Zombies, Werewolves, & Unicorns

by Stephen D. Sullivan

  “That’s Cherish!” Lanna shouted.

  “What’s happening? What are you doing to her?” Santos yelled, his face flushing.

  Nikolas shrugged and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Not to you.” As the bearded Wolfnachter turned away, Santos pulled out a crossbow and shot at him. The bolt flashed past Nikolas’ head, brushing aside a stray lock of coarse black hair. Stan’s brother laughed and vanished behind the palisade.

  Bellowing with anger, Volstag and Stardust charged the gate. The silver mare lowered her head, and her spiral horn bit deep into the wood, passing straight through the three-inch thick boards. Splinters flew and the great doors shuddered with the impact, but the gate did not break. Stardust backed off to try another run. Volstag hefted his battle ax. Lanna drew her longbow. She and Santos scanned the wall for hostile villagers, giving their sergeant cover.

  Again, Stardust crashed into the gates, and, this time, Volstag added a powerful blow from his ax. Again, the huge doors shuddered, but did not give way.

  “It’s not enough!” Santos said, almost spitting the words. “We’ll never make it through in time.” He and Apollonia backed away from the gate, eyeing the palisade.

  Kyra and Rigel did the same. “Can you make it with two?” the warrior girl asked her golden mount.

  “I think so,” the unicorn replied. His gaze flashed from the wall to the newly healed scars on Apollonia’s flank. The stallion seemed unsure whether the dappled mare was well enough for whatever they were about to attempt.

  “What are we—?” Konstantine began.

  “Hang on!” Kyra said.

  With a sudden burst of speed, Rigel and Apollonia charged forward. They bounded deep into the trampled snow and then sprang into the air.

  The unicorns sailed through the snowy sky as gracefully as birds. Rigel, Kyra, and Stan easily cleared the spiked tops of the palisade.

  Stan glanced down and saw the startled face of his brother as Rigel soared overhead. The golden unicorn landed inside the wall, his hooves touching down lightly upon the snowy street.

  Apollonia’s leap didn’t end as cleanly. Her back hooves clipped the top of the palisade and nearly took off Nikolas’ head. Stan’s brother threw himself out of the way just in time.

  Apollonia landed awkwardly; her legs buckled and her hooves skidded across the avenue’s slick surface. Santos held on, his expert riding keeping him on her back.

  Rigel paused, waiting for the other two to recover.

  “We’re all right!” Santos called. “Keep going! I’ll open the gate!”

  Apollonia scrambled upright and turned toward the doors. As she did, Nikolas pulled out a shortbow and loosed an arrow at her.

  The arrow missed the unicorn and lodged firmly in Santos’ shoulder. The dark-haired rider grunted in pain, but managed not to fall off his steed. Santos whirled and fired his crossbow at Stan’s brother; Nikolas ducked out of the way and reloaded his bow.

  “Let me down!” Stan said, trying to wriggle off of Rigel’s back. “I . . . I can help open the gate!”

  “No!” Santos barked. “Kyra, take the boy with you! Have him guide you through the streets. He’d only get in the way here!” He swung his crossbow in a guarding motion and deflected Nikolas’ second shot. The arrow skidded off of Apollonia’s flank, tracing a line of crimson down her rump.

  “Find Cherish!” Santos ordered. “Go!”

  “Yes, Corporal!” Kyra replied. She tightened her legs around Rigel’s sides and the golden unicorn shot down the street, away from the wall.

  Nikolas wheeled and shot at Rigel’s passengers, but his arrow fell harmlessly into a snow bank, several yards to their left.

  “I can’t believe he’s shooting at us!” Stan muttered.

  “Never mind about him,” Rigel said. “Which way?”

  “I-I don’t know!”

  “Think!” Kyra said, her voice calm but firm. “Where would they be holding the ceremony?”

  “The wide avenue in front of the inn, maybe?” Stan suggested. “No, wait ... the old church. Important ceremonies were always held by the church—at least until the priest died.”

  “Sacred ground,” Kyra muttered. “A fitting place for whatever deviltry they’re up to.”

  At that moment, the clouds overhead parted and golden rays of sunlight peeked through. The snow kept swirling, filling the air with dancing patterns of brilliant flakes.

  Stan looked up and his eyes went wide. “The eclipse is coming!” he gasped. “Nyarra’s nearly reached the sun—and I can hardly see her rings at all.”

  “The ringless moon blotting out the sun,” Rigel whispered. “Nyarra’s Rebirth.”

  “Then the ceremony’s reaching its climax!” Kyra exclaimed. “Quickly, Rigel!”

  “Keep guiding me!” the stallion replied. His hooves kicked up small puffs of snow as he raced across the drift-covered streets.

  The gloomy houses and alleys of Wolfnacht flew past. The village looked no more welcoming in the daylight than it had the previous night. Even the thick blanket of snow barely concealed the decay of the dying town.

  “The church is there,” Stan said, pointing. Ahead, a crooked alleyway opened up into a wide square in front of a dilapidated stone cathedral. The wailing song of the villagers grew to a deafening cacophony as the keening scream of the unicorn ceased.

  Rigel skidded to a halt.

  At the end of the alleyway, almost in the square, lay the body of Roj. His neck was twisted awkwardly and his eyes stared blankly up at the sky. A large, slushy pool of blood surrounded him, and snow dusted the young rider’s ginger hair.

  “Blessed Lady!” Kyra gasped.

  She made to dismount, but Rigel said, “No. He’s already dead.”

  Stan’s heart went cold.

  Kyra drew her sword; the silvery blade glistened in the sunlight.

  Everyone in town was crowded into the square in front of the church. Every man, woman and child, held hands and wailed their ghastly festival chant. The five elders of Wolfnacht—Berman, Mapes, Zurko, Bev, and Thynes—stood on the decaying church’s steps.

  Between the elders and the crowd, on a makeshift stone altar, lay Cherish and Janise. The unicorn’s blood stained the altar and splattered the snow-covered steps. Zurko, the butcher, held a knife made from an antler above his head. Gore from the blade dripped down his arm.

  “The magic flows into the blade, multiplying the power!” Thynes announced, reading from an ancient scroll. “The protection of Wolfnacht will increase a thousand fold!” The aged scribe squinted up toward the sky. The clouds blew away and the blizzard ceased, revealing slender-ringed moon and blazing sun, nearly touching.

  The wailing chant rose into a frenzied cheer as the rings tipped on edge, almost vanishing.

  With a bellow of rage, Rigel leaped over Roj’s body and charged.

  The crowd wheeled as the unicorn thundered into the square. Some of the villagers stopped their chant and screamed in terror, but Mapes thrust out her bony hands and shouted, “Stop!”

  Rigel skidded to a stop, kicking up a huge spray of slush. Kyra jerked forward and nearly fell from his back. Konstantine held on for dear life; it felt as though they had been struck by a powerful gust of wind.

  Above them, the moon and the sun kissed. Nyarra’s rings were a thin line now, and the satellite’s cloudy face grew darker by the moment. The sky also darkened, not from the storm clouds looming around the perimeter of the village, but from the start of the eclipse.

  Elder Berman grinned with satisfaction. “There’s no need for further violence,” he purred. “We warned you that we didn’t want your help. Leave this place while you still can.”

  “You killed Cherish!” Rigel neighed.

  “And Roj!” Kyra added.

  “He resisted,” Mapes said. “We can’t let anyone interfere with the ritual—not after all these months we’ve spent planning.”

  “It was unfortunate,” added Berman. “Your friend di
dn’t have to die. One sacrifice would have been enough. We had intended to use one of our own . . .” Here, he glanced at an old woman in the crowd.

  Sekta, Stan realized—the old woman who had vanished into the woods.

  “. . . Then you riders showed up,” Berman continued, “with a girl who was nearly gone anyway. A much better sacrifice, I think you’ll agree. The power of the unicorn was merely a bonus.”

  Rigel neighed and pawed the air, but he remained stuck against Mapes’ invisible wall; try as they might, the unicorn and his riders could not move forward.

  “The girl’s blood is perfect,” Bev, the herbalist, said. “She is young and brave, and her connection to the unicorns makes her much better to invoke Olen Wolfnacht’s protection.” Her gray eyes sparkled. “No offense, Sekta.”

  The ancient woman smiled a toothless smile and bowed in return.

  “I can’t believe the riders were trying to protect you!” Stan blurted.

  Berman scoffed. “We don’t need their protection,” he said. “The ritual of Wolfnacht is all we need. Then we will be strong.”

  “Don’t you understand?” Kyra said, pleading. “This is wrong! Your ritual has been perverted. You people aren’t fighting the Enemy—you’re joining the Enemy! Please, let Janise go!”

  All five elders laughed.

  Kyra sheathed her sword. “What about you, Stan?” she asked coldly. “Do you want to join your people?”

  Stan’s guts twisted and roiled. “I’m with you now, not them,” he replied.

  “Make sure you stay that way,” Rigel whispered.

  With one lightning swift move, Kyra drew her crossbow and shot. Her silver-tipped bolt streaked through the invisible barrier and buried itself in Zurko’s chest. The butcher gasped and crumpled to the stairs, dead. Kyra reloaded.

  “Back off! All of you! Now!” she snarled. “Stand away from Janise! I will kill every one of you if you try to harm her!”

  The elders stood stunned for a moment, and the chanting of the crowd died away. Then, with a howl of incoherent rage, the mob surged toward the unicorn riders.

  “Should I retreat into the alley?” Rigel asked. “It will be easier to defend.”

  “No!” Kyra replied. “We need to get to Janise!” She drew a bead on Mapes and shot again, but a villager threw himself in front of the bolt and died in the witch’s stead. Mapes and the remaining elders scrambled to retrieve Zurko’s fallen sacrificial dagger.

  Rigel lunged into the crowd. Kyra quickly traded her crossbow for her sword and began slashing. The villagers stayed away from the silvery blade, but kept the unicorn and rider hemmed in, refusing to let the rescuers near the church steps.

  Stan held on for dear life. The people of Wolfnacht, once his friends, clawed at him, trying to pull him and Kyra from Rigel’s back. Stan beat them back with his fists, bruising his fingers and bloodying his knuckles, but the mob kept coming.

  Not all the villagers were attacking the riders, though. Some began chanting again as the four remaining elders resumed the ceremony. Berman proudly clutched the sacrificial knife.

  Tied to the altar, Janise roused from her stupor and screamed, her cry rising above the rhythmic wails of the entranced villagers.

  Just then, Volstag, Lanna, Santos, and their unicorns thundered out of the alley and into the square. They joined the melee, but Kyra and her friends remained massively outnumbered.

  The moon blotted out the sun and Nyarra’s Rebirth began; the satellite’s rings completed turning edge on and became invisible in the growing darkness.

  Berman raised the antler knife high and plunged it into Janise’s chest, stilling her screams forever.

  VII. Wolfnacht

  Kyra and Stan both shouted, “No!”

  The mob roared with triumph. As the echoes of the victory cry died away, the people of Wolfnacht began to change.

  Their wailing chants became an obscene chorus of pain and delight. The villagers transformed, their bodies twisting and growing more muscular. Their faces elongated, their noses became snouts, and their ears grew tall and pointed. They ripped apart their confining clothes with long, sharp talons. Their teeth became fangs, and coarse fur sprouted from every inch of their skin.

  In a frenzy, the villagers’ crouched forms capered and loped wildly around the square. They turned their faces to the eclipsed moon and howled their exultation.

  “Gods of Wrath and Mercy!” Volstag whispered.

  The villagers who had been trampled under the unicorns’ hooves wrenched themselves to their feet as their broken bones knitted back into place.

  “Werewolves!” Santos cried.

  “Run!” screamed Lanna. “We have to get out! There’s nothing we can do here now!”

  “Nothing but die!” growled the wolf-like thing who had once been Thynes.

  He leaped at Lanna and Helios, but the half-elf wheeled and put a silver-tipped arrow through his eye. The scribe fell to the ground, twitching; he transformed back into a man as he died.

  A grim smile crossed Volstag’s face. “At least the tried-and-true methods still work.”

  The pack howled with anger and leapt after the fleeing riders.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Santos yelled.

  “That way!” Konstantine called, pointing. Werewolves already clogged the alley the riders had used to enter the square, so Stan picked a wide street leading toward the gates.

  Kyra glanced over her shoulder at him, trying to read his intent. “Do it!” she cried to the rest and urged Rigel in the direction Stan indicated. The others galloped toward the avenue, too. Volstag and Stardust led the way. Rigel and Apollonia fell in behind, with Helios—still sporting wounds from his fight in the pass earlier—and Lanna bringing up the rear.

  The mob swarmed in around the cavalry, slashing with wolfish claws, nipping at the unicorns’ hindquarters. The werewolves were clumsy and slow; they hadn’t yet adjusted to their new shapes, and this worked in the riders’ favor.

  A hairy monster who had once been Elder Bev jumped out in front of Stardust. Volstag whirled his ax and sliced the former herbalist in two. Stardust trampled both halves of the elder into the snow.

  Kyra’s sword described a deadly arc, protecting her, Stan, and Rigel. The weapon’s silver blade bit through hairy wolf skin, leaving steaming gashes in supernatural flesh. The townsfolk howled in pain and anger. Even as they backed away from Kyra’s weapon, they clawed at her, trying to drag her, Rigel, and Stan down.

  “Are you all right, Konstantine?” Kyra asked as the cavalry galloped out of the square.

  Stan felt far from all right. His heart was pounding, sweat drenched every inch of his body, and he feared he might vomit. “I’m fine,” he gasped. “I don’t think the transformation spell affected me.” He hoped he was telling the truth.

  “Good,” she said. “Just hang onto me. I’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

  “And don’t let them bite you,” Rigel cautioned. “Anyone surviving a werewolf bite becomes a werewolf—and there’s no magic in the World-Sea that will save you.”

  Stan swallowed, hardly daring to glance back at the rabid mob pursuing them.

  Because the town’s residents had gathered in the square for the ceremony, all the werewolves were behind the cavalry. No lupine shapes sprang out to bar the riders’ way as the unicorns galloped down the deserted, snowy streets of Wolfnacht.

  But the villagers knew the town better than the Atrian patrol, and it didn’t take long for the werewolves to adjust to their new forms. The transformed villagers quickly organized into several smaller packs and raced after the fugitives. The alleyways echoed with their howls.

  Kyra pulled a silver dagger from her boot. “Use this to protect yourself,” she said, handing the blade Konstantine as they rushed headlong through the town.

  Stan reached for it, but the dagger slipped through his fingers. He fumbled for the blade, bounced it off of Rigel’s flank, and snatched it up just before it tumbled to the street.
r />   “Watch it!” Rigel snapped.

  “Sorry,” Stan replied. He smoothed the golden coat on Rigel’s hindquarters, just to make sure he hadn’t done any harm. As he glanced back, his blood ran cold.

  Lanna and Helios, still suffering from earlier wounds, had fallen behind the rest of the riders. As Stan watched in horror, the hideous wolfpack caught up with the half-elf and her mount.

  At the last instant, Helios wheeled and charged full force into the hairy, rampaging mob. Wolflike bodies scattered before the unicorn’s stabbing horn and trampling hooves. Lanna’s longsword flashed in the eclipse-born darkness, and several werewolves fell dead, but twice as many leaped forward to take their place.

  “Lanna!” Stan screamed. “They’ve got Lanna and Helios!”

  Kyra and the others wheeled around, startled. They would have turned to help, but Lanna shouted, “Flee! Run while you still can!” Then clawed hands fastened onto her tunic and dragged the half-elf from the saddle. An instant later, the pack pulled down Helios, too.

  As the unicorn disappeared into the ravenous mob, pain stabbed through Stan’s head. For a moment, he clearly heard the telepathic voice of Helios in his mind.

  “Don’t let our sacrifice be in vain!” the unicorn whinnied.

  Volstag screamed in incoherent rage and yelled, “Ride for all you’re worth!” He and Stardust thundered away from the pack.

  “Gods curse this town and everyone in it!” Santos cried, following. Kyra tightened her grip on her sword and rode on.

  Hot tears clouded Stan’s vision. He could barely make out the palisade wall as the remaining riders rushed toward the half-opened gate. Beyond the portal, human-like shapes shambled in the snowy darkness—not werewolves, but something else. Stan’s guts twisted as he realized that the true Enemy had finally arrived.

  “Sergeant. . . !” Kyra began; she also had spotted the new menace.

  “I see them,” Volstag replied. “Form up! We’ll charge straight through if we have to. There’s nothing more we can do here. We need to make it back to base and brief the colonel.” He gazed sternly at both Kyra and Santos. “No matter what happens, keep riding. That’s an order!”