Short Shocks 2 Page 3

  A small silence slipped between the two men. Andrew lifted his quill and dipped the end in his ink. Jacob gave a heavy sigh and continued his remembrance.

  “So, I left the clan to plot in the barn, and decided to clear my head. I strolled in the woods, searching a wee time alone. A raging fire drew my attention back to the camp. Our home and this bracelet were all that reminded me of Jessie, but the flames burnt most of our life. The pyre meant my judgement to be final. I was found guilty.”

  “You mean they would kill you, just for being…different…for speaking your mind?”

  “Aye, that’s the way of the clan, Andrew. Anyway, the Elders would send the whelps after me, to hunt, kill and take back my head as proof of my death. I heard the howl of whelps ready to hunt, and I ran for my life.”

  Andrew stared with open mouth, motionless with awe.

  “Are you going to write any of this down?” Asked Jacob.

  “Aye, friend. Aye sure, I just can’t…but I do believe you.” Andrew stuttered his reply, as he dipped the dry nib again. His hand shook as he picked up the empty tankard, glimpsed at Jacob, before he placed it back on the table. He continued to create the prose, still wondering if his friend would get the next ales.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Elder’s believed the word of whelps, and encouraged the clan’s need to be rid of Jacob. They were sent to track down and devour him, and the clan expected the whelps to bring back his head and regurgitate evidence of his death.

  Silhouettes of the two whelps were poised at the edge of Rotmell wood, heads raised and sniffed the damp pine air. Claws under the coarse hair on their paws spiked the leaves and dead branches.

  “I can smell meat in there, it must be him,” the first whispered in an animalistic language. The larger of the two bit the ear of the other, and demanded. “I want his heid.”

  The whelps sprinted into the darkness without a sound. Jacob heard them howl in the distance. His heart quickened as he ran through black pillars of bark. How long this hunt would go on is easy to answer—until devoured. His blood-sodden head, dragged to the elders as proof of his death. He must move quickly, but he is not as agile as he used to be. If he snapped a twig by mistake, or his scent carried through the breeze, he was dead. Did he mask his scent, enough to prevent the continued hunt?

  The howls became a faded echo as Jacob slammed against a tree with a one-armed embrace. He panted heavily, and breath-clouds obscured his vision. It’s difficult for him to listen for the blood, which pounded through his ears. He pondered the closeness of the whelps. Thankful of his age and experience, he revelled in the ability to suppress his altered state, easier than the whelps that snapped at his heels. If only he could make it out of the clan’s territory, he might be safe. At least the humans wouldn't hunt him, now.

  The light from the partial moon bled through the canopy above, and showed his path ahead. When he reached the end of a wooded area, he saw a light flicker in the distance. To Jacob, this meant shelter and warmth. When he heard the distant barks from a protective dog, he salivated at the thought of easy warm meat and somewhere to safely rest his replete.

  A howl from the direction of Dunkeld injected fear. He lost his traction on the wet leaves and cracked his head against the rough bark of a tree. Dazed, he rose up and scrambled for a new purchase on the slimy ground. His skin tingled with excitement and adrenaline. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. He wiped it away with soiled hands from the forest floor, which left his face camouflaged.

  ‘Those whelps are good wee hunters. Surely, they couldn’t smell ma sweat from here?’ He thought. The fluid between his fingers seemed a thicker texture than sweat. After he tasted it, he realised the whelps could smell his blood. A small hole appeared after he nipped out a splinter from the crook of his nose and discarded it with disgust. He didn’t have time for pain or sympathy, and must stay on the move. Jacob decided to divert north toward Badenoch, through a thick black area of forest. This would restrict his movement, but would dull sounds of flee and panic.

  He noticed a thicket ahead, and aimed for its safety with haste. He sank down on one knee, with both hands cushioned on the carpet of soft, cold slimy leaves. His long neck arched, and sniffed the night air. He closed his eyes to enhance his audible range, listened for faint sounds in the forest. For a second, he heard the distinct rustle of a large animal in the distance. His torso twisted to the left, craned his neck even more…yes, the sound was there, faint, but still audible as whelps. Jacob grabbed hold of the tree, hauled the rest of his human shape to the direction of noise and opened his eyes. He could see the whelps stalk in the darkness. Their long hairy snouts steamed in the cold air as their yellow eyes reflected the moon. He imagined the flesh tear from his bones, at the sight of them.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Andrew stopped his inscription to indulge a complaint about the lack of ale for the last hour. He grasped the tankard with his free hand, and rattled it gently on the table. He was glad to have the interlude, to break his apprehension, the fear that built within.

  Jacob caught the sight of the wench and ordered two more ales. She pointed at the cold sheep’s head on the table. “Are you done with that?”

  He followed the wench’s gaze then looked back at her. “Aye, take it away lass.”

  She placed two empty tankards on her tray beside the sheep’s head, and turned to leave the table, Andrew diffused his terror in his own unusual way. He incited a mild squeal as he grabbed a handful of arse which taunted him. Jacob heard the disruption and saw the wench turn around to Andrew with a sharp retort. “Keep yer hands to yourself, ya dirty old bugger.”

  Mrs. Hunter hit her husband on the arm and pointed to the troublemaker. Mr. Hunter revealed a large baton of wood and slammed it on top of the bar. The Inn fell silent, as everyone looked on with curiosity. The Innkeeper raised the baton again and pointed it at Andrew, who showed both palms in muted surrender. A few of the local drinkers roared with laughter, but Jacob didn’t see the funny side. He hunched his shoulders from the crowd, and retracted his head behind the collar of his coat.

  “I don’t need all these eyes on me, Andrew.”

  His friend’s grin faded as he whispered his apology. “I…I’m sorry. I’m afraid.”

  The laughter dissipated and the wench arrived with two ales then cautiously backed away from Andrew, before she gave him sight of her rear.

  Jacob tapped on the table to distract Andrew’s gaze. “You really are a mucky old troll, Andrew. Can we get to writing?”

  Andrew moved his head to face Jacob, but his eyes were still fixed on the wench. Jacob tapped on the table again. “Alright, alright, Jacob. Can’t a man look at pretty things now and again?”

  “Ye always gawk at her, every night we’re here. Just marry her, and get it over with.”

  “Aye, I suppose so,” mumbled Andrew, and gave another quick glance in the wench’s direction.

  He clicked his fingers to attract Andrew’s attention then pointed to the parchment in front of his friend. “I need to tell aboot the real wolves I met.”

  His friend looked at Jacob with a frown. “You jest, surly. You met the real vermin? They are nothing but…”

  Jacob clenched his teeth in anger as he interrupted. “They’re not vermin! Just listen, and you might understand.”

  Andrew frowned again at his friend’s defence. He never saw this emotion before, a strong passion and belief. “Fine, Jacob. You explain to me why those devil dogs are not vermin. I’m listening.”

  He shook his head. “They are the one’s that are always covered in fur, who walk on all fours, and only kill to eat. Unlike my werewolf kin, these wolves dinnae kill for fun. They kill quickly, to feed their pack, or to defend the pack if they are threatened. Not for fun, or to spread infection. I’ll explain what happened. You remember me being hunted by my kin, well…”

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  A pack of six wolves ran with their tails straight out as they closed in toward Jacob. Th
ey were decisive, intent, and aimed for the intruder. He stopped abruptly outside their range to bite. The whelps were behind him, obscured in the trees. The infected man slid on the wet leafs and landed hard on his back. He propelled under a gauntlet of snarls and jaw snaps from the wolf pack. He picked up speed and slid down a steep valley. The vicious commotion from the top of the valley faded as his head cracked against a raised tree root. Jacob seemed to float down through countless trees and into blackness.

  He awoke to wolves, which surrounded him and gazed into the forest above, except for one curious male. The old wolf’s tense body stared down intently at Jacob with its piercing amber eyes.

  Its tension eased and purposely approached. Jacob knew not to move a muscle, nor utter a sound. The wet smell from the animal filled his senses. Its pupils flooded the amber eyes as the old wolf inclined his head and opened its jaws wide, but without aggression.

  Jacob knew what was about to happen, but his body stiffened with fear, and his stomach churned. The wolf’s eyes seemed to hypnotise as its jaws slid over his face. Jacob smelt the wolf’s breath, and its incisors press against his cheeks. Saliva dripped from its mouth, into Jacob’s and down his face. He swallowed hard to subdue a retch as the old wolf withdrew its jaws.

  Its head swayed from left to right, satisfied Jacob not to be a threat. The male lay down beside the relaxed pack, and watched their guest. Jacob assumed no immediate danger from the whelps, fended off for the moment. The old male looked at the sudden howl in the distance, to Jacob then back at the trees at the top of the valley.

  Jacob shifted his weight, but the old male immediately rose with rigid hackles, and a fire burned in those amber eyes. The wolf bared his teeth, growled then snapped its jaw. Jacob’s instinct knew this savage caution, not to move without permission. Jacob lay motionless for hours then slept.

  When he woke, he saw the carcass of a deer and the old male feast on its heart. A younger wolf snuck behind, for a better position on the carcass. The old wolf glimpsed the impudent whelp push in without permission. He growled and snapped his jaw at the youngster, but it took no heed. A chase ensued until the old one nipped the captive on its flank. With a yelp, the whelp lay on the ground as the alpha stood over the submissive youngster. The dominant male returned to the kill. He ripped through flesh in wet bloody shreds, snapped sinew and tore at tendons.

  After the pack took their fill, they played with a tuft of fatty fur, tossed it in the air and tried to catch it. The sight of blood and raw flesh clawed at Jacob's hunger. He crawled over to the carcass and pushed his face into the sticky blood and fur as he gorged on scraps. Once satisfied, he settled amongst the pack and rested, for the first time in his life.

  An albino female wolf licked dried bloody patches from Jacob’s face. Her tenderness and mannerisms reminded him of Jessie as a werewolf: the marks on his mate’s fur, the way her body undulated with graceful movement, and the gentleness of her bite at play. He missed her fire-filled eyes, which always mesmerised him. Jacob noticed a narrow ring of brown fur round the wolf’s paw, and the uncanny way she held her paw slightly off the ground. His dead Jessie did this when attentive too.

  A tightness of emotion filled his chest and restricted his throat as he swallowed hard. His jaw clenched as he fought back the flood from his tear-filled eyes. If Jacob were to give a name to this white wolf, he would call her Jess. Jacob bathed in the groomed relaxation.

  Amazed at his assent to share this space, he embraced the intimacy of this pack life. His vulnerabilities were appeased by the acceptance, bond and safety; until he moved too close to the female, he now called Jess.

  The old male wasn’t as big as others, but possessed an innate ability to command. He strutted toward the guest, who neared his mate and stopped. Jacob’s apprehension grew. The old wolf stomped his front left paw into the ground. A sideway glance indicated ‘all this is mine.’ Suddenly he stood over the outsider with an open jaw, his teeth gently scraped against Jacob’s face. He should have been terrified, should have changed; but again, no threat. After a minute, the old wolf left and Jess followed.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Jacob frowned and inclined his head; Andrew pointed the feather toward his friend. “You laid with real wolves. Why on earth, would you want to be with those filthy animals? Aye, it sounds as if they helped you, but they’re still just savage beasts.” Silence ensued as Jacob scowled his friend's odium for wolves. Andrew noticed the discontent on his friends face and thought it best to change the subject, quickly. He inhaled deeply. “You never told me you were married. How did she die?”

  “The Elders murdered her, many years ago. We didn’t have any bairns, and regret it. I was young and daft, but can never forgive what they done. The Elders insisted it was for the benefit of the clan. They complained that she always enraged, deliberately tested and bent rules. The worst offence we committed—we loved each other. We weren't just a couple in love, we refused to breed with others in the clan.

  “It’s the last time I remember we disobeyed the Elders. The kin made an example of us that night, after the sham of their justice system found us guilty. The Elders ordered both our hands and feet bound. Two males dragged Jessie to the edge of the forest as others retrained my attempts to fight. Jessie’s stomach was slit open, and the horn blown to call the legendary Draugar to sacrifice. They forced me to stand at the edge of camp, and hear Jessie scream. Silhouette’s of Draugar emerged in the darkness and tore her apart, before each melted into the darkness with a part of her dismembered corpse. I never bred again after her murder. Her terrified voice still gies me the grue.”

  “Didn’t you ever want revenge?” Asked Andrew.

  “Aye, but I wouldn’t stand a chance against the kin, not a hope.” Jacob stabbed his finger toward the paper in front of Andrew. “Back to the story—are you going to write this?”

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  A rustle on the forest floor made the wolves snarl and salivate. Jacob saw the old wolf’s upturned snout, a mouth of claret contrasted teeth under almond-shaped eyes. The wolves stared into the blackness of the wood ahead, and displayed fangs at the intrusion. Jacob sensed his kin were back. The pack suddenly lunged forward; bushy tails manoeuvred them quickly into prime kill positions. The front of their bodies dipped to the ground as they sped to the werewolves.

  Jacob’s mind tore with mixed allegiances.

  ‘Can I really sit here and let members of my own clan be slaughtered? Should I allow the death of whelps I watched grow up?’

  He placed his palms on the leafy floor, and tensed his muscles as he ran hard toward the wolves. His head filled with hatred, confusion; eyes yellowed and his muscles grew. The pain inside exploded across his face as vocals changed into growls and howls. The pack attacked from all directions, and overwhelmed the two whelps. Jacob realised. ‘The whelps were not yet taught to defend themselves in this situation. They need my help!’

  Jacob found the crossfire of fangs and hatred approached too quickly for him. He panicked. His head twisted to the wolves, toward the werewolf’s, and back again. The disease strangled his humanity, but if he let the sickness win, the wolves would all die. Jacob fought to regain human form, but failed. The sickness unleashed; he faced the pack of wolves.

  One whelp attacked from behind, knocked him to the ground and parted his scalp with its claws. The wolves in full torrent, engaged with his kin, and savage noises filled the wood. Grabbed by the throat then shaken like a wet blanket, flesh and fur were raked from Jess’s body. Jacob’s rage peaked, his decision made.

  He lunged forward into attack, and bit down hard on the back of the kin’s neck. The teeth sliced easily through the fur and skin, deep into muscle. He swallowed the warm blood that filled his mouth as the artery spewed. He pulled with all his strength, used the advantage of his height and managed to detach the whelp from Jess. He expected to die, but the pack surrounded his kin and the balance tipped. The clan members fled at speed, and howled into the woods to lick their wounds<
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  A few of the wolves tended to deep wounds, but for the rest, the adrenaline still raged. They paced the forest floor, whined and howled. The pack was excited, yet somehow despondent at this victory. Their combined growls, howls and human-like speech coalesced into a melancholy tumult. The old wolf appeared to search the area and examine his pack. He took apprehensive steps toward a white wolf, partially covered with leafs. The old wolf’s muzzle nudged the carcass of his mate, and Jacob recognised the lifeless body of Jess. Her primness disappeared with a leg, her throat torn out and wounds gaped on her flank. His kin dismembered and killed his new fondness. Like Jessie, murdered all over again. Jacob moved a little closer to the bloody carcass.

  “I…I’m so sorry.”

  Jacob extended his hand to touch Jess. The alpha male swiftly snapped his jaws in the air. The rest of the pack stopped pacing and sat nearby. They howled mournfully as the sadness drilled deep into Jacob’s chest. The old male lay down beside his dead mate, rested his head on her ribs and whined. His lungs disturbed his still body as he breathed. A while past, before the pack stood up and paced again. The alpha wolf lifted his tired, lonely body and walked into the forest, back to the den they called home. Jacob followed in their wake.

  Once back at the den, the pack howled mournfully again, brushed against each other for comfort, respect for their dead friend and the alpha’s mate. Even pups realised their urge to howl the loss.

  He tried to approach the old wolf, to somehow apologise again for the death of his mate. He encountered the snarls, a warning sign to curdle any blood. Copper-coloured smudges either side of the grey fur on his snout, contrasted the two moon-spot eyes.

  Jacob knew he wasn’t welcome, but was reluctant to leave. He slowly crawled off in the direction of a distant light, and after he passed many trees, stood upright and ran. The whelps would be on his trail very soon. He could smell the pack faintly, but not see them, unable to hear a breath or movement. Suddenly, Jacob spotted the wolves weave through the trees and undergrowth. The old one and his pack followed in the distance.