Werelord Thal: A Renaissance Werewolf Tale (7 page)

“Oh, a very sacred subject,” Andreli agreed.
“And then you will get it printed?”

“Yes,” Ondrej said, rather looking forward to
it. Then he scowled. “Now how did you bring up the subject of beer
so quickly?” he complained.

“You brought it up,” Andreli said.

The monk chuckled. “You are such a tricky
Gypsy,” he said.

“He’s very much hoping to get some of your
beer. He praised it much while we walked up here,” Thal said.

Andreli gave him a startled look. Thal’s
forthright approach seemed to be spoiling his game. Thal ignored
the look. He was curious about beer, recalling that it was a
pleasant thing.

“Ah, Thal the wanderer, you do know that
people typically pay for our beer,” Ondrej said.

“But not always,” Thal hinted.

“We could help your brewers sample the latest
batch and offer opinions,” Andreli put in.

Ondrej sighed. “There’s no shortage of
volunteers for that duty. Now what about this letter you need read?
Or was that just a pretense to gain my audience?” he demanded good
naturedly.

“It’s not a letter,” Thal said. He drew the
fur off his shoulders.

Andreli said, “There is writing on the
skin.”

Turning over the lustrous fur, Thal proffered
it to the monk.

“Oh,” Ondrej breathed, immediately entranced.
He leaned over the artifact and scanned the brick red lettering.
Gently he took the fur and spread it on his desk.

“These are Latin letters,” he said
confidently. “But…”

He trailed off and Thal and Andreli looked on
impatiently. Ondrej turned the fur around and looked at the letters
and then turned it back the other way.

“What is it?” Andreli asked.

Ondrej patted his round cheek thoughtfully,
obviously a little confounded. Finally, he explained, “The
characters are Latin but they do not make Latin words. I can sound
things out, but I don’t recognize the words.” He ran a finger along
the words and read, “Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu trinostulio. It’s
just nonsense. I’ve never laid eyes upon this language. Where did
you get this?”

“From my father,” Thal said.

“And where was he from?” Ondrej pressed.

Thal did not answer.

“He has trouble remembering his past,”
Andreli put in. “He wandered out of the Sumava with only this fur.
He told me he’s from Prague.”

“My mother is from Prague but not my father.
I can’t think of where he was from,” Thal said.

Assuming Thal was the bastard of some harlot,
Ondrej returned his attention to the intriguing lettering. “Is this
written in blood?” he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

“It looks like it is,” Thal said. “Can you
read it all to me? If you teach me all the sounds of the letters I
think that will help me remember what it is. I recognized my name
at the bottom.” He pointed to the word and Ondrej saw that it
definitely said Thal.

“But these words are just nonsense,” Ondrej
protested, beginning to suspect that Thal was crazy and had
probably been wondering the land suffering from fits. Perhaps he
had even scrawled the nonsense in his own blood, driven by some
strange delusion. Yet Ondrej could not entirely accept his logical
guesses about the stranger. Thal looked healthy and lucid. He had
no outward traits of a madman, and Ondrej had seen more than a few
of those lost souls over the years.

Thal wanted to overcome the monk’s reluctance
and suggested, “The words might be a code. If I hear them all, it
will help me remember.”

“A code?” Ondrej whispered. He had heard of
such things. Some scholars liked to correspond in codes, but it
seemed a bit devious and un-Christian. And the blood ink was
certainly unholy.

The monk glanced at Andreli a bit
reproachfully and then leaned toward Thal. “Young man, I fear this
might be the work of some devilry,” he said.

Thal did not doubt it but said nothing.

Ondrej continued, obviously wishing to show
off his knowledge on the subject. “There’s much devilry afoot these
days. A group of Jesuits just passed through here, heading north.
They told me how heresy and witchcraft are getting out of hand.
Mother Church needs her faithful to set things right. The door to
the Devil’s barn has been left open since Luther tricked people
with all his lunacy.”

“Yes, the northern lands have all gone over
to Luther’s ways I hear,” Andreli commented.

“Not all of them,” Ondrej said pointedly.

“Tell me about this devilry,” Thal said,
impatient to get to the heart of the matter.

The gravity of the subject did not suit
Ondrej, but he was honestly concerned about the wanderer.

“Young man, I fear that you were taken
captive by warlocks or witches and who knows what happened to you
in the forest. They left this strangely lettered fur as some spell
upon you. It’s probably why you can’t remember much. I suggest we
burn it right away,” Ondrej said.

Aghast, Thal snatched the fur off the desk.
“It’s from my father,” he insisted. “And I was not attacked by
anyone.”

“You must give it up. Your soul could be at
stake. This evil hide must have some charm upon it that will
probably drive you back into the forest,” Ondrej said.

Thal contained his anger. Ondrej meant well.
There was no malice in him, and Thal took that into account. He did
not wish to be a poor guest. “Thank you for your time. It was
kindly given,” he said.

He stepped toward the door but Ondrej stopped
him with a hand on his arm. “Son, stay for Mass and take the
Eucharist. You can confess to our priest,” he said.

“I must think on what you have told me,” Thal
said evasively and pulled his arm loose.

The abrupt conclusion of the meeting
disappointed Andreli who saw no way to bring up the subject of beer
again. Wishing to leave on good terms with the monk who had always
been generous, he said, “Please don’t think ill of Thal. I never
expected you to say his fur was unholy.”

Thal arranged the fur over his shoulders
again. The soft hairs caressed his neck. His heart told him it was
an exceptionally sacred thing although certainly not in a way that
Brother Ondrej could accept or understand. Thal left the room,
unwilling to stay near the man who had suggested he burn the fur.
Andreli could handle the goodbyes.

Thal walked straight out the gate and stopped
by a hedge to wait for Andreli. He took off the fur again and
looked at its lettering. Although the monk had not given him much
information, he remembered the words that had been read. He ran a
finger along them and said slowly, “Bin rum aptudarn. Cass lupu
trinostulio.” Then he struggled onward sounding out more letters.
The knowledge of how to read it was in his mind, but long disuse
had left his literacy stuck like stones in a frozen field. As he
ground out a few more words, he heard in his mind his father
chanting the words. The meaning eluded him but this was a powerful
message, and Thal suspected that it was a path back to his wolf
form.

But should he pursue it? He suspected that
some spell had yanked him back into the world of men for a
reason.

“Thal?”

He whirled. Andreli was behind him. The Gypsy
flinched because Thal wheeled upon him so defensively.

Clearing his mind, Thal said, “I’m sorry if I
spoiled your chances for beer.”

Andreli waved a hand. “Not your fault. Our
stay in this area is about played out I fear.”

“So you’ll be moving?” Thal said.

“It’s what Gypsies do, but I’m not sure where
to go. No one is ever happy to see us,” Andreli said. Complaining
to Thal felt safe. In front of his people Andreli had to project
confidence. He must not burden them with confessions about his
weariness of heart. His father had taught him that.

The two men walked along in silence. They
skirted the village and cut into the woods along the river.

Thal feared that he was the cause of
Andreli’s heavy mood. “Do you think I am bewitched?” he asked.

The Gypsy kept staring straight ahead and
walking. “Do you think you are?” he finally asked.

“I think I’m more than bewitched,” Thal
admitted.

“Oh,” Andreli said. He was quite out of his
league he realized. Believing in the supernatural was easy except
when it walked and talked and put meat on your plate and was
pleasing to be around. Then the supernatural just seemed like a man
who had no home and needed some clothes on his back.

“Do I frighten you?” Thal said.

“No!” Andreli declared. He set a fraternal
hand on Thal’s shoulder to show his sincerity.

“May I stay with you, at least a while
longer?” Thal asked.

“Yes,” Andreli said.

“Please don’t tell anyone what Brother Ondrej
thought about me,” Thal said.

“All right,” Andreli said although he was not
sure how he was going to sidestep questions about it. His people
already talked of Thal ceaselessly and they would want to know what
had happened at the monastery.

Andreli looked at the clear sky. “The moon
will be a little brighter tonight. We’ll have visitors,” he
said.

“Visitors?” Thal said.

“People from the village or even the castle
like to visit us, especially on nice nights. And the curious might
come to see you now. Ondrej will be wagging his tongue about you no
doubt,” the Gypsy said.

“I can hide in the woods if it will help
you,” Thal offered.

“No, no,” Andreli insisted. “I either take a
man in or I don’t. You don’t need to hide but don’t give anyone a
reason to think you’re bewitched.”

“I won’t,” Thal promised. Although nervous
about causing his host a problem, he was excited to see more people
and learn why they visited the Gypsies when they seemed to not even
want them around.

Thal kept busy when he returned to the Gypsy
camp. He helped Petro mend holes in a fish net and then gathered
firewood. While hauling back a load of dry driftwood from upriver,
he encountered the girl that served Emerald.

White cloth wrapped her head and a patched up
smock hung around her body, but her graceful neck and shiny olive
skin revealed the lithe young girl within. Her glass beads caught
the sunshine filtered by the green leaves overhead. Their sparkle
matched the twinkle in her dark eyes.

“Thal,” she said with a big smile.

“Hello.”

She shifted her load of sticks off her back
and plopped down on an old log to take a break.

Thal stayed in place still holding his load
across his shoulders. He was uncertain of what the social situation
required of him, but he knew that he liked looking at the girl in
the privacy of the riverside trail.

“I’m Medina,” she said.

She grabbed a small canteen that hung over
her shoulder and took a drink.

“Thirsty?” she asked.

He nodded. He set his firewood down and wiped
the sweat from his brow. Medina handed her canteen to him. Thal
took a small drink because he did not want to empty her
canteen.

“I could use one of these,” he commented and
returned it.

“You aren’t a man of many possessions,” she
commented. “Except that nice fur. It’s so beautiful.”

She petted the fur over his shoulder. Her
fingers moved through the lovely luxury of the dense coat. The
slight pressure of her fingers made him hold his breath.

“Is it really wolf?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill it yourself?” she said.

“I don’t think so.”

“You can’t remember,” she said.

“I remember more every day,” he said but had
little wish to talk about himself. “I notice Emerald keeps you
busy.”

Medina laughed. “No one would know what to do
without Emerald to tell them. She takes good care of me.”

“Is she your mother?” he asked.

“The most mother I’ve ever known. She says
she found me on the side of the road, but I don’t know if that’s
true,” Medina explained.

“It seems Gypsies find lots of people,” Thal
said.

“We’re not so quick to judge as village
folk,” she said.

“I’m grateful for the help. You don’t have to
fetch things for me anymore, even if Emerald asks. I can see to
myself now,” he said.

“I don’t mind,” Medina said.

Thal believed her.

She kicked off her shoes. Daintily she
trotted to the riverbank. Holding up her smock and skirt, she waded
into the water.

“That cools me off,” she declared. “This is
the first truly warm day. Maybe it’ll be a hot summer.”

She gathered up her skirt into one hand. Her
knees and bare thighs above the flowing water entranced Thal. She
bent over and washed her face with one hand and then flicked water
up at him. The drops hit the trail by his feet.

“Come in. You wouldn’t be so warm if you
didn’t keep that fur on,” she said.

Thal had not really thought about that. He
draped the fur over the firewood and came down the bank. He sat on
a thick tree root, slipped off his sandals, and wiggled his toes in
the water.

“That’s nice,” he said.

Medina sloshed over to him. “What happened at
the monastery?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re not a very good liar,” she
chided.

“We didn’t get beer. That’s the truth,” he
said.

“Someone will bring strong drink tonight and
trade a little with Andreli,” Medina predicted.

“What does Andreli have to trade?” Thal
wondered.

“This and that,” Medina said and rocked her
shoulders.

She leaned close, seeming to expect something
from him, but when a bemused Thal did nothing, she slogged out of
the water. “I better get going. I have to change my clothes and
comb my hair for tonight. I’ll be dancing,” she said.

“Dancing?”

Medina tossed her hips. “Will you watch
me?”

He nodded. She scrambled up to the trail and
he followed her. She put a hand on him to keep her balance while
she put her shoes back on. Thal retrieved his fur. Medina glimpsed
the inside and grabbed its edge.