Bad Wolf Chronicles, Books 1-3

by McGregor, Tim

  The other two infidels were hazed forward like cattle and made to kneel in the grass. The fight had been beaten out of them and neither prisoner even looked up at the tall man in black.

  The Bishop gently lifted Tasha's chin until her eyes met his. “The girl. Where did she go? Do not lie to me.”

  “I don't know,” Tasha said slowly. “She ran to help her friend. That was the last I saw of her.”

  Her eyes drifted away again. The Bishop tugged her chin to focus her attention. “Look at me. Do you repent your evil path and accept the Lord God as your salvation?”

  Tasha blinked, trying to untangle the question put to her. “What?”

  The Bishop let go of her chin, wiped his hand on his coat and straightened. He nodded to watchman Beck. “Lash them to the post. The witches will burn before nightfall.”

  Tasha blanched, searching the eyes of the men around her but all of them turned away, shunning her pleas for mercy. Griffin hadn't stirred, as if he knew all along what was coming.

  Of the elders gathered before the gates, only Silas’s father approached the church leader. “Herr Bishop, we can't do that. They are sinners but they are outsiders and we are without jurisdiction over them. We cannot execute them.”

  “I should have known you would betray us, Hostetler.” The Bishop's face darkened, turning to the lone voice of protest. “Their sin has tainted your family.”

  Hostetler protested. “We cannot execute them. The English will come looking for them. The trouble it will cause—”

  The Bishop sprang at the man, as if he would throttle him. “Your son has helped the witch escape. And now you've shown your true colors, pleading clemency for these barbarians. Your whole family is in league with the witch.”

  Hostetler stammered, disbelieving the nonsense he had just heard but the other men around him stepped back and looked the other way.

  “Get him out of my sight,” the Bishop barked, then he waved a dismissive hand at the prisoners. “For the safety of the village, the outsiders will burn at the stake forthright. Then we find the missing girl.”

  All eyes lifted at the bell ringing from the watchtower. The man on the parapet pointed a hand to something on the distance. The English girl had been spotted, he shrieked. Running across the barley field, beyond the stockade walls.

  35

  WHEN SHE HEARD THE clamor behind her, Amy knew she had been spotted. A dead run through a field of knee-high weeds, Amy looked back once and saw the man in the watchtower shoulder his crossbow and draw a bead on her. The bolt whistled the air to her left and thunked into the earth.

  Crashing through the briar, she tumbled behind the trunk of a thick oak tree for cover and craned back to see the gates of the town. No troop of armed pursuers chasing after her. The watchman in the tower slotted another bolt into his weapon and hauled back the bowstring.

  Catching her breath, the sounds of the forest were oddly tranquil after the chaos of the town. Swallows trilled from the trees and martins spun overhead. Amy eased up onto her feet. Now what? Call out Lara's name? Click her tongue and clap her hands the way she would a dog? She was alone and weaponless in the dark woods, looking for a werewolf.

  “You really didn't think this through, did you?” she muttered to herself.

  She pushed away from the trunk of the oak and on into the deep of the trees where the canopy overhead shaded the forest floor. The carpet of pine needles crunched under each step and she stopped to listen but there was no howl nor snarl. No telltale sign of the wolf. Maybe she was too late. Maybe the lobo had succumbed to its injuries like the watchman on the gate had predicted.

  The fine hair on her arms tingled. It was there.

  Fifty paces behind her, nose slung low to the ground. The white fur slathered in red along its snout and chest. More of it staining its hind flank. The bolt from the crossbow lodged in its neck twitched in the air. Worst of all were its eyes, ferocious and amber.

  “Lara.”

  The wolf charged, thundering hard across the loam like a bolt and Amy realized in that moment the mistake she had made. Did she think the pale wolf would react differently to her? That some shade of the woman inside the monster would recognize her? Stupid girl.

  The lobo plowed into her, flattening her to the ground. Amy felt her breath catch at the pain of it. The enormous jaws of the wolf opened and locked over her, pinning her flat. Its crazed eye rolled over and Amy screamed for Lara to stop but the wolf was deaf to her pleas. She felt the teeth clamp over her in its vise grip and sink down.

  A simple thought ran through her as the teeth tore in. Why? After all this, she despaired, why did she have to die this way? The irony of it was cruel.

  In the retelling of this moment, Amy would never understand what took place. Something came between them, between herself and the wolf pressing down on her. The only way she could describe it was as if an air bag from a car had detonated between them. The force of it hammered her flat and flung the lobo off of her. It was intensely cold, she remembered, as if she had instantly submerged in snow.

  She rolled over onto her knees, feeling a thousand new aches and searched for the wolf. Ten yards away, the wolf was shaking its head as if driven mad. The pale lobo reeled as if drunk before collapsing into a heap of bloodied fur in the dripping ferns.

  Amy crawled to it. The wolf shuddered, its snout flat to the ground and then it lay still. Its tongue unspooled from its maw and lay on the ground, speckled with grit. It looked dead. Reaching out cautiously, Amy pressed her fingertips through the fur to the lobo's chest. Its heart was still beating.

  The blood was everywhere. Coagulated into a black jelly in spots, fresh and raw in other places. Open wounds raw to the air, the bolt through its neck. Was it dying? Amy couldn't tell.

  She inched closer. Twin fears hammered at her heart and competed for dominance. A primal fear of the wolf itself and its opposing dread that the wolf would die. Blowflies were already crawling over the angry wounds in its hide and Amy waved them away but the insects swarmed and resettled quickly.

  The bolt protruding from its neck ticked rhythmically with the labored breathing. The tail of the missile, with its fletching of mallard feathers, had been snapped off in a clean break. It could be pulled out but Amy hesitated, not knowing if it would help or make matters worse. She listened to its ragged breath, rattling against the dart. Kneeling tight against the wolf, she wrapped both hands around the bolt in a stout grip and counted to three.

  The arrow plucked free with a wet pop and the wolf reared up in a spasm, jaws popping the air with a loud crack. Amy jerked back to keep away from its teeth.

  The pale wolf rose up and slunk towards her. Amy kicked at the ground to get away. The lobo stumbled and crashed down on top of her. Its bulk flattened her to the earth and then the wolf didn't move.

  The dead weight of it was smothering. Amy struggled to breathe, fearing she'd suffocate against the thing. Did the wolf die on her? Pushing at it was futile, it was too big and her arms had no leverage. Something hot splattered her cheek as the wolf’s blood trickled over her.

  Steam roiled up around her, misting her eyes. The mass of fur and hide pinning her down grew hot to the touch, like a bank of hot coals. Amy felt the mass tremble and quake. Closing her eyes against the vapor, she called Lara's name.

  The crushing weight eased up, allowing her to breathe. The mass sprawled over her lessened and shrank as if disappearing. With newfound elbow room, Amy pushed the steaming thing off and rolled out from under it.

  Lara Mendes lay face down on the forest floor. She didn't move. Her dark hair was slicked wet and webbed over her face. The flesh on her back was marred by cuts and contusions. An open wound flared down her ribs, the blood diluting in the sweat.

  Amy scrambled to her side and rolled Lara over, scraping the hair away to find her friend's face. White and gaunt. Blood dribbled from the sucking wound left in her neck from the bolt of the crossbow.

  Panic stitched her up. Her hand slapped
over the open wound to stop the blood. The ridiculous bonnet was still in her backpocket. She popped it out and pressed it over the wound. She wanted to pray in that moment for her friend's life but she knew no prayers to utter. All she could do was beg.

  “Please, God. Don't let her die. Not now.”

  Her pleas went unanswered. No flutter of an eyelid nor sudden intake of breath. Amy scanned the forest around her as if there was someone there to help but there was only the swaying ferns and the silent trees. She was alone and Lara was dying and there was nothing she could do to save her. The world turned blurry as her eyes welled up and she smeared the tears away with the back of her hand.

  Lara jerked to life with a fit of coughing and racked breath as if she had been drowning. She coiled up, twisting onto her side around Amy and retched into the dirt. Something foul erupted from Lara's gullet in a dark spray and Amy turned away, not wanting to see what the woman had vomited up. Lara's hands clung to her like a life preserver and Amy held the woman tight until the tremors passed.

  “Amy.” Lara's voice cracked.

  “Don't talk,” Amy hushed, clamping the cloth against open wound. “Lie still. You're bleeding.”

  Lara clenched up as a wave of pain rippled through her. She spit into the dirt to clear her throat.

  “I have to get you out of here.” Amy ran her eyes down Lara's frame, the cuts and contusions crisscrossing her flesh in a riot of angry tracks. “Can you stand?”

  “The wolf—” Lara's eyes pinwheeled, trying to pull focus on Amy. She snatched the girl's arm. “Did the wolf kill anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? How do you know?” Another coughing jag stole her voice.

  “The wolf took one guy's arm off but he survived. Why is that important? The Bishop wanted to know too.”

  “The last step. No coming back after that.” Lara winced as a fresh pain rippled through her. “It's only a matter of time before I do.”

  “Don't say that.”

  Lara clutched the girl’s wrist. “Did it attack you?”

  Amy stiffened and then shook her head. A lackluster denial.

  “Look at me,” Lara bristled. “Did the wolf try to kill you?”

  The girl nodded and Lara looked down at Amy’s empty hands. She had no gun or blade or weapon of any kind. “What happened?”

  “I don't know. Something stopped you. The wolf, I mean.”

  A gimlet of light opened in the woman's eyes. “The wolf backed off?”

  “No,” Amy said in a hushed tone. She watched Lara's hope fall away. “I don't know. It all happened so fast. It was like a wall appeared. It stopped the...”

  The woman's sank, like a balloon deflating. “It tried to kill you. I'm that far gone.”

  Amy grasped for a convenient denial but found nothing in reach. The rage of the pale wolf as it charged at her was too clear in her mind for that. All she could do was watch Lara collapse under its awful weight. “Lara, what happens if it does kill?”

  “Then the monster wins.”

  The thought of it frightened Amy, losing Lara to that darker side of nature. “Hold still.” Amy eased back the damp fabric from Lara's neck. The wound was puckered and wet but the bleeding had slowed to a thin trickle. “There's another wolf here. An old one. The Bishop has it trapped in a pit underground.”

  The woman’s grip tightened on her wrist. “What are you talking about?”

  “Under the cemetery. It doesn't even look like a wolf anymore.” Amy looked at the shirt in her hands. Stained with blood and filth, it would never come clean. “The Bishop said it was the first wolf, the man you who founded this place. I don't know if he's lying or not.”

  Lara shook her head, trying to understand what had been said. “It's still alive?”

  “Sounded crazy to me too. But I saw it. The Bishop said it's the reason other wolves are drawn here. They come looking for it. Then the Bishop and his goons kill them off one by one.”

  “The first wolf,” Lara muttered.

  “The what?”

  Lara flinched as she sat up. “The Bishop said the founder was the first werewolf. That it started with him. But that was a hundred years ago. How it could still be alive?”

  “I don't know. Who knows how long they live?” Amy glanced at Lara's face, like she'd said something offensive. “I mean, if they're not killed.”

  “Where is this thing?”

  Amy wagged her chin in the direction of the village walls. “It's a cavern, under the graveyard. Right where they kept you in that prison. I found a tunnel that led to it.”

  Lara's gaze drew long, clouding out of focus. “Prall” she said.

  “Who?” The name was familiar but Amy couldn't place it. There was too much happening to think straight anymore. And then it came. Ivan Prall. The lycanthrope that had infected Lara in the first place. “What about him? Was he tied up with this place?”

  “Prall was out to kill the wolf that infected him. He believed it would break the curse and free him.”

  “It didn't work.”

  Lara struggled to pull focus. Too many stray birds in her mind. “Maybe he had it half right. He was hunting the wrong wolf.”

  “The one in the pit?”

  “If the Bishop's story is true, then that monster in the pit is the one who started all of this. That's who Prall should have killed.”

  “Wait a minute. Killing the first wolf would break the curse? For you?”

  “For all of them. Any other wolves that are still out there, making their way to this place.”

  Amy chewed her lip. “Do you honestly think that will work?”

  “I don't know. I can't think straight anymore.”

  Lara rubbed her eyes with a trembling hand, fatigue running off her in waves. Amy stood and scanned the area about them. To the west lay the dirt road. “Can you walk?”

  “I can barely stand,” Lara said.

  Amy took the stained shirt and unfurled it with a snap. “Put this on. We're getting out of here.”

  “No. You get help. Come back for the other two.”

  “Not gonna happen. Let's move.” Amy held up the shirt and Lara eased her arms into the sleeves. She winced when the girl pulled her to her feet, clenching her molars against the pain. Amy draped the woman's arm across her shoulders and the two of them stepped slowly over the needles of the forest floor.

  They managed all of ten paces before looking back to see the troop of watchmen charging across the field towards them, their pikes brandished high.

  36

  OUTRUNNING THEIR PURSUERS WAS impossible. Lara could barely walk and Amy bore the brunt of her weight, all but carrying the woman along as she trampled through the underbrush. When Lara stumbled they both went down, tumbling over the mossy deadfall of the forest floor. Amy scolded herself to keep moving but everything hurt. Banged up and battered around, she tried to pinpoint some part of her that didn't ache but couldn't find one.

  The crunch of boots trampling the underbrush stopped her heart. The watchmen had reached the forest.

  Lara’s hand latched onto her wrist and pulled her through the leaves into a shadowy cover of ferns. The woman had rallied and for a brief moment, Amy risked hoping that they had a chance of getting away. It fizzled when she saw Lara's eyes. The amber sheen in her iris meant only one thing; the pale wolf was coming back.

  Over the trill of the birds came the sound of the hunters crunching over the forest floor. Sounding off both flanks, the watchmen had fanned out as they swept the forest, looking to flush out their prey from the tangle of vegetation.

  Lara pulled the girl close and hissed a single word. “Run.”

  “No,” Amy admonished. “I'm not leaving you behind. We can make it.”

  “You have to get out of this place. Now.” Lara shook the girl hard. “The wolf is coming back. You can't be here when it does.”

  “No, Lara. Dig deep. You have to.”

  Lara shoved the girl away. “Go, damn it. I made a promis
e to your father to keep you safe.”

  Whatever protest Amy had was cut short by the conflict warring through her friend's face. The seething rage of clenched teeth at odds with the despair in Lara’s eyes. The amber burning hotter by the second, almost incandescent.

  “Don't make a liar out of me,” Lara hissed. “Please. Not to your dad.”

  That was playing dirty, invoking his name like that. Amy felt her own eyes burn hot and there was no counter-argument she could think of.

  So she ran.

  Not quietly, a full sprint crashing through the boughs and brambles, heels snapping twigs at every fall.

  A holler went up, the hunting party alert to her racket and rushing forward. Amy crashed through a thicket of cypress, drawing the watchmen away from Lara's position. She glanced back quickly but could not see Lara. Only the tall lances of the watchmen rushing through the trees towards her.

  Then the earth shook at the roar of the wolf. Swallows took to the air by the hundreds, flushed from the trees by the danger. Amy vaulted over the mossy trunk of a felled tree and looked back. She saw the pikes of her pursuers stop and double-back towards the sound.

  She rested her head against the damp moss of the tree. What was she to do, just run? Abandon Lara to those pious bastards and their vicious Bishop? The watchmen would either kill the wolf or the wolf would kill them. A line in the sand she could not come back from. How was she to keep the pale lobo from doing that?

  Then she remembered the monster in the pit. The old wolf, the first lycanthrope as the Bishop claimed. And the mad idea, borne of the man who had infected Lara, that killing the first wolf would break the spell. Would it work? She didn't know but it was worth a chance. Anything was at this point.

  Amy listened to the racket echoing through the trees. The watchmen barked at one another in German as they closed in on their prey. The wolf had gone silent. She took a breath and bolted north, back towards the walls of the village.

  ~

  With the doors closed, the air inside the barn grew sickly with the reek of the stalls and Silas wanted no more of it. Cracking the low slung door open, he scanned the lane. Watchmen raced from the armory to the square while mothers shooed children indoors. Men hollered from their posts on the towers and above the din, Silas could hear the barking of the Bishop. When the path was clear, he darted from the barn to the Mueller's house and onto the outshed of the blacksmith's shop where he slid into the shadow under a roof of cedar shakes. The chaos was general as the people scurried to make way for the next troop of watchmen returning from the armory. The store of weapons was growing thin as the reserves carried only meager tools such as axes and clubs. One young man held an antique sword speckled with rust.