The Wereling 1: Wounded

by Stephen Cole

  ‘He’s insane, a maniac,’ Kate hissed. ‘You and he should get along fine.’

  Marcie ignored her. ‘All right, enough.’ She turned to Blood impatiently. ‘I’m sure we don’t want to make a spectacle outside, do we? Hand her to me, Mr Blood, and we’ll all go and see Mr Takapa together.’

  The two men escorting Marcie moved in behind Blood. Reluctantly, he pushed Kate towards her mother.

  Marcie grabbed hold of Kate like a dog snatching a bone. ‘You and that sickly silverblood killed my son,’ she whispered softly in Kate’s ear.

  ‘He was going to slaughter us both,’ Kate whimpered.

  ‘You’re going to pay. You and the boy. Over and over again.’ Marcie’s sharp teeth bit at Kate’s lobe. She drew blood. ‘Did you honestly think there was anywhere in existence you could hide from me?’

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ Kate demanded shakily.

  ‘Back home. Grieving.’ Marcie shook her head. ‘He can’t protect you any longer.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ Blood announced loudly, ‘it’s this way in, isn’t it?’

  Blood led the party around to the front of the conference centre. Determined not to speak, not to cry, not to shake, Kate let her mother guide her through the dark double doors and into a nondescript reception room, empty of staff.

  ‘Wait out here with Mr Blood, would you?’ Marcie asked one of her escorts. Then she looked at Blood coldly. ‘If you’ve lied to me, about anything at all, you’re dead.’

  Blood smiled sweetly. ‘Cheerio.’

  Kate was marched onwards down the corridor. One of Marcie’s escorts knocked smartly on a door.

  ‘Enter.’

  It was Takapa’s voice.

  The aide opened the door and Marcie pushed Kate into the room. Takapa’s pink eyes flashed her a look as cold and filthy as the storeroom she’d escaped from. He slipped a dark pinstriped jacket on over a shirt that was barely whiter than he was, and gave a small bow to Marcie. ‘Mrs Folan, it is an honour to meet you, and to have you in attendance here today.’ He turned to Kate. ‘And here is your daughter. Apprehended as you instructed.’ There was no trace in his manner of the giggling depravity Kate had witnessed before.

  ‘Having gone to such trouble to catch her, I’m surprised you let her slip away again so soon,’ said Marcie coolly.

  Takapa looked suitably chastised. ‘I was soon alerted to her escape. My best agents rounded her up and brought her straight here.’ He reached out a hand to pet Kate’s cheek, and she flinched. ‘To me.’

  Marcie seemed unimpressed. ‘A man called Blood claims to have caught her.’

  ‘Blood!’ Now Takapa seemed amused. ‘Excellent. Our little redecoration of his apartment must’ve scared him more than I’d hoped. He’s one of my pawns, you see. Through him, I got the boy.’ He clapped his hands together softly. ‘Now, please, Mrs Folan. I assure you, the woman responsible for Kate’s escape has been caught and dealt with. She’ll now be joining us at the post-gathering buffet.’ He showed his fangs in an unpleasant smile.

  So much for the ‘survivor’, Kate thought darkly.

  Marcie nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘And the boy? Tom Anderson?’

  ‘Come through to the auditorium,’ said Takapa smoothly, ‘and you’ll soon see.’

  Marcie nodded. ‘I trust I shall find what you have to say of interest.’

  ‘I’m certain you shall.’ Takapa flicked the silver double-helix that dangled from his single ear, and smirked.

  Kate suddenly realised she’d seen that spiralling shape somewhere before … in some dull text book somewhere. It clicked: biology class. That double helix was a strand of DNA, the building blocks of all organic life, both human and lupine. But what was its importance to Takapa?

  As he excused himself to prepare for his entrance, Kate and her mother were ushered from the room through to a small auditorium. It was dark and smoky. Maybe fifty or sixty men and women were gathered inside, seated in neat rows. Even though they wore their human form, a feral excitement hung like a heavy scent in the air.

  Kate was forced to sit in a vacant chair near the back, the grip of her mother’s hand like a vice round her wrist.

  Spotlights in the ceiling began to glow. Takapa walked down the aisle and turned to face his audience, front of house. His angular body stood like a skeletal tree before a large white screen, where Kate assumed some kind of presentation could be projected. The light was still dim, but Takapa blinked furiously like he was dazzled.

  ‘I thank you all for being here,’ he called out, his words echoing around the auditorium. ‘I shall not waste your time, for time is short for the whole of our kind. Unless you listen to me.’ He paused.

  Kate caught whispers and sniggers from the crowded rows around her.

  ‘How much longer can we survive in the modern world?’ Takapa questioned. ‘Man’s ignorance, his superstitious fear was once our greatest defence against him. Now his worshipping of technology, his refinement of reason, allows him no room for such dark fancies.’

  ‘So?’ someone shouted. ‘If he don’t believe in us, we’re safe.’

  ‘Safe?’ Takapa shook his head. ‘You cling to the illusion of freedom. You’re all too scared to see that we’ve shut ourselves away in the enemy camp. We squat in man’s towns and cities and build for ourselves the best lives we can. We skulk in the houses man has made, and only dare venture out to hunt at night – praying that man’s eyes aren’t upon us.’

  ‘’Course we’ve got to live that way,’ a woman called out. ‘For most of our lives, we’re men and women too.’

  ‘We are more than men!’ Takapa shouted. ‘More than women. Our secret community is not bound by man’s laws, yet we remain his prisoners.’ He glared fiercely at the indifferent faces in the auditorium. ‘Don’t you dream of warm, sweet nights? When you can hunt and kill and feast with only the stare of the full moon on your back?’

  Kate heard her mother give a low sigh of pleasure.

  ‘Hallelujah,’ called someone sarcastically. ‘He’s peddling Wolf Time, brothers.’

  ‘Listen to me!’ Takapa called over the jeers that followed. ‘Our community must unite! You dare not live in isolated pockets any longer. How long can you last with the human population ever expanding, devouring the woodlands, the fields, the hunting grounds?’

  ‘If we band together, we just become a bigger target,’ someone else called, to scattered applause.

  ‘We are hunters! We should not be the hunted!’ Takapa almost shrieked. There was more applause, louder. ‘Our numbers must swell! Humanity must become our target.’

  ‘Turn the whole world ’wolf?’ one dissenter mocked. ‘Sire a breed of mixed-blood mongrels?’

  ‘Our history is sacred,’ yelled another.

  ‘Our future is more sacred,’ Takapa argued. ‘But I’m not suggesting we start biting to turn as a general rule. We may turn a man’s body, but not always his temperament. And that could breed a powerful enemy within.’ He raised his voice. ‘And yet through science, through man’s own technology, we shall find an answer.’

  Kate looked nervously around the darkened auditorium. People were listening closely now, intrigued. Takapa was winning them over.

  ‘Tell me, you who speak of our sacred past … ’ He flung out his stick-thin arms. ‘Who here knows of the Rituals of the Troubled Wolf?’

  ‘There are seven of them.’ Marcie spoke out, her voice rattling around the room in hard echoes. ‘The healing priests devised them centuries ago. To be used when the psychological balance between were-side and wolf-side shifts, causing mental conflict and possible damage to the physical health of the subject. Common in silverbloods.’ She glanced at Kate. ‘Especially common in werelings.’

  ‘Mrs Folan,’ said Takapa with a deferential smile. ‘The reports of your knowledge in nursing are not exaggerated, I see. You’re correct, of course. But people today, pumped full of food additives, hormones and steroids, are poor meat for these rituals to work on. Success in unbi
nding the spirits of wolf and human so that the wolf may be granted dominance, is rare.’ He paused, pink eyes gleaming. ‘But now, science can take us further. It can actually identify what makes the werewolf – on a genetic level.’

  People were starting to heckle again: ‘Why?’ ‘What for?’

  Kate guessed that to these ’wolves, mixing modern technology with old traditions was sacrilege. To her, it was downright terrifying. But she saw that Marcie was staring at the screen expectantly.

  ‘With this knowledge we can better understand our heritage,’ Takapa went on. ‘And this better understanding will help us to supplant the heritage of sterile humanity.’

  ‘It can’t be done!’ a woman called.

  ‘If we unite together, under a strong leader with vision, it can!’ Takapa signalled to someone at the back of the auditorium. The low lights dimmed further as the white screen behind him blurred into darkness and colour. ‘What you’re about to see is being broadcast live from a very special clinic across town.’

  An image formed, bleary but true.

  Kate’s stomach somersaulted and landed messily.

  She was looking at Tom, lying motionless on a red floor. He was bound up in a wolf pelt, and an old man dressed in a surgeon’s gown was crouched over him protectively, like a dog standing guard over food. He held a knife in his hand.

  Kate tried to get up from her seat, but Marcie pulled her back down and clamped a hand over her mouth.

  ‘The boy is a wereling,’ said Takapa, pausing for effect.

  Excited whisperings and mutterings began to fill the auditorium.

  Takapa continued. ‘As you all know, a wereling’s human self dominates his wolf. Through detailed analysis of his genetic make-up, this wereling will teach us much about the way human and wolf genes interact.’ There were more rumblings from the audience. Takapa was clearly loving it.

  His voice rose, his arms reached out, as he acted the messiah. ‘It is written, of course, that a wereling heralds the coming of Wolf Time: a changeful boy who overthrows his human instincts to give himself to the wolf forever. A first sacrifice that spells doom for the human world.’ He laughed, a hollow, mirthless sound. ‘You may regard that as mere coincidence, of course; but I do not doubt you will find it fitting.’

  A few people were starting to leave, muttering in disgust about blasphemies and wasted time. But most remained, glued to the bleary visuals on the screen. Kate struggled in her mother’s grip, but was held firm.

  ‘Through this broadcast I shall prove to you I am sincere in my intent to lead our race on to a new level in its evolution,’ proclaimed Takapa. ‘I shall prove that I have the necessary vision, and that I have the expertise at my command to make our wildest dreams possible. Professor Lucian DeVries of the Bruges Chapter will now explain the procedure you are about to witness.’ He pulled a small clip-on microphone from his jacket pocket. ‘Professor?’

  So Tom wasn’t with Jicaque then, Kate realised, no matter what Blood believed. Had he been tricked, just as Tom doubtless had?

  The old man looked gravely into the camera, and held a small microphone to his mouth. The crowd quietened, to hear what he had to say. Clearly he was a man of fewer words than his paymaster. ‘I will begin the procedure at once,’ he said.

  Tom rocked feebly, trying to break free of his bonds. His hands were trapped against his hips by the pelt, his mouth was dry, his vision flecked with red. He could hear the tinny sound of a man’s voice from the PC, talking of werelings and science and the future, but he couldn’t grasp the overall meaning. A thick fog seemed to fill his head.

  Tulung was pointing a camera at the old man. He was droning on about insertions, bone scrapings, mutated DNA.

  Tom knew he couldn’t have long.

  Renewing his efforts, he squirmed and wriggled on his back, trying to pull free of the wolf pelt. He looked down to find that something small and red had fallen from his jeans pocket.

  The gris-gris Blood had given him.

  As subtly as he could, he shifted his body round until his face was next to the shrivelled bundle. Inhaled. The stink, sulphuric and spiced, almost made him choke – but it started to cut through his cloudy senses, sharp as the knife in DeVries’s hand.

  In desperation he bit down on the withered chilli. The hot, cloying taste flamed through him. As his consciousness cleared, panic threatened to overcome him. He gagged, spat out the charm, struggled more desperately.

  ‘The subject is clearly becoming overwrought,’ he heard the professor say. ‘Tulung, subdue him once more, please.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Tom. ‘You can’t do this!’

  ‘You can’t stop us,’ said the old man gently.

  Tom arched his back and kicked out at the old man. DeVries fell back against one of the statues, and the scalpel slipped from his hand.

  As DeVries bawled for Tulung to put down the camera and help him, Tom fumbled for the knife. He couldn’t get a proper grip, and the blade sliced into the soft flesh of his fingertips. He cried out with pain.

  Keep your anger, Wesley had said. That helps push it on.

  Tulung was coming for him with another thorn. Tom kicked him in the stomach, sent him sprawling back into a workbench.

  As he watched Tulung recover to begin another advance, rage rose like bile in the back of his throat. He could feel the blood speeding through his veins, could feel his skin crawling and his insides quivering with anticipation. A familiar hunger burned through him, hot as the slashes scoring his fingertips.

  ‘Subject is attempting transformation into the ’wolf state,’ the professor said calmly into his recovered microphone. ‘Given his nature, and his drug-induced condition, the results may be unpredictable.’

  ‘Keep away from me, both of you!’ Tom bellowed, drowning out the old man’s voice. Then he shook his head and smiled as his senses shifted and darkened. What did DeVries know, anyway?

  Tom wasn’t attempting anything.

  He was becoming.

  The pelt of the wolf burst open with a dull ripping noise as Tom’s body swelled in size. He groaned with pleasure as his spine broke and folded, as his hips ruptured and tipped him forward on to all fours.

  But something was wrong. The sweet agony of the transformation refused to fade. The wolf inside him was only half out, still constrained. His blood boiled around bones that were fused stuck and solid in unnatural shapes. He yelped and screamed; the power to reason scraped away – only the power to feel remaining.

  Tom saw Tulung and the professor were advancing on him again. And he was powerless to fight back.

  g

  g

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Kate stared in horror at the screen as Takapa called out for calm. The camera had been put down somewhere now, and showed a frantic, twisted figure on its knees, shaking and screaming in the middle of the room.

  Its dog-like front legs ended in clenched fists; its back was bent and deformed; its head was hung down to the floor. Kate was glad its face was hidden. She couldn’t bear to see Tom’s eyes looking out from this poor deformed, mutant creature.

  ‘The wereling appears to be caught midway through transformation,’ came the professor’s fascinated commentary over the loudspeakers. ‘The rituals have impeded full metamorphosis. This hybrid form is ungainly, non-responsive— ’

  ‘Sedate him!’ yelled Takapa into his microphone. ‘Quickly! Harvest the mutated DNA. It could prove invaluable to our research!’

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Kate shrieked. ‘Don’t do it!’

  ‘You see what I can do?’ Takapa roared at his audience, then a few childish giggles escaped his thin lips. ‘My sciences give me absolute mastery over human and wolf. As nature binds them together, so I can tear them apart!’

  ‘Stop this!’ Kate lunged forward. She wanted to reach out to Tom, to smash Takapa, to tear down the viewing screen and destroy this sick spectacle. ‘You twisted, murdering sack of—’

  Marcie hauled Kate back and cuffed
her hard around the face, stunning her into silence. Then she stood, shouting over the astonished din that was building in the auditorium. ‘Once you have these cells, are you through with the boy?’

  Takapa stared at her as if affronted. ‘Mrs Folan, I feel … ’ He broke off, composed himself once more. ‘Excuse me for a few moments, my friends,’ he announced to the baffled crowd. ‘And meantime … enjoy the show.’

  The screen showed the old professor advancing on Tom’s prone body. His voice echoed out over the crowd’s mutterings. ‘I’m ready to take the first sample.’

  Takapa hurried over. ‘Mrs Folan, I had hoped we could discuss the boy’s fate once my demonstration was completed. It’s vital that my audience—’

  ‘I am part of your audience,’ said Marcie briskly, ‘and I have seen and heard enough. You have my support, Mr Takapa. Shortly we shall discuss how we may best ally ourselves.’

  A smug smile twitched at Takapa’s lips. He looked hungrily at Kate, pink eyes glistening. ‘I should welcome that discussion.’

  ‘All in due course,’ snapped Marcie. ‘Now where is the boy?’

  ‘Nearby. But I’m afraid I have no transport to spare.’

  ‘Blood can take us in his car,’ Marcie said flatly.

  Takapa shrugged and nodded. ‘Well, he should know the address. I faked a message from one of his contacts and fed it through to him.’

  Kate bit her lip. So Blood hadn’t realised he was sending Tom into a trap. Still, his betrayal of her was real enough.

  ‘I must insist, however,’ Takapa went on boldly, ‘that the professor carries out his work without interruption.’

  ‘Oh, the professor may begin the carving of the boy,’ hissed Marcie. ‘But I shall finish it.’

  Kate looked up anxiously at the screen, her stomach twisting. Tom was rocking back and forth in silence as the longhaired man and the professor bent over him.

  ‘Don’t worry, Kate. You won’t miss a thing.’ Marcie smiled. ‘You’ll see all the action. Up close. In the flesh.’