by Allen Werner
Rugerius Fabbro scrubbed intensely at his filthy beard before dashing through a wall of cobwebs and pacing out on a thin ledge of the grotto. A dozen green lizards scurried from his path, two or three leaping into the water for safety. It was evident he was trying his best to inhibit his fiery emotions. Stalking seemed to calm him.
As the blue-eyed, blue-faced devil took an imposing stance before Anthea, she evoked the tale of David and Goliath. She remembered how a brave young man once withstood just such a creature without any fear corrupting his heart. ‘I too shall defeat this giant.’ Anthea decided then and there to make peace with her apprehensions and the intents of these sadistic men. ‘My rosary.’ She wished to god she had that talisman right now. The counting of the stones instilled her with comfort when praying. The cave suddenly seemed to spark to life as if it heard her. The blue waters or wet stone, something in this place was reaching out to her, speaking in and through her mind, again not with words. An unexpected ease washed her sorrow away. The mysterious energy revitalized her spirit.
“Gethsemane.”
It was a word she heard and it came from something less than a whisper and yet inhabited by many voices, thousands of mouths, a quiet, inaudible chorus only she could hear. A wisp of clean fresh air followed, dodging through the saltiness of the sea. It rushed up and entered Anthea’s nose. It was a breath of life and it filled her lungs and healed her chest. The nipple and rope burns no longer stung. A surprisingly hearty speak proceeded from her mouth. They were words she had not thought to say.
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
The declaration took on a life of its own, reverberating off the stone walls, bouncing and echoing throughout the whole grotto with a seemingly unnatural sustain. For more than a full minute the avowal carried on without diminishing in the least. It just wouldn’t die.
Rugerius Fabbro was already superstitious due in large part to his mother’s cackling madness. He swore for a moment he could hear her voice residing inside the echo, calling out to him and poking him with abuse. ‘Darkling. Darkling.’ Rugerius already hated being in this numinous cave with the enigmatic magician and blue haze. He knew with the aid of the Bellerophon Crystal, they were going to tap into even darker forces and ravage Anthea’s mind before he raped her bodily. The Castellan felt touched and chilled by the echo and began to scan the grotto for ghosts, almost drawing his sword.
Sinibaldus paused and pondered the continuing potency of the echo. He too searched the room almost expecting something wicked or wonderful to materialize. He didn’t know which. He anticipated something.
The magician had dealt with witches and witchcraft, sorcerers and sorcery his whole life. He was raised by clans of them, cave dwellers who had real connections with the spirits and were wholly capable of generating cosmic interventions. He himself was acutely attuned to the otherworld, recognizing more than a thousand voices, some he called friend, others enemy. He knew right away when the voice came out of her, it was not Anthea who spoke. Someone else had come to partake in this little game and make it interesting.
The longer the echo continued, the more Sinibaldus realized he had never met this particular spirit before. And while the echo continued to swirl, he decided to lift his voice and command it, intimidate it. “Who are you?” He demanded. His voice was dead on arrival. There was no echo for him. The being or beings had somehow managed to take temporary control of the grotto.
Eventually the echo did dissolve and the sad waves overtook it. The wait for something mystical and supernatural to materialize and save the girl ended as well. No angels or demons appeared. Nothing more happened.
“Enough of this shit already,” Rugerius fumed, strutting and stomping back to the ledge and stone chair. “Get on with it, Giant!”
Sinibaldus nodded in agreement and undid the button at the top of his V-necked cloak. From a niche in the hemp cord, he produced the Bellerophon Crystal.
Despite all the evils that had befallen her, Anthea Manikos was not immune to the luster of the Stone. She gaped when she saw it. It was the largest, most magnificent gemstone she had ever seen. It was beautiful. The blue aura of the grotto did not rest upon it. The Bellerophon Crystal had its own fire, a small one twinkling at its very heart, keeping the translucent façade multicolored and shiny.
And until this day, Rugerius Fabbro had never actually laid eyes on the gemstone. He stood equally impressed, nearly gawking.
Sinibaldus was confident the intrusive spirit that had echoed through the room had departed and both Rugerius and Anthea were nearly hypnotized by the fantast presence of the great Stone. He had regained control of everything in the blue grotto. He could do whatever he wished with either of them right now. It was a tempting thought.
Rugerius Fabbro was damn sure lucky Sinibaldus had too many other sins to commit to worry about the Castellan right now.
Chapter 17 – Eye To Eye
The wind had ceased and the frost had melted. Sopranos and contraltos continued to sing. Tomas Fabbro called them wolves but Pero de Alava didn’t believe him. ‘I hear no wolves.’ The harmonious cries tethered themselves to his ears, tugging him blindly forward, a hypnotic choir of angels, or siren, or demons, or merely voices in the back of his head. Pero couldn’t be sure anymore. He didn’t care. He wasn’t going back into the serpent’s lair, back to hell. He was alfresco, divinely drawn towards some fated future by a thousand velvety tongues. ‘They shall save me.’
The walk through the forest seemed endless but he did not tire. He had the will of a dozen stallions now. That until the summoning chorus diminished. They grew more and more silent. Apprehension returned and Pero soon found himself running, stumbling, stretching forward to reach them before they disappeared altogether.
He was not swift enough.
‘Where have they gone? Why have they forsaken me?’
Further and further he sank into the depths of The Eagles Forest, drowning beneath the canopy of the darkening woods, into the shadows few times penetrated by any living man. The brush grew thicker, the roots and vines more pronounced and obstructive. There was nothing out here. Nothing. He had no armor and sword, food and water. ‘Where have you gone? Where are the voices?’
The songs ended. He was lost.
Pero peered up to the sky for help. The canopy of the wood had grown thick above him. He couldn’t even locate the sun anymore to get his bearings. It was still the middle of the day but that was all he was sure of. There was only one direction, which instilled any hope. It was cluttered but not so much as the other ways. He moved towards it. A steep hill soon rose before him, covered in newly felled leaves and other forest debris. He had to go on all fours to climb to the top of it.
The thick wood ended abruptly and acres of golden wheat bathed in bright sunlight lie sprawled out before him. He could smell the clean fresh air and hope sprung anew. Free of the trees and clutter, he knew now he was heading east-northeast. The Apennine Mountains were towering near the horizon. He could easily reach them before nightfall.
Confident, grateful to have emerged unscathed yet again, Pero de Alava walked into the meadow, the stalks of tender wheat never rising much higher than his waist, most only coming up to his knees. It was still too early in the season for a harvest. They had a lot of maturing to do.
Pero was out near the middle of the field when he was forced to come to a halt. His eyes narrowed and a cold shiver raced through his entire body. Rising slowly from the wheat, less than a hundred yards away, four enormous wolves stood shoulder to shoulder, seemingly awaiting his coming. They were standing directly in his path in a patch of grass barely covering their feet.
Reason screamed. “Run!”
Commonsense hollered. “Flee!”
Pero was exposed. There was nowhere to run, no place to go to ground. He was caught, stuck - trapped. There was no turning back. There was only going forward.
The wolves did not move towards him. They stood their ground, motionles
s, red-orange eyes fixated on the prey, fangs snarling. It was as if they realized he had no choice but to come to them.
Pero quickly remembered the four wolves who gave chase on Eagles Pass, the four that killed Zaon. ‘It is them. I know it is them.’ There had to be hundreds, if not thousands of wolves roaming free throughout these lands but he just knew these were the same four. They were after him, hunting him. Now they had him.
Pero was still a fair distance away from the wolves but surmised that three of them were about the same size, one on the far right and the two on the left. The one in the middle right was taller, darker, burlier, and stouter. All four wolves were confident and threatening, each possessing the might to tear Pero apart but the larger one had a different aura than the others. ‘The alpha,’ Pero thought. ‘That is the one I eyed in the clearing by the torches. I’m sure of it.’
Pero stumbled forward as if he had been pushed. He almost looked behind him to see why he had moved. He walked as if walking had nothing to do with him. He advanced and still the wolves did nothing, nothing but wait on him.
Fear mounting, the tension building, Pero de Alava whispered, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. I will fear no evil.”
Sinibaldus held the Bellerophon Crystal nearer to Anthea’s face than his own. He was distracted by his scattered thoughts, by his angst with the Castellan, Rugerius Fabbro. He wasn’t focused on his duty, not yet. He was oblivious to what happened next.
Anthea Manikos gazed into the heart of the Bellerophon Crystal. There was a brilliant fire pulsating at its core and she was mesmerized by the flame. The blue atmosphere from the grotto walls and water blending with the tranquil melancholy sound of the waves sloshing lonely against the rocks, served to enhance Anthea’s ability to see and hear things inside the crystal. She felt strong, invigorated and entranced. Her senses returned, all of them, sight, hearing, taste, smells and feeling. She was alive, growing warmer, ablaze and connected with the consciousness of the Bellerophon Crystal. The flaming heart drew her mind and soul towards it. She happily entered. ‘Any place is better than here.’
The world went soundless and black. Absolutely nothing. Her mind was blank. Gone. She was sure she was dead. Before panic could set in, a long tunnel of hazy gray light appeared before her. It was like a dream, flickering and fading in and out, moving steadily nearer until it sucked her forwards. She was pulled through a colorful gateway. The sound of a maddening wind rushed through her ears. Her head fell back, chin up, chest forward. Her entire spirit was being absorbed into something uniquely different than anything her body had grown accustomed to. In fact, she was free of her body, the one tied to a stone chair in the blue grotto.
A confusing clarity began to decipher a few odd things here and there, identify the broader, larger objects whisking by. A sea of water, a coastline, sand, cliffs, rolling hills, orange groves, woods thick with trees. Nothing got in her way. She went over them, under them and between them – sometimes through them. Nothing could stop her. She was soaring and gradually began to trust the speed at which she was being propelled, at which these wonderful sensations were passing her by. It seemed normal and controlled, purposeful and predetermined. She was pressing somewhere and refused to fear the destination. This was a consciousness to be enjoyed, not debated. And then it all went soundless and black again. Her mind blank. Gone.
Anthea Manikos waited and waited and waited. This pause was longer than the first delay and she began to worry it may not end. She may never wake again. Forever to live in black.
‘Am I dead? Have I died?’
Anthea did not want to die. She wanted to escape the darkness and find the light, any light.
‘Let there be light.’
And then her eyes popped opened and there was light. The focus was indescribable, incredible, and the colors resoundingly robust. She knew at once by the clarity with which her pupils could fixate that these were not her eyes, her old eyes. This was not her body. She was hot and panting, covered in fur. Her head was longer and heavier, awkward. Her tongue lagged from her mouth, wet and drooling. She could taste things in the air, just hints of things in the air. She had never tasted the air before. ‘Blood. There is blood in my mouth. And it tastes good. I’m hungry. Holy hell, I’m hungry but I just ate. There is fresh food in my stomach. A kill. Yes, I just ate.’ She twisted her neck and focused on her own face. Part of it was protruding before her eyes. It was a snout, an elongated furry snout and a warm fleshy black nose.
‘Holy shit, I’m a wolf.’
Joy raced through Anthea’s spirit. She quickly processed the maturing intimacy she was developing with this creature who’s skin she had entered. ‘A rabbit. I, or we, we ate a rabbit. I just ate a rabbit, a raw rabbit, blood, guts and brain, the whole thing. Everything. It’s all inside of me.’ Her stomach knotted up. ‘But still I’m famished. I want more. I want more meat. It needs to be raw and bloody.’ She lifted her right paw and placed it back down on the ground. ‘Rugerius is right. I am an animal. This must be who I am without my boundaries. I was so scared of being free.’ She padded her paw on the ground several times. ‘The magician must have succeeded and freed me. He’s right. I want to run and fuck and do everything and anything. I never wanted to fuck like I want to fuck now. I never even thought about it. I love how I feel.’ She twisted her head upwards and saw how blue the sky was, a blazing yellow sun overhead. She forced herself to make some yelping sounds she didn’t quite understand, not yet. ‘I’m so hungry. Food is all I can think about. Food and sex.’
Anthea had completely forgotten all about the blue grotto and her worn, sore human body. She was a wolf now, a beast of the forest and she pushed Rugerius Fabbro and the sinister giant completely out of her mind. ‘I’m free! I’m going to run! I’m going to run like I’ve never run before.’
She was ready to run and make a dash for the trees with her powerful new body, leap and frolic without care and worry when a ghostly apparition appeared before her. She turned her head a bit left and noticed three other wolves lined up beside her. ‘How odd. And they are all looking forward, straight ahead.’ Anthea turned to see what it was they were looking at. ‘It’s a man. I can smell him, taste him. It’s a man.’
The man was still a fair distance off but walking towards her, towards them nonetheless. Anthea could feel the instinctive urge to charge at the stranger, slaughter and maim him, consume his warm flesh, even chew on his heart. She was excited about murder for it meant food. ‘He’s mine.’
Before the wolf could even take a first step, Anthea, the woman, restrained the beast’s predatory instincts. ‘God in heaven, that is not just any man. That it is Pero. Pero is still alive.’
A wall of wind suddenly rushed over everything Anthea was sensing. Her whole world went black and silent again.
‘No!’ Anthea hollered as loud as her mind could scream. It didn’t matter. Pero was gone. Her connection with the wolf had been severed. As if she had been struck in the face by Rugerius Fabbro’s filthy hand again, Anthea’s absentee spirit raced back to the blue grotto and splash-landed back in her body causing it to spasm and jerk. Her heart was racing, pupils dilated.
The four wolves obstructing Pero’s path stopped snarling at him as a surprising gust of frigid air sped mightily across the meadow, bending the stalks of wheat, setting things to frost. The wolves looked utterly puzzled as if they had just awakened from a long deep slumber and were regaining their bearings.
The squall circled the entire field, spitting and throwing grass and wheat at the wolves, leaves and pine needles everywhere. The wail of the blast spooked and rattled them. Their hackles flared and they snapped vainly at unseen forces that were pushing on them from different directions. Three of the wolves cowered, trying to go to ground and wait out the storm. The fourth, the large dark one, the alpha, stood defiant and did not budge or shrink.
Pero had not the faintest clue what was happening or why it was happening but watching the fourth wolf sta
nd and resist the whirlwind made him recall the lessons learned in the ruedo.
‘Stand. Plant your feet. Be a rock. How you stand is most telling.’
A whisper inside the gale called to Pero.
‘Another voice?’ He was growing tired of voices.
“Wait.”
Frustrated, Pero obeyed and waited. He stopped walking towards the wolves, rooting his feet to the ground, waves of wheat swaying all around him.
The storm continued to intensify, escalate, the ferocity shifting this way and that way, changing course without ever leaving the clearing or moving the branches and boughs of the trees in the forest. It stayed strictly in the meadow and pushed unmercifully against the wolves, buffeting them from all sides.
Pero had experienced quite a few wonders on this unusual quest already but this one had him rapt. The gale whipped without touching him, his long black hair remaining absolutely motionless on his head, not even a goose bump on his skin.
‘The eye of a storm,’ he thought.
Outside the eye, the debris whistled by faster and faster until nothing had color anymore. Everything became black, a storm. And then everything became leaves; black leaves. There was a purposeful order to it. They were black oak leaves, millions of them, every single one of them firing by upside down.
A freakish bolt of lightning spontaneously crackled across the heaven with an earth rattling rumble of thunder quick on its heels. That was the final straw. The three cowering wolves could endure the field and storm no more. They dashed off towards the southern tree line expressing their frustration with a few befuddled yelps.
The fourth wolf was still defiant and held his ground. The magnificent alpha imitated Pero, the eyes never losing focus. The wolf stood his ground so long, in fact, it defeated the wind. The tempest faded and ceased, the debris and leaves seemingly disappearing with it, carried away, not a single one to be found when it ended. There was no frost either. The meadow stood as it had stood before, undisturbed.
