This is the tenth chapter of the Fang & Bone serial; click here to visit the previous installment of Fang of Triseria. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.
Corea Gorse’s arms were full from the woven basket with a selection of food from the communal storehouse. It wasn’t that the basket was full, or particularly large. It was that Corea was small.
She would begin her shift working for Mister Gorten soon. Her job was to clean and leave the adults alone. Not to be seen, nor heard. To sweep silently and draw no attention, to clear glasses without being asked. To stoke the fire on the hour. The pay wasn’t much, but it was all she, her brother, and grandmother had – especially as Garen had still not returned from his patrol.
Perhaps he was already back at home now?
The basket contained some rock-hard bread, some apples, and and salted pork wrapped in a rough cloth. She also managed to talk Mister Garven, one of the town guards, into a couple of small onions and some beans. It would be enough for a decent stew to last a few days.
More than anything, she was relieved that it was not Mister Egghart at the collection today. He was too pale, bald, and gigantic, like a massive ghost. He stared too long. He smelled like ale. He looked like a goose egg.
She never called him “Egg” though. Never to his face, and even in the darkest hours, late at night, or in the smokey corner of the inn, she never said it, afraid he would be summoned through the very wall like the phantoms whispered about by the men and women behind their pints and tankards and peppery stews as she worked.
Corea rounded a simple shack and stepped onto the main road, careful not to tromp through any puddles. The road would take her past the Mayor’s home. She had never met the man, and her appeals to his guards fell upon deaf ears. His door was rarely open.
As she crossed in front of the nicest house in the town, she saw something she hadn’t seen before. Then again, at 13 years old she did not have a great deal of experience with the world. Much less experience with monsters.
But sure enough, as she slowed down to take in the stranger, she saw he was a wolf-man. Like a beast from a fairy tale.
He stood silent, observing the road. He glanced at her, but more through her. He seemed to have no interest in her, but she had an interest in him and the cloth worn across his snout.
She dared not approach. Stories of beastmen were frequent conversations in the dark and drunken hours. Her home wasn’t a terrible distance from the fallen kingdom, as the wolf ran. The stories about the beastmen warned the children and seemed to mean something to the men and women in a way that Corea had not quite come to understand. For her, and the other children forced to grow up too soon, they were the threat of the night itself, a monster in the dark.
The dead were more like the weather, and just as the weather can turn sour, so could the ghouls that kept to the woods outside of the town.
But the wolves were terrifying and dangerous in a way she had never considered the ghouls. Supposedly some towns weren’t always surrounded by the rotting, walking bodies of friends and family. She wondered what that was like. The ghouls were a fact of life – there hadn’t been a beastman seen since before she was born, but the fear remained.
And she remained on the street, staring at the wolf. She wondered if he had noticed she hadn’t left. After a while of watching him stand and observe, she noticed his demeanor change as the door opened, and a thin, hairy man stepped out. She wanted to know what they were saying to one another, but there was no way she would get closer.
She began her walk back home. She still had a pot of stew to cook, and then she would get to work at the inn.
But as she walked, she thought about a story from her childhood.
…
Once upon a time, to the north, a mighty kingdom ruled the surrounding forests, the coast to the north, and the plains to the south. The Kingdom, known as Triseria, was home to a proud people, who venerated the moon and were said to be as fierce as wolves.
They were not wolves then, but one day a magic spell altered the kingdom, and the wolves emerged, hungry and mad. But the wolfmen of Triseria had always been there. When the Kingdom fell, it struck many folks that it was about time, and that old fairy stories and bedtime tales had been preparing children from generation to generation, as to what to do when it came to the wolves in the night.
The story that Corea remembered most was “The Wolf and the Wheel.” She wouldn’t say it was a favorite story, but it was memorable. It also became all the more relevant for the past couple of generations.
Corea diced up her meager spoils from the storehouse and began to fry them up in a pot. She recounted the story as she worked.
“One day, a merchant took a small cart and nag off the main road, to the edge of the wolfwoods. He had been warned about this several times by other travelers.”
Or was it the townspeople? Somehow, she felt it didn’t matter who warned him.
“The merchant was in a hurry, he wanted to reach the next down to sell his wares, but did not heed the warnings about wolves in the woods. He had heard that hadn’t been seen as of late. As someone who didn’t believe…”
No, wait. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe, she figured; it was more he was from another land and didn’t heed the locals. That was it. She diced some bitter and salty roots and scooped them into the iron pot.
“He wanted to make his sales and be onto the next town, so a rough path in the woods, overgrown, but on the map, called to him. Along the way, the road grew winding. Roots tripped him, his horse, and his cart. Branches tore at his hair and his clothes. Crows mocked him – caw caw. The distant howl of wolves filled the air. Awooo!”
She glanced around the home wary of anyone noticing her cawing and wolf calls. Grandmother was probably still asleep.
“The merchant felt despair until a stranger approached him. A man with kind eyes. He asked the merchant if he was lost.”
“I am indeed, these roots and branches have trapped my cart and I seem to have lost sight of the road.”
“Oh, you are not far from the road here. I can show you the way there.”
The food was still sizzling in the pan. It would make a decent stew. Corea walked to a basket on a shelf for anything else she could add. There may have been more peppercorns and thistleweed.
“The two men freed the wagon and horse from the tangle and made their way toward the road. He asked the stranger about wolves and men who became wolves. The man laughed. He told him stories about men who were wolves and said they were just stories, but wolves were real enough this far north. After a while, the merchant grew nervous, but in time the road emerged.”
She ground and scraped at the peppercorns and thistleweed.
“Ah, here we are, if you follow the road to your left it’ll get you to the nearest village.”
“Sir, you have been so helpful. Do you live in that village? Can you accompany me there further? I must say I am nervous.”
“The stranger smiled and offered to join the merchant. In time the village came into view it was getting dark. When they arrived, the village was quiet and empty – the homes crumbling and windows dark. The merchant wondered if this was some recent calamity and turned to his companion, but only saw eyes shining from the shadows. In time, the wolves began to howl and they would be the last thing the merchant would ever hear.”
She poured water and wine into the pot and felt steam meet her hand. She supposed it wasn’t a good story, honestly, but it certainly carried a message. Maybe the flaws came from the retelling. Maybe the stranger was a wolf the whole time? She wasn’t sure.
Corea took a few quick stirs in the pot and took a sip of the stew.
“Could have done worse.”
Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.
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