Scarlet Moon (Once Upon a Time)

by Debbie Viguié

  “I think she knows more than she is willing to tell.”

  Ruth sighed, not liking the direction this seemed to be heading. “Maybe she doesn’t think you’re ready to learn them yet.”

  “Not ready? Not ready! I spent nine years in hell itself, and she thinks I’m not ready?”

  Ruth put down her hammer and resolutely turned to face him. “Peter, what is it that you want?”

  “I want to return and avenge Stephen!” he practically shouted. “And myself,” he added so softly that she could barely hear him.

  She flew to him. “Peter, what are you saying? You can’t go back there. I can’t lose you, too!”

  He gazed at her, and for a moment she saw in his eyes the boy who had gone off to war so long ago. “You already have, Ruth,” he whispered. “God help me, I might as well have died on that battlefield too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Slash, claw, bite, kill. Angry trees shouting above; ignore them, ignore them. Trees don’t touch me, can’t hurt me. The woman tasted sweeter than the man, but the man had more meat on him. Destroy, devour, the wolf will have his fill.

  Blame the wolf, always the wolf. Never me, just the wolf. Watch him kill, blood will spill. Growling, snarling, clawing, biting.

  All are dead.

  All are dead.

  “Wolf!” the cry went up through the streets. “Wolf! Wolf!”

  Ruth heard the shout and ran outside. She caught the arm of a boy running by and asked him, “What’s happened? Who is dead?”

  “A man and a woman found just now, their throats torn open.”

  “And what of the wolf?” Ruth cried. “Did anyone see the wolf?”

  “No, but they’re going to find him.”

  Ruth released the boy’s arms, and he continued running up the street, shouting all the way.

  “Think!” she said to herself frantically. Was the full moon last night or the night before? Her brain was racing so fast that she couldn’t remember. She forced herself to take several deep breaths, trying to clear her mind. The night before—the full moon was the night before. That means there will be no wolf for them to find today.

  She sagged in relief against the wall of the building and clasped the cross between her fingers. “Oh, William,” she whispered, “what have you done now?” Just then she caught sight of the grizzly cavalcade bringing the bodies into the middle of town. She didn’t want to look, but she was drawn to the wagon against her will. As she stood above the bodies a fresh wave of horror gripped her, for she recognized Mary and James. She backed away with a cry and turned and ran toward the woods.

  She fled into the forest, taking the path toward her grandmother’s house. A light dusting of snow covered the ground—the first snowfall of winter. It was not enough to hinder her progress, but she chose her steps carefully.

  Halfway down the path she turned sharply and plunged into the woods. William had told her that he kept clothes near that spot. She hoped he was still there.

  “William!” she cried as she ran. “William, where are you?” She stopped running at last and fell to her knees. “William,” she gasped, “are you here?”

  “I am,” a tired voice said behind her. She rose and fled into his arms.

  “What is it?” he asked as she sobbed against his chest.

  “Maty and James are dead.”

  “Who?” William asked.

  “Mary and James. They were my grandmother’s students. They were found this morning with their throats torn out.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Its all my fault,” he said, looking stricken.

  “Do you remember anything?” she asked, gazing up into his face.

  “Nothing,” he answered.

  “Maybe it wasn’t you.”

  “Who else could it have been?

  “The next full moon, I’ll stay with you. I’ll watch you. Maybe I can prove that you are not doing this.”

  “Dear Ruth, what if I hurt you?” he cried.

  “You wont; we I’ll find a way, I promise. I have to go and tell my grandmother what has happened. Meet me tomorrow.”

  “Be careful,” he begged.

  “I will,” she promised. She turned and left while she still could. By the time she reached the path, tears were running down her cheeks. Whether her tears were for the dead or the living, she did not know. She’d gotten herself under control by the time she reached her grandmother’s house.

  Her grandmother opened the door, and upon seeing Ruth’s face cried out, “Whats wrong?”

  “Mary and James have been killed. They think a wolf did it.”

  Giselle’s face crumbled, and she collapsed into Ruth’s arms. Ruth held her as she cried, her own emotions hopelessly chaotic. Perhaps it was time to tell her grandmother the truth. Maybe, just maybe, she could help.

  The storm passed at last, and Giselle dried her tears. She looked at Ruth. “Was there something else you wanted to tell me?”

  “Yes,” Ruth admitted, not even asking her how she knew.

  “Does it have something to do with Lord William?”

  Ruth nodded.

  “The wedding is still on, isn’t it, child?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Grandmother, you know how you’ve always taught me to question everything, to find the reasonable explanation for everything?”

  Giselle nodded, eyes fixed on her.

  “Well, there is no reasonable explanation for what I’m about to tell you….”

  Giselle raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “William’s family was cursed during the first holy war in Jerusalem. Every male of the family has wolf blood running in his veins. The light of the full moon takes them over, and they run in the forest, a wolf in the eyes of beasts and men.”

  Her grandmother blinked and seemed to accept the news in stride. She looked somber for a moment, then asked, “And you fear that it is he who has been killing of late?”

  “He fears it, though I do not wish to, I do know that he was the wolf that attacked me when I was a child”

  “Then he is the young man who roams the forest without clothes,” Giselle mused.

  “Yes, He used to be able to control his actions in wolf form, but of late he has not even remembered what he has done.”

  “His passion for you has clouded his mind,” Giselle guessed.

  Ruth nodded, trying not to blush.

  “Then the two of you have a very serious problem. I do not know if there is anything I can do to help.”

  “But you do believe me?”

  “Of course I believe you.” Giselle pulled her granddaughter close. “Sometimes the fantastic is the logical explanation. Your love was cursed by a witch. We will accept that and move on.”

  “I am sorry,” Ruth said, anguish filling her.

  “Do not be sorry, just promise me that you will be careful until we can figure out what to do.”

  “I will, Grandmother.”

  “Go now. I need some time to think. Come back next week and we shall talk some more. In the meanwhile, be happy, child. The days of happiness in one’s life are fleeting and should be treasured. Hold tight to your William, for he will need you now in his hour of darkness.”

  Ruth kissed her grandmother’s cheek and took her leave. She hurried home, a shadow chasing her footsteps and sadness eating at her heart. The trees were silent, offering no words of wisdom or comfort or warning. She wished that they would. When the trees whispered, she never felt alone.

  She remembered she had once told her grandmother that she thought the trees spoke to her, and that occasionally a tree she knew well would be in a different place. Like the root that seemed to spring up out of the ground to trip me the day the wolf tore my sleeve.

  Her grandmother had told her that trees were living things given to constant change and that the forest itself could be different from day to day. She had told her, though, that the trees did not move about and that they whisper
ed only to themselves and not to her. Ruth remembered being both relieved and a little disappointed.

  “I wish you could tell me what happened last night,” she addressed the trees. “Was it truly my William or something else?”

  The trees kept their secrets. Maybe they’re afraid to tell me, knowing that I do not want the truth they could share.

  William wasn’t ready to leave the woods, not just yet. It took him a little over an hour to find the place where the man and woman had been killed. Standing there, staring at the blood-soaked ground, he felt sick to the bottom of his soul.

  The imprint of two bodies was visible in the snow. Around them were the tracks of an animal; prints of giant paws tipped with deadly claws jumbled together with the footprints of the man and woman.

  He sank slowly to his knees and touched his hand to the scarlet snow. “God forgive me, for I know not what I’ve done.”

  “William?” He heard Ruth’s voice soft behind him.

  He turned and saw her standing a few feet away. He reached his hand out to her and she came and took it. Together they kept vigil, into the dark hours of the night. A light snow began to fall, coating them both with wet flakes.

  They spoke not a word, she standing and he kneeling, both staring at the marks of violence. He realized her strength was deep, far exceeding his own. Somewhere in the darkness he vowed that another would never die because of him.

  “You’ll help me?”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  Ruth crept into her house before the dawn could break, trying hard to be silent. She slipped into her nightclothes and lay down, gritting her teeth as the bed groaned slightly beneath her.

  She rolled over and nearly screamed when she saw Peter staring at her in the darkness. He was lying still on his bed, silent, but his eyes spoke volumes.

  He knows I was with William, Ruth realized. He still does not trust him, and he certainly thinks that we were up to no good. I wish there were something I could say to change his mind.

  There wasn’t, though, and she knew it. Maybe it’s because it was William’s father that he and Stephen followed off to war; maybe he resents the whole family because of what happened to them there.

  Peter turned his head slowly and deliberately away from her, and she felt a cold emptiness inside. Somehow she knew that there in the darkness she had lost him. He has slipped away from me and I don’t think he will ever return, she realized, heart heavy with grief.

  At last she turned away too, unable to help feeling bad as she literally and figuratively turned her back on him. He is beyond my reach and beyond my help. He doesn’t trust me anymore because of William.

  She drifted to sleep, praying that there was still hope for Peter.

  The days fled swiftly by, filled with work and wedding preparations. She barely saw William for a week. When she did see him, it was only to discuss wedding business, and they were never alone.

  Ironic that now we are engaged we are so heavily chaperoned, she thought. She gave up at last and came to grips with the fact that between her family and his servants, they would not be alone again until after the wedding.

  Except I must find a way to be alone with him on the nights of the next full moon, which will end just two days before our wedding. He will need me then, and no force can keep me from helping him.

  She mopped her brow and stepped outside the shop for a breath of fresh air. She was just in time to see William riding into the village. Think of the devil and he shall appear, she thought bemusedly. Though I pray he is not the devil we both fear he is.

  “Beloved,” he called, loud enough for half the village to hear.

  She blushed, still not used to being called that, nor used to the gawking stares it always brought from passersby.

  “Milord,” she answered.

  “You know, you need to stop calling me that.”

  “I’ll stop calling you that in public after we are married. In private I shall call you whatever I like,” she replied tartly.

  “Feisty this morning,” he said, chuckling as he slid from his horse. He took a step forward as though he meant to kiss her, when her father came out of the shop, clearing his throat.

  Only Ruth saw William roll his eyes, and she quickly bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.

  “Good father,” William greeted Jacob.

  “Milord,” Jacob answered.

  “You can call me son,” William suggested.

  “I’ll call you that when you are wed to Ruth and not a moment before. Until then, you are milord.”

  William sighed in an exaggerated manner. “I see where she gets it from. Pray tell, neither of you harbor any illusions that I might try and back out of the wedding?”

  “I don’t believe you will, milord. You seem, to be an honorable man, if nothing else. It just wouldn’t be right.”

  Ruth watched in fascination as William set his jaw. She knew that her father still did not wholly trust him in all things. He still believed that William was a dangerous man with a hot temper, but he did believe that William was honorable. It was a start, at least. Still, for a while there would be no more familiar embraces between the two men like the one they had shared upon sealing the engagement.

  She was enjoying the fresh air, but she knew that if she tried to speak with William outside, her father would stay and less work would be done. Shoulders slumping, she turned and led the two men back inside. At least there she and William could speak and her father could work, content that he was performing his chaperone duties.

  “What have you come about?” she asked.

  “Your presence is requested by the dressmaker tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’m going to be at my grandmother’s tomorrow. Can we make it the day after?”

  “We can do anything you wish,” William said, looking for all the world like he was going to try kissing her again. He shot a glance at her father, whose back was turned toward them, and then he swooped down and gave her a swift peck on the cheek.

  He stepped back hastily, but not before her father could say, “I heard that.”

  Ruth couldn’t stop herself from laughing.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” William said, giving her a wink.

  “I also had the cardinal send a message to my father, informing him of our wedding. It will reach him after we are already wed, but he will be glad to hear that I have taken a bride.”

  A lump formed in Ruth’s throat at the thought of the Holy Land and the crusade. “Do you think your father will return home soon?” she asked.

  William shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know. He has spent most of his adult life there. I don’t know why, exactly.”

  He gave her a look, though, that told her he was pretty sure why and that it had something to do with the family’s secret. She nodded to show that she understood.

  “I look forward to meeting him whenever he does return,” she said. If he does return, she thought to herself, knowing personally how easily he might not.

  Chapter Nine

  The trees were whispering again as Ruth hurried toward her grandmother’s. She couldn’t tell what the trees were saying, but it made her scurry even faster, feet flying across the crunching snow. Two weeks had passed since Ruth had told Giselle of William’s curse. When she had gone last week to try and discuss it further, she had been frustrated in her purpose by the presence of Peter.

  Peter arrived before she did, and he left after she did as well. These days he looked gaunt, his hair pulled back with a leather tie. He had been growing his beard out, and it was at the length that made him look a little wild and unkempt. He paced the room constantly, reminding Ruth of the squirrel that had spent three hours accidentally trapped in the cottage the summer before.

  Ruth had wished to discuss him with her grandmother as well, but she didn’t have the chance. Today, hopefully, things will be different.

  When she reached the clearing, she noted how silent everything seemed. A ripple of unease
went through her as she knocked on the door. There was no answer.

  “Grandmother,” Ruth called as she opened the door. She walked inside, and her blood ran cold. Everywhere glass jars lay smashed on the floor. Her grandmother’s worktable was turned over, its contents scattered everywhere.

  “Grandmother,” Ruth whispered, terror filling her.

  A groan from the corner drew her attention. There lay Giselle, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth and shards of broken glass covering her clothes, Ruth dropped to her knees and cradled her grandmother’s head.

  “Who did this to you?” she gasped.

  Giselle could only manage a gurgling sound.

  “What did they do to you?”

  Again there was no answer, Giselle’s eyes closed and her body slumped.

  “Grandmother!” Ruth screamed.

  Giselle did not stir, but Ruth noticed with relief the steady rise and fall of her chest. At least she was still alive, Ruth gently eased her grandmother’s head back down on the ground and stood up. Somewhere in this house there is something that can help me; I just need to figure out what it is. She crossed to a shelf whose jars were still intact and studied the contents.

  Three hours later Ruth had cleaned up the house as best as she could. She had moved her grandmother to the bed and had done her best to make her comfortable. She had applied a poultice to her grandmother’s wounds and was trying to decide what to do next.

  Outside the wind howled like a ravenous wolf, rattling the shutters as though seeking a way in. It was then that Ruth truly understood that she was wrestling not with nature or injury but with death itself. She raised her fists to the sky. “You cannot have her,” she cried to wind and dark and death. Just then there was a knock at the door. She flung open the door, half expecting hell itself to be on the other side. Instead it was William, his face twisted in concern.

  “I waited for you for hours,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Everything,” she said. “Someone attacked Grandmother”

  “What!” William exploded, pushing past her into the cabin. “Is she okay?” he asked.