Sister and Wolf

Any day can go from bad to good, and good to bad. Today, today was the latter.

We had come to a stop around midday, and I was enjoying sausages and fresh bread while the sun melted the last of a surprise snowstorm which had temporarily stopped us. In the past week, I have gained a mastery of this Russian that my Akatuyian friends speak, and I have begun to enjoy the idiosyncrasies of their language.

As Bram was speaking of the murder he committed – and subsequently, the one which had him sent out as a prisoner – we were interrupted by a pair of older women who told me that while they were looking for quail eggs, they had come upon a small structure and a woman who lived there alone. She spoke only two words that they could recognize.

Duncan Blood.

All my new friends stood to walk with me to this stranger, but I shook my head. I had no desire to see any of them die on my behalf, and quite frankly, it would be easier to fight without worrying over them.

I was told the general direction, and I set out immediately to learn who it was who wished to speak with me.

A short walk of perhaps a quarter-mile brought me to the home and to the speaker.

She eyed me from top to bottom and rested on the shovel she was using to widen her entrance. After a few moments, she spat on the ground and grinned at me with jagged teeth.

“She’s coming for you.” The woman’s accent was old and bitterly familiar. It was the way my family had spoken when I was a boy.

“Who’s coming?” I dropped my hands to my Colts and loosened them in their holsters.

She chuckled. “Our mother, Duncan Blood. She’ll find you soon enough if you stay in the Hollow. I suggest you find a quick way to your home.”

Without another word, she went back to her work, and I went on my way.

It wasn’t until I got back to camp, and my friends pressed me for information that I understood what the stranger had said.

“Our mother.”

End Jan. 7, 1890 

Begin Jan. 8, 1890

We came upon the house near sundown, and as the wind shifted, a fetid odor swept over us. The skies darkened, sinking us into gloom, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood as I listened for the sound of my mother’s voice. My thoughts had been occupied with the news of a sister I had never known, and I confess that I was a trifle slower than I should have been.

It is the distraction, I believe, which saved my life.

Had I been paying close attention to the dwelling we approached, I might have been blinded by the sudden flash of light that erupted from its few windows and its single, low door. As it was, I had glanced to the earth to see if I could discover some clue as to the origin of the stench, and my thoughts had lingered for a moment on freshly turned earth, a reminder of my sister’s hovel and her warning.

My comrades fell back, and I drew my pistols, dropping into a crouch as I brought the Colts up to bear. In the sharply fading light, a giant creature came loping towards us, a hideous howl tearing through the air.

The Akatuyians prepared to fire, but my fingers were already squeezing the triggers. I emptied all twelve chambers into the creature, each bullet striking the thing in its massive chest.

Only on the last round did it finally come to a halt, tumbling forward in a paroxysm of painful death. When the creature fell to the earth, the Akatuyians raced past me, their weapons at the ready as I stood up and joined them.

What we found was perhaps one of the most hideous creatures I have had the misfortune to look that.

It was a man, at one time, and whether by its own design or another’s, the head of a large wolf had been placed over the man’s and stitched to his bare chest and back. The man’s skin was filthy, calloused, and the most wretched I have seen.

When we entered his house, we found the remains of various animals, including humans, and a single photograph showed what he had been.

The wolf’s head, I’ll admit, was an improvement.