Hope & Desperation

Petyr, Anika’s father, led Konrad and Rayk to his cottage on the far sunward side of the village. It was a humble abode, crafted of stone with a high thatched roof that allowed the inclusion of a loft. Windows, yellowed with age, were posted on either side of the wooden door that entered the dwelling, situated on the eastward flank. One more window was erected at the head of the home, which looked out into the surrounding field from the loft level. Bales of hay and a cart rested nearby, the clucking of hens gave notice as to the purpose of the small structure next to the cottage and a tiny garden, containing some greens and other vegetables, was located around the other side.

Konrad and Rayk exchanged a look when they heard the commotion inside: a woman, writhing and moaning. Whether she did so in pain or pleasure remained to be seen, but the despondent look on the middle-aged Petyr’s face seemed to give credence to the former.

"Everyone thinks she's just down with putrid fever," he disclosed, then gestured for them to go inside.

The door opened with an audible creak and at once Konrad could smell a repugnant scent that hung in the air like a miasma. Rayk plugged his nose and followed his master as he moved towards the bed that was nestled close to the hearth.

Anika, coated in sweat, seemed to be in a continuous state of motion. Her eyes bore a look of weariness, and her cheeks were flushed, yet gaunt, giving the initial impression that she was indeed suffering from a sort of fever. By her bedside was a heavy set man, whom Konrad estimated to be just past the ascent of twenty. Petyr introduced the man as Jurgo, the village blacksmith and fiancée of Anika. He greeted Konrad and even offered his hand, a rare gesture to extend to an executioner. The man’s grip was strong, very strong, his calloused hands meshing firmly against the leather glove that Konrad wore.

“T-t-t-thank you, for coming,” he said, struggling against a stutter.

Konrad regarded him and nodded, then proceeded to kneel down by the bedside to begin his initial examination.

Anika appeared exhausted, as if she had not slept a wink in some days. She was perspiring heavily, was constantly moving and moaning in delirium. Konrad’s eyes narrowed when he saw that her eyebrows had met in the middle to form a unibrow.

“Did she always have that?” Konrad asked, looking back at Petyr and Jurgo. Both men shook their heads.

Konrad rolled up her sleeve and noted that the hair on her arms was dense. Some of it also appeared on the palms of her hands. He reached down to lift up the skirt of her nightclothes, but stopped and looked to her father for permission, who nodded in concession.

Rolling the skirt up enough to look, yet taking care to protect her modesty, Konrad could see that the hair on her legs was of the same consistency as her arms and hands. Moving back up to her face, he carefully parted her lips and saw that her canine teeth had sharpened and became decidedly more pointed than normal. Her premolars and proper molars were also expanding in terms of surface area. Looking down at her hands again he could see that her nails had also formed into sharpened points.

“Has she eaten?” Konrad asked.

“Yes,” Petyr answered.

Jurgo added, “She will only eat r-r-r-raw m-m-eat though.”

“And she drinks like a horse,” Petyr concluded. “Buckets upon buckets. I fear I’ll dry the well out before she’s had enough.”

Konrad sighed whilst still looking down at her, as she continued to move and murmur. He placed a gentle hand on her forehead and brushed aside her bangs, he then stood up and faced Petyr and Jurgo.

“How long has she been like this?”

Petyr was the first to answer, “Five days.”

Konrad paced the room, “Tell me what happened.”

Petyr and Jurgo relayed the tale, with Petyr opening that he noted Anika had not done her chores that morning these handful of days ago. He thought nothing of it at first, going to the fields to work and resigning to chastise her later. However when she did not return in the evening, Petyr became worried and sought the help of Jurgo who too had not seen her either that entire day. The two of them began canvasing the village to see if anyone could provide her whereabouts but, for all their efforts, could not procure a lead. They both feared the worst, there had been rumors of werewolves and their foul servants terrorizing the towns and villages further north as well as in the east. It was not so far out of reality to determine that they might have made their way here also. A posse was formed from amongst the men in the village and they began a search during that very night. Fortunately they found her in a grove within the forest. The men who found her at first thought her dead, such was the smell coming from her. But they soon determined that she was breathing and rushed her back to the village and a physician was fetched.

“The d-d-d-doctor told us that she was l-l-lost to us,” Jurgo explained. “That it w-was only a m-m-matter of time before sh-she t-t-turned.”

“Aye,” Petyr nodded. “Beyond his leech-lore it seems. Told me to just kill her and get it over with. Better she die in grace rather than become an abomination. But…”

Emotion creeped into his voice. “I can’t. Monad help me I can’t. So when you arrived I-… Tell me plain, can she be cured?"

Konrad stopped a moment, went back to Anika and lifted her up into a sitting position, though she hung limply in his arms. He looked to the space between her shoulder blades.

“Hm,” he grunted before setting her back down.

“No mark?” Rayk asked, already knowing what Konrad was looking for.

Konrad shook his head no.

“Mark?” Petyr asked.

Konrad turned and looked at Petyr squarely. “Your daughter is going through the First Change, of that I am certain.”

Petyr’s eyes moistened as he fought back tears. Jurgo bowed his head, almost as if in mourning.

“These symptoms will get progressively worse until the next full moon where she will turn fully into a werewolf,” Konrad explained.

“My girl,” Petyr began to sob. “My little girl…”

Konrad placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “But she hasn’t been marked. That means that it was not the leader of their coven, the ‘Alpha’, if you will, that attempted to turn her. There is still hope.”

Rayk, anticipating his master's needs, ran outside to the horses and returned with a vial that contained a dark violet liquid. “It won’t cure her,” he said aloud. “But it’ll stop the change, for now.”

Konrad took the potion from Rayk and handed it to Petyr. “Give this to her one week before the full moon. It won’t be pleasant but you must remain steadfast because if you falter in administering it she will turn.”

“H-h-how l-long does that p-p-potion give her?” asked Jurgo.

“It will hold off the change for another cycle but the symptoms she is experiencing are taxing and will prove fatal if she isn’t cured soon.”

Konrad’s answer was like a stone in water.

“How do we cure her?” Petyr, desperate, clung to the potion in his hand like he held the world.

“I need to prepare a special balm to reverse the effects and purify her body as well as her soul. This is as much a spiritual ailment as it is a physical one. But first we need ingredients.”

Konrad withdrew his revolver from his belt, thumbing the cylinder release latch and checking to ensure the chambers were loaded. Rayk inspected his throwing knives, pulling one of them out tapping the tip of the blade.

“W-w-what kind of i-i-ingredients?”

Konrad answered: “Wolfsbane, moonwort, mistletoe, silver, holy water and…”

He paused, swinging the cylinder of his revolver shut.

“…a pelt.”