Koudelka
Grace Barton
Chapter One
A loud boom echoed throughout the monastery. Koudelka, holding the doorknocker, rang again. The sound of her knocking echoed throughout the building. It returned to her without reply, and no one came to answer the door.
Letting go of the knocker, Koudelka took a step back and looked up at the building. It was so quiet. There was no sign of life anywhere, not even a flicker of light in the windows. Everywhere was dark and lifeless.
But there was life in the building. Koudelka could sense it. There were people living in the building, though why they did not answer her calls, she did not know.
Life was not the only thing she sensed. She could also sense death, and a great evil. There was evil brewing inside the building, so thick it was almost tangible. Koudelka was not surprised. Despite being buildings dedicated wholly to the Church and the Christian faith, the monasteries were breeding places for corruption and malevolence. Some of the cruellest atrocities were committed in places of worship, and they would continue to do so, she had no doubt.
Since she had gotten no answer to her calls, Koudelka left the door and returned to her horse. She looked up at the building again, with its rising high walls. She pursed her lips, frowning. She would have to find some other way into the building, then.
Taking the horse's reins, she led the mare around the side of the building. A raven began to caw, breaking the night's silence. The sound unsettled the mare, who whinnied and tugged at the rains. Koudelka stopped for a moment to calm it down before continuing on.
She walked around until she came to the side of the building. The windows here were dark as well, and she noticed that there were bars over the glass. The glass was so thick with dirt and dust that it was impossible to see inside, so she didn't try.
As she came by one of the windows, she was surprised to find that there were bags gathered by it. Leaving her horse for a moment, Koudelka knelt down.
"What's this…?" she wondered.
She made a quick search of the bags. There was nothing of interest: a tent, items for a campfire, some clothing, and a few bits of leftover food. There was nothing of use she could take, so she left the bags alone and turned to leave.
Then something else caught her eye. Turning back, she looked up at the wall. There was a rope dangling here, swaying gently in the night's breeze. Koudelka raised her gaze to the roof, where the rope was hanging over the side. So there is someone else here, she thought. Almost instinctively she reached her hand into her pouch and felt for her dagger. Her fingers brushed the hilt and she brought it up towards the top, ready to be drawn if she needed it.
With her knife secure, Koudelka untied her cloak. She pushed back the hood, letting it fall against her shoulders. She shook out her brown hair, tied into a ponytail.
Leaving her mare tethered to the bags on the ground, Koudelka began to climb the rope. It was secure; hooked onto one of the sharp spires on the rooftop. When she reached the top, Koudelka grabbed onto that spire and pulled herself onto the roof. After a brief look around, she swung her legs over and sat, peering down.
Once she looked inside the perimeter, Koudelka knew she was wrong. This could not be a monastery. It looked more like an abandoned village. There was a church, of course, but what village did not have a church? All the houses were dark and empty, seemingly devoid of all life. The dark clouds hanging low in the sky cast even darker shadows onto the place, and Koudelka had the distinct impression that the area was being swallowed up in darkness. Realising that thought, she shook her head.
She looked around her. The voice that had brought her here was to be found somewhere in this place. Somehow, she needed to get inside.
With that thought in mind, Koudelka stood up. Using the roof spires as handholds, she made her way along the roof, all the while looking about for a way to get inside. She reached one of the chimneys and grasped onto the brickwork, pulling herself along.
When she left the chimney and grabbed the next spire, it jerked and pulled away. Koudelka let out a cry as she slipped down the roof. She hit the roof of one of the windows and grabbed onto the tiles, saving herself from falling. She then leaned back as the spire fell past her, scraping across her shoulders. The sharp prongs cut through the rope of her pendant, sending the item hurtling towards the ground.
Koudelka grasped her neck. Her pendant was her charm, which she used to protect herself against the great evils of the world. Without it, she was vulnerable. Still, she thought as she released her neck, there was no use crying about it now.
The near-fall had also dealt her a lucky blow. She had stopped right by one of the windows, which meant that now she had a way to get in. The glass panes had fallen out long ago, so Koudelka kicked straight through the frame and climbed inside. There was no ledge there, so Koudelka leapt onto the rafters and then dropped down onto the floor.
The room she had landed in appeared to be barren. The air was thick with dust and a heavy, musky scent that made Koudelka's nose wrinkle in disgust. There were several old crates and tables too; some were stacked neatly, while others appeared to have been thrown carelessly about the room and lay in broken piles.
Koudelka would have thought a little further about this, had she not then noticed the fireplace. The fire was lit, and there were fresh, albeit old, logs burning. The fire did little to take the chill off the room, but it was a welcome change from the cold outside. Seeing that fire made Koudelka realise something else: Someone else has been here. The mysterious owner of the bags, perhaps?
Her eyes then fell on the door. Or, more specifically, to a young man who was lying slumped against it.
It did not take a genius to tell that he had been in a fight. His body was beaten and bloody, and his clothes were torn in places. He had several cuts to his face, including a gash just above his right eye that left a trail of blood across his cheek. Even in the firelight, Koudelka could see that his skin was pale with fever and had the signs of someone with severe dehydration: cracked, dry lips, weakness of the limbs, and chills. He was near death.
Now, Koudelka was not a very compassionate woman. In fact, she had learnt early on in life that you had to be strong in order to survive in this world. Even a person on the verge of death can be a deadly enemy if you let them get close enough. So even though this man appeared to be so physically weak he could barely move anymore, she did not lower her guard. Reaching into her pouch, she drew her knife. Clasping it behind her, she approached him with caution.
Hearing her footsteps, the man opened his eyes and raised his head to look at her. Koudelka froze, startled. The man had blue eyes that stared at her so intensely that for a moment she was taken aback. Then she recovered and pursed her lips together, staring back at him coldly.
The man stared at her for a second or two, before he cussed and turned his head away. "Check your wristwatch, Angel. I'm not dead yet."
"Not yet," Koudelka replied, "but from the looks of you, it's not going to be long." She gripped her knife handle tighter.
"True," the man confessed. He raised his head again. "However, I have some unfinished business to attend to first, so you're just going to have to wait a little longer, okay?"
Koudelka tilted her head. She looked down at his hand, which held a small pistol. The man was so weak that his hand shook as he tried to lift it. Somehow he managed it, and he raised the gun towards her. Seeing his sloppy, shaky aim, Koudelka let out a curt laugh.
"Please, you would not be able to shoot anything in your state," she mocked. "Weak as you are, you won't even live long enough to pull the trigger. Why don't you just give up and die?"
"Can't do that," the man answered, and his gaze shifted away from her. "Not until I've killed that thing. Two or three shots ought to do it."
Koudelka was about to ask him 'Kill what?' when she heard a faint sound coming from behind her. It was the sound of footsteps, along with a swishing sound she couldn't identify. A puff of warm breath touched her shoulder. Gripping her knife, Koudelka turned her head.
It was a werewolf. But unlike those described in fairy tales, this one was almost seven feet tall with a lanky body covered in thin grey-brown fur. The creature must have been half-starved and had gone mad with hunger. Its long arms dangled at its sides, tipped with jagged claws it had broken in its fight with the man.
But it was its face that frightened Koudelka the most. Its eyes were large and bulging out of their sockets, the whites coloured a sickly yellow. Tiny black pupils glared at Koudelka with such hunger and rage that she could not believe this monster may once have been human. The werewolf roared, and Koudelka saw a row of wide, flat teeth that were yellowed and stained. A pungent, foul stench—its breath—wafted into her face.
Startled by the werewolf's appearance, Koudelka let out a gasp. Acting on instinct alone, she turned and thrust her dagger into its gut. The werewolf roared in pain and stepped back, yanking the dagger out of her hand. The monster then swung a hand and knocked Koudelka off her feet, sending her sliding across the floor.
The werewolf looked down at the knife still embedded in its gut. It yanked the blade out, sniffed its blood, and then threw the blade onto the ground. The monster turned towards Koudelka, who was just getting onto her feet.
The beast jumped onto a nearby table and scrabbled over to her. Koudelka looked up in time to see it swipe its hand, and she ducked again. She crawled under the table, crying out as the monster ducked over the side and tried to claw at her. Eventually she came out from under the table and made a dash across the room.
The werewolf was faster. It leapt off the table and landed in front of her. This time Koudelka did not have time to react as it swung at her and dealt a blow across her torso. Again Koudelka was thrown from her feet. She staggered, lost her balance and fell against a wooden bar near to the fireplace. She fell back and banged her head against the frame, knocking her out.
Smelling fresh blood, the werewolf began to walk towards her. It then halted as a gunshot fired past its face and struck the wall. The monster turned as the man cocked his pistol and took another shot, but in his weakened state his aim slipped and he missed again. The werewolf let out a growl and then turned its back on him, returning its attention to Koudelka. Its thick tongue licked its teeth, and it resumed walking towards her.
Knowing he did not have the strength left for a third shot, the man shouted out to Koudelka. "Hey, hey, lady!" he called. "Take my gun and shoot it!"
With the last of his strength, he threw the gun. His aim was not perfect, but when it landed it skidded across the ground to where Koudelka lay.
Koudelka could hear the werewolf approaching. When she opened her eyes she saw it drawing closer; it was almost by the bar she had crashed through. She also saw the gun, lying just within reach. Stretching out her hand, she reached for it. As her fingers closed around the weapon, her head cleared. Forcing herself to sit up, Koudelka raised the gun and shot at the monster.
As the bullet struck home, the werewolf roared in agony. It clutched its wounded gut as more blood poured from its wound. The yellow eyes bulged and glared at Koudelka. The monster snarled and then leapt at her.
Leaning back against the fireplace, Koudelka fired two more shots. The first hit the monster's torso, and the second went right into its skull. The monster landed in front of her, and Koudelka had to scrabble out of the way before it slumped forward, facedown into the fire. The flames swept over its face and the monster, still alive, pulled itself out of the fire.
With its dying throes, the monster shrieked. It was the most terrifying sound Koudelka had ever heard: the cries of a dying beast. To put it out of its misery, Koudelka fired two more shots into its head. The werewolf let out one final gurgle and then fell still, even as the flames on its body flickered and died out.
Koudelka lowered the gun. Letting out a shaky breath, she sank to her knees in relief. She had been lucky. Werewolves were dangerous creatures. This one was half-starved and weakened, acting on desperation and self-preservation. If she had fought it at its full strength, she would have been killed quite easily.
Once she had recovered her nerves, Koudelka pushed herself to her feet again. She looked over at the young man, who was now slumped against the doorway with no signs of life. Koudelka was partially relieved, for if he was dead that meant she no longer owed him a favour for saving her life. Still, it was best to make sure that he was dead before she left him behind.
She knelt beside him and checked for a pulse. It was still there, albeit weak. The exertion of trying to fight and then throwing her gun had weakened him almost to the point of death. Pity, Koudelka thought.
She stood up and folded her arms, thinking about what she should do. If she were merciful, she would kill him now and end his suffering. That was, if she was merciful. Koudelka was not completely without feeling, but she also held very little regard for the other humans of this world. This man's death would mean nothing to her.
Eventually deciding that letting the man die on his own was a better choice, Koudelka started to turn away. As she did, the man opened his eyes and raised his head.
"What about him?" he asked, his voice low.
Koudelka looked at him, and then over at the body of the werewolf. "He's dead," she replied, turning back to him.
She threw the pistol into his lap. The man picked it up and held it in his hands. His fingers caressed the barrel.
"I see," he said. He cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. It let out an empty click—the gun was empty. "You know, this baby's been mine ever since I was a teenager. Probably the only thing my father ever gave me." His face grew melancholy, and he looked up at Koudelka. "Hey, Angel, I won't ask that you take me to Heaven or anything, but could you offer me a prayer? You know, to see me on my way?"
Koudelka almost scoffed. "Are you out of your mind!?" she demanded. "There is no bloody way I am going to pray for you." Then she sighed and put her hand on her hip. "I won't pray for you," she said, "but there is one thing I can do for you."
The man stared at her as she knelt down beside him.
"Think of this as payback for saving me back there," Koudelka told him.
She closed her eyes. Raising her arms, she held them out in front of her. Then she drew her hands towards her and curved them up to bring them down again in a sweeping gesture. Once in a rhythm, Koudelka began to chant in a whispery voice.
The man stared at her, wondering what she was up to. Then he winced as he felt a twinge in his body. It happened again, and then again, in time with Koudelka's sweeping gestures. Soon all the wounds in his body were tingling. His skin grew hot, and he felt as though he was burning up.
"Argh!" he cried, clutching his gut.
"Shut up," Koudelka snapped in-between chants.
She carried on. As she continued, the wounds on the man's flesh began to heal. Fresh skin knitted over the wounds, healing them as though they had never been there. Even the blood on the man's face dried up until there was not a spot left.
Once all the wounds were healed, Koudelka broke herself from her trance. She slumped forward, catching herself just in time. She panted, and sweat trickled down her brow. Healing his wounds was harder than she had anticipated.
"Okay," she said, once she had caught her breath. "You're fine now. Get up and let's go." She stood and started to walk away. Then, realising that the man had not moved, she looked back. "Didn't you hear me? I said, get up!"
But the man did not move. He was staring at his hands and patting at his clothing, making sure that he was not in fact dreaming.
"How—how did you do that?" he asked her. "I was almost dead, but now there's not a mark on me. What did you do to me?"
"Oh, get over yourself," Koudelka sighed. "I just cured you, that's all."
"Cured me?" the man repeated. He blinked and shook his head. "But, I was almost dead. So, are you really an angel, after all?"
"Of course not," snapped Koudelka, losing patience. "There are no angels on this earth. And if there were, they wouldn't waste their time healing the likes of you. I'm just a medium with healing powers. If you prefer," she added, seeing the man staring at his hands again, "I have spells that can restore the damage."
The man shook his head. "No, no, this is fine! Thank you!" he said. He took one last look at his hands and then, seeing Koudelka's glare, thrust his hands behind him. "I'm Edward, Edward J. Plunkett."
"Oh, really…?" Koudelka asked, uninterested. "And tell me, Mr Plunkett, just what is a shady person like you doing in a place like this?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Edward responded, looking hurt. "Besides, I'm not as shady as you think."
"Good for you," said Koudelka. "So why are you here?"
"I heard a rumour."
"A rumour?"
Edward nodded. "The rumour went that some rich guy had bought an old monastery in Wales and spent a ton of money converting it into a house. It was also said that he brought a lot of harlots with him from London. It apparently caused quite a stir with the Church!"
Koudelka folded her arms. "How fascinating," she remarked. "So, where is this monastery?"
"Beats me," said Edward with a shrug. "When I got here, no one would answer the door so I had to make my own way in. Then, as soon as I got in, that thing attacked me! I've been stuck here ever since, trying to keep it from eating me. I'm telling you, lady, if you hadn't shown up when you did, it would be chewing on my leg right about now."
He looked up at Koudelka, only to find that she was no longer listening. She had turned away from him and was muttering to herself.
"Hey, hey!" he said, trying to grab her attention. "Aren't you listening to me? Hey, lady!"
Koudelka snapped around. "Stop talking!" she ordered, and her gaze was so fierce that Edward did stop. "If you call me 'lady' one more time, you will wish I had killed you instead. For the record, my name is Koudelka Iasant. And I will only tell you my name once, so do not forget it. Understand?"
Edward gave a slight nod. Koudelka sighed. She was also regretting her decision of saving this man's life. Still, it was done with now.
"Okay," she said at last. "Here's the deal. If you want to get out of this place in one piece, I advise that you stick very close to me. Got it?"
She held out her hand. Edward glanced at it. Then he took it, and Koudelka pulled him to his feet. He held her hand a moment longer, giving her a nod.
"A pleasure to meet you, Koudelka."