he undid his cloak, Danny’s blows would be much more dangerous, but it was worth the risk. The pain from his scratches and
dislocated shoulder was getting stronger. White spots swam before his eyes, but Caius ordered himself not to pass out.
On his chest he found what he was looking for—a huge silver cross. Tearing off his crucifix, he held it like a blade and stabbed. The longest part of the cross hit Danny’s eye and went in as far as the crossbar. The werewolf jumped aside and tried to pull the cross out with his paws. He howled and thrashed on the ground while silver poisoned his brain and blood. Danny realized that it would be easier to pull the cross out with his hands and changed into human form. Leaning against the wall of the cave, extending his only remaining leg, Danny grabbed the cross. He managed to pull it out an inch or two, but then his strength drained away.
The Judge examined his wounds. His left shoulder was dislocated, his chest and right hand were slashed, but the cuts were not deep. It was unpleasant and very painful, but not life-threatening. Monster saliva had not entered his bloodstream, and this was most important. Two werewolves on one hunt was a high achievement. His gaze lingered on Jill. He turned her face up to look again. Her body was still warm, and lustful images blurred Caius’s vision for a moment. But he repressed them.
He burned the bodies, and whatever fire couldn’t consume, he gathered in a backpack and put in his minivan. He would hide them on his next hunt, somewhere in another state, and even if the police found them, they would puzzle over how they got there. He would change his blood-stained clothes, get back to the hotel, and get some rest.
At the entrance to the hotel, the young woman at the reception desk addressed him. “Mr. Edwards? An invitation for you,” she said, handing Caius an envelope. Inside was a ticket to the circus. The ticket had clowns, flames, and strange animals painted on it. On the reverse was written “Come and see tomorrow. It’ll be very interesting.”
“Are you sure it’s for me?” asked Caius, fiddling with the invitation.
“Oh, yes, sir. He asked me to give it to you personally.”
“Who asked?”
“Some very nice guy. Not from around here, obviously. We’ve never had such hot guys. He said he works in a circus.” The girl behind the counter was blushing.
The Judge thanked her and went to his room. The invitation was hardly a mistake. He wasn’t a man who could be mistaken for someone else. But before cluttering his mind with this mystery, he had to clean up.
In the bathroom Caius washed the cross that killed Danny, washed his and the werewolves’ blood from his forearm, kissed the crucifix thrice, and set it upright on the tub. Then the Judge undressed and knelt in the tub before the cross. He said a prayer of repentance, full of remorse for what he had felt toward Jill, for the lust that had intoxicated him. Caius took a knife to his groin, carved three crosses, and watched as blood trickled between his thighs. It was bad blood, which had distracted him from his focus on the hunt. Except for his face and hands, his entire body, even his back, was covered with scars in the form of crosses. He gently touched them with his hands. They were a reminder of his sin and his struggle with it. Each cross meant a battle, but each also meant a victory.
Another February
Record made on 02/24/2001
Archivist: Jacob
This is my last entry. An archivist’s duty is to capture on paper the importance of what happens in the circus, and, in my opinion, it’s important to explain the reasons for my action. I joined Mr. Bernardius’s troupe three and a half years ago, when I was 29 years old. However, joined is not quite the right word. When people join something, they decide on their own. I was appointed, and had nothing to argue. I’ve checked the records. I became, and remain, the youngest archivist in the 130-year history of the circus. Perhaps this is the reason. Maybe I was not ready for this. All the other archivists were in their late fifties or sixties when they became part of the circus. They knew twice as much as me and were already wise, emotionless people.
My appointment was a surprise to everyone. The former archivist, Enzo, died, and I was the quickest possible replacement. I was told that this would be temporary, that once the circus found a more experienced archivist, I could go back to my studies. But this did not happen. Of course, the first six months I lived in hope that it would be over soon. Then I began to convince myself that my job had some positive aspects that, because of my constant whining, I hadn’t noticed. I came to terms with the situation. But humility eventually turned into despair. Work for the Devil is unlike any other. Once you agree to it, you can’t change your mind later. You cannot quit or go to a competitor. Especially if you’re an archivist.
We, the chroniclers of Hell, preserve and increase the knowledge of all that happens on earth. We are constantly learning. The first thing for a young archivist to learn is that he’s not in school, where the main task is to hold out for a few years and get a diploma. An archivist shall be improved to his last breath and share his knowledge with others; this is his main task. Each of us begins our journey at different ages, one a child, someone else an adult. I have not figured out how the right people for the job are chosen. I only remember that my parents, a pair of dead duck alcoholics, sold me to some smiling old people for a few hundred bucks. I was at the age when children, especially those growing up in lousy families, already know that sometimes adults use them in the most terrible ways.
But these two old men were not like those. They took me to an old mansion many kilometers from any settlement. There was not even a filling station or roadside diner anywhere to be seen. There, far from the world of ordinary people, I met a few more lonely children, kids like me. The old men—there were a lot more than two, and they changed all the time—began to teach us. Initially, the training did not differ from school. Mathematics, English, geography. But over time, courses appeared in our program that modern schools never heard of. Latin and other dead languages, ancient grimoires, demonology. Other courses, such as world history, were strikingly different from the usual. We learned the true nature of things, learned how and why events that determined people’s lives occur in the world.
Students proceeded at their own pace, not as a class. I was a good student, one of the best and quickest. Soon I got a call to start my Path. His own Path is the dream of every boy archivist. It’s a kind of deployment period. Starting one’s own Path, an archivist tours the world, meets with his brothers, and learns from their experience. Each of us has our own Path, which determines what each individual archivist will study. We never knew which of the brothers would meet us next or where it would happen. It might be in Guatemala or Russia, Poland or Bhutan. After completing the archivist Path, one receives an appointment. Whatever it was, the brother cannot refuse it. Some work in large corporations or government structures, some get a place in the media, and a few become priests, spies in the enemy camp, climbing the ladder of the Church hierarchy. Whatever their place, archivists gather information, analyze it, and work on important decisions. They pull the levers, as one of my teachers used to say.
Lazarus Bernardius’s circus was always considered a special place among my brothers. Of course, many yearn for an important position and the accompanying benefits and privileges. Only the best could get such positions. But appointment to the circus is special. It’s for those who believe service to the Devil is something more than a way to have a life. It’s for those who believe that touching the underside of our world is more important than anything else. I was not one of them, yet I got the appointment—archivist to the Lazarus Bernardius circus.
When news of my appointment spread among the brothers, many sent me letters with sincere congratulations. Some admitted they envied me a little. Two, much older than me, claimed that they should have received the honor. I felt strange and ridiculous. People around me treated me almost as a living legend, the youngest archivist in the history of the Bernardius circus. But I did not share my brothers’ enthusiasm. Perhaps it was because I never thought the choice would fall to me. In the world, there are about two thousand archivists, and their number is gradually increasing. I alway
s thought that someone else from among this number would be assigned to the circus. I did not even finish my Path. In my opinion, it was like making a fifth-grader the president of the United States.
It seems to me that my relationship with Mr. Bernardius did not work from day one. My age, it seemed, unpleasantly surprised him. I have studied the archives and realized why. Before me, all archivists were elderly, the only creatures in the circus whose knowledge and experience were comparable to Lazarus’s. As I understand from the records, every archivist for Mr. Bernardius was not merely an adviser and helper, but came close to being a friend. With me the ringmaster was mostly cold. However, it would be perfect folly to blame Mr. Bernardius for my not becoming a part of the circus.
I did not like it here, from the complexities of the nomadic life to the daily coexistence with demionis. During training and passing the Path, each archivist practices calling demons and engages in monster studies: their classification, anatomy, habits. Each of us, before getting an appointment, checks his theoretical knowledge in practice. So I can’t say that I had never encountered demionis. But a rare meeting is one thing, living with them under the same roof is quite another. Many of them are smart, but even in these, the animal instincts are sharpened. They feel your fear, your hostility. It’s been impossible for me to get on the inside. This is not what I wanted.
I wanted to do something important, to live in a big city. I believed that I had all the qualifications for this, and not just for traveling the dusty outback in an old truck in a company of disgusting creatures that despised me. My life seemed pointless to me, my hopes shattered. For a long time, I’ve put up with my existence with the help of, shall we say, potions. They relax me, immerse me in dreams of another life. I knew there was a risk of getting too used to them, becoming too dependent on potions and dreams. But it happened faster than I expected. One thing calmed me—the old man did not seem to notice my condition. Although looking at his impassive face one could never be sure.
I admit that sometimes I was overwhelmed with the hope that Mr. Bernardius would learn about my addiction and report it. Then I would be punished. I would be removed from the circus. Or eliminated. Anything. Then, when my mind cleared, I knew fear would never let me reveal myself. But now I’m not afraid. Fear has devastated me, ruined me. I have no strength to fight fear anymore. I reached the point where the regrets of my broken dreams outweigh the desire to live. I haven’t taken potions for three weeks. I’m cleaner than I’ve been for more than a year and a half. My mind is clear and sharp, and I am conscious of my actions. I thought about the reasons that could stop me, but I found only one. What if my sudden death ruins someone’s life? Is it possible that some young, untrained archivist, unable to cope with his desires, could end up in the same sorry state as me?
But the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that this would not be possible for a second time. I don’t comfort myself, but I know my masters would not allow the same mistake twice. And so I say goodbye with a light heart. I know where to find myself after death. I hope that this entry will explain my motives. And I hope that where I am going, they will be less strict.
Eternally yours, Jacob.
