Content warning: References to menstruation ahead. Thanks to biscuitweevil for being a sounding board for me!
Jane was struggling not to stare. Never in her life had she seen someone so old.
Four strong looking young men had carried the ancient woman in on a sedan chair, lowering her gingerly onto the ground at the centre of the clearing. Thin wisps of white hair emerged from beneath her cloth turban, and her smile was toothless and gummy.
Jane glanced sideways at Gunther. His face wore a mixture of surprise and hope for a brief moment before he masked it with calm confidence.
"What a pleasure—" he began, before being cut off.
"You speak for Magnus Breech?"
This man was older than the other four, who Jane noted were all armed. He strode towards them purposefully, stopping in front of them and folding his arms over his broad chest. His brown hair was greying at the temples and he had the look of someone who carried a heavy burden and suffered for it.
"Uh, yes, I am his son, Gunther, and this is my comrade Jane. We are honoured that you agreed to meet with us."
"I am Manfri, I speak on behalf of my people."
He seemed impatient, and Jane noticed irritably that he addressed himself only to Gunther.
"You are the cursed one, then," Manfri said, eyeing Gunther with suspicion.
"Unfortunately, yes—"
"And you guarantee trade opportunities with your father in exchange for the wisdom of our elder?"
"I am certain that he would—"
"Why should we trust you? How can you prove what you say?"
Manfri's constant interruptions were beginning to grate on Jane's nerves, and on Gunther's too, she had no doubt. She bit down on her lower lip, fighting the urge to say something impolite. It seemed she was not the only one to take issue with the older man's lack of manners, as the elderly woman spoke up.
"Let the child speak, Manfri," she said. Her voice was surprisingly strong, and her accent stronger. "Your boorishness shames us all. Please excuse my grandson," she continued, turning her attention to Gunther and Jane. "He has much occupying his mind, and forgets his manners. I am Vadoma." She gave another gummy smile, but her gaze was steady, despite her watery eyes, and she examined Jane closely. "Ah yes, the small red-headed girl from the castle. I remember you, although you were dressed more appropriately then." She raised a disapproving eyebrow.
Jane drew a calming breath before replying, choosing to ignore the last comment.
"You have been to Kippernia Castle before?" She asked.
"Oh yes, on our last visit to the village we entrusted something quite precious to your king," Vadoma turned her attention to Gunther then, eyeing him up and down. "Come closer, boy."
She beckoned him with a crooked finger and Gunther obliged, although Jane could see him bristle at being called 'boy'. When he was near enough for her to reach Vadoma grasped him by the chin, pulling his face down to hers.
"Hmm, I seem to recall you, too, Merchant's son. My, you have grown handsome –has he not?" This last part she addressed to Jane, wriggling her sparse eyebrows as she spoke.
Jane was not sure how to respond so she remained quiet, noticing that Manfri was pinching the bridge of his nose, evidently embarrassed by his grandmother. She wished she could see Gunther's face, but she would settle for teasing him mercilessly later.
"And the father –so ugly!" The old lady tsked. "You take after your mother," she told Gunther matter-of-factly.
"Did you know my mother?" Gunther asked, his voice more eager than Jane had ever heard it.
"She was lovely to look upon, but we never spoke. Now as for you, my boy, let me look closer." Vadoma pulled Gunther even nearer, staring into his eyes while the young squire tried not to squirm in her grip.
There was a short silence while she examined Gunther, and Jane watched the rest of the party. If they were planning an ambush now would be the opportune time to strike. Nothing happened, however, and Vadoma released Gunther who stepped back, rubbing his chin.
"Hmm, my my my," she said. "What a silly boy you have been, so easily turned around." She tutted disapprovingly. "I see now why your young lady must chaperone you."
"What? No, I—" Gunther shook his head in frustration. "Can you help me?" he asked.
Jane couldn't help feeling like she was only hearing half of the conversation; that the old lady knew more about the situation than Jane herself.
"What an interesting question." Vadoma hummed quietly to herself, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair as she thought. Her eyes never left Gunther's as she mused, although it seemed to Jane like she was staring through him rather than at him.
"You must help yourself," she said at last, and then gestured for the young men to carry her away.
Jane blinked. What?
"What?" Asked Gunther, confused. "No, please, I need help!"
"Yes, and you must help yourself. I am sorry, dear boy. With your problem . . . there is no other way." Vadoma's chair rose into the air onto the shoulders of her bearers, who shuffled around in a slow circle to journey back the way they had come.
Gunther stood in place, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground.
"Wait!" Called Jane, fists clenched.
She was preparing to march after Vadoma and demand she do . . . something when Gunther raised his hand.
"Jane, stop," he said flatly. He turned to Manfri, "We appreciate your time, thank you for meeting with us."
"Yes," said Manfri, turning to leave. He hesitated, before turning back to Gunther. "My grandmother may be blunt but she is seldom mistaken in these matters. I am sorry we could not help you further. We will be travelling along this road for a few more days if there is something else we can do."
"I thank you," said Gunther. His voice was calm but it lacked the energy he'd had earlier. "My friend here will welcome you to Kippernia should I be . . . absent for your arrival. I know the village will be pleased by your coming."
Manfri nodded tersely before returning to his grandmother's side. She had halted the progress of the chair while Manfri spoke, and now she called over her shoulder.
"Would the girl care to join us for the journey?"
Manfri looked at his grandmother in confusion, but Gunther's expression was calm when he turned to Jane.
"I will not blame you," he said quietly.
"No, thank you," replied Jane loudly enough for everyone in the clearing to hear, although her glare was directed at Gunther. "I will do whatever I can to help my friend."
"Very well," said Vadoma lightly. "We are easy enough to find, in any case."
They left the clearing then and made their way back onto the road, slowly disappearing from sight.
When they had gone Jane turned to Gunther angrily. "What was that-?!" she began, but stopped when Gunther looked at her. He was smiling wryly, with a defeated look Jane had seen him wear in the sparring yard a time or two.
"You cannot give up!" She told him firmly. "We can keep trying; we will find someone else to ask. She cannot be the only ridiculously old person in the entire country!"
Gunther smiled again, and reached over to squeeze Jane's shoulder.
"I will be alright," he said, forcing lightness into his voice. "I have not given up, but that did not go at all according to plan. We did not even get any spices," he sighed.
"Well I think it would be best if we rest here for another day," said Jane briskly, walking to the fire and stoking up the struggling embers. "The break will do us both good and we can plan our next move."
She looked at Gunther, prepared to argue until she had her way, but he merely shrugged.
"As you like. Perhaps I will go hunting tonight anyway."
He moved to sit at the base of a tree, plucking a blade of grass and rolling it between his thumb and finger. Jane decided to leave him to his thoughts for a time, happy to avoid an argument. She was even happier to avoid another day of walking. There was a dull ache in her lower back and she was not looking forward to returning to the road. She sat beside Gunther under the tree and looked up at the canopy, watching the leaves stirring in the breeze.
There was the snap of a twig as Gunther broke one in half and began chewing the end, offering the other half to Jane, who accepted it.
They sat for some time, chewing their twigs as they mulled over their predicament.
"What did she mean, 'you must help yourself'?" Jane said eventually. "That is why you are on this quest in the first place!"
She looked at Gunther, who was calmly shredding a leaf into small pieces and letting them flutter to the ground.
"I do not understand you at all Gunther Breech! How can you just sit there after she refused to help you?!" Jane exploded. "We should march down that road and make her tell us what she meant!"
Jane moved to get up but Gunther put a restraining hand on her arm.
"Please Jane," he said, not looking at her.
Jane sat back with a sigh.
"Tell me, Gunther. Do you know what she meant?"
"I think so, but I do not like it and neither will you." He blew irritably at an errant strand of hair hanging in his face.
"The werewolf who bit me . . . No, not that. The werewolf I can become," he began, still gazing ahead. "It is a choice. If I choose it; the power, the strength, the speed, I will become it. I do not have to wait until the full moon. It nearly happened when you were hanging off that cliff, with the wolves." He turned to look at Jane briefly. "I do not remember that distinctly. I only know it lurks, and tempts me with abilities I cannot comprehend. Every day I must balance it against my self will, and each day the scale is weighted more in its favour. Come the full moon all choice is gone."
"I do not understand," said Jane again, more restrained now. "Was Vadoma telling you not to choose it? Because you have already made that choice! You do not want it—right, Gunther?" She tried to sound certain, but the way he spoke about the power . . . .
"No I do not, although if I could have the strength without the ears and tail I would be a powerful knight." Gunther gave a grim smile at the look on Jane's face. "Do not worry Jane, I promise I do not want it. I am tired of looking at people and seeing prey. My first instincts now are not mine, Jane. Something truly evil exists within me and I have no say in it."
"But if you do not choose it, and refuse to choose it, will it not just go away?" Jane asked.
"It knows it only has to wait until the full moon. I cannot avoid moonlight for the rest of my life."
Gunther looked up at the canopy above, his head resting against the trunk of the tree. The rough bark clutched at his hair.
"No, either I choose the monster or I choose . . ." he trailed off.
"Gunther . . ." said Jane, trying very hard not to jump to awful conclusions. "There must be another choice. In fact I am sure of it, and we will find it."
Gunther tipped his head to the side and gave Jane a small smile. "I am glad you are here Jane."
"I—uh, me too," Jane swallowed, suddenly warm. "What did she mean, about you being easily turned around?" She asked after a brief pause.
"Oh," Gunther snorted derisively. "She did not know what she was talking about."
Jane raised an eyebrow, a disbelieving look on her face. Gunther sighed.
"There was a girl, a woman, at the village when I went to kill the werewolf. She was pretty and she . . . took a liking to me, I suppose," he shrugged. "She was nice at first, but then she started talking about how she hated the village, about us running away together, odd things like that. I should have been paying more attention but I was so stupidly focused on finding a monster, I could not see . . . Anyway, I said she could come back to Kippernium with me when I was done but that was not what she wanted. She wanted much more."
"She was the werewolf?" Jane guessed.
"Mmm, and she wanted me to join her. She wanted us to live like animals. She hunted and killed people for fun, Jane! I still cannot believe I did not see it was her. She chose the monster, and until she transformed and bit me I did not even know it." He rubbed at his eyes, clearly still frustrated by his perceived failure. "I tried reasoning with her, to convince her to hold onto her humanity, but I was wasting my breath. She—it kept talking about waiting for someone strong, someone like me to join her. She said that our offspring would be true werewolves and nothing would stop our pack. So when she began to change again I shot her. I killed her."
"You did the right thing," said Jane, firmly. "You stopped her from harming anyone else."
"How many more might I have saved if I had not been so blind?"
"You are not responsible for the lives she took; only she can answer for that. You said yourself it is a choice," Jane reminded him.
"I was rather slow at figuring out what the bite truly meant, too," said Gunther with a self-depreciating smile. "It did not pain me much, and I felt fine when I rode out of the village. I thought my horse was misbehaving because of the corpse, but then I began to realise there was another . . . something in my head with me." He shuddered.
There was a brief silence, before Jane remembered something else that had been troubling her.
"So when you made that comment about never trusting a woman . . . " she began.
"Oh, do not worry, Jane. I was in a particularly bad mood," said Gunther. "Besides," he continued easily. "I do not think of you that way."
Jane paused, unsure how to take that. Was it a compliment? A small part of her seemed to be saying ouch, but she pushed it aside in frustration.
"So, what now?" She asked. "We need a new plan."
"We keep walking, I suppose," Gunther shrugged. "But I like your idea about resting today."
He stretched his legs out, making himself more comfortable before closing his eyes.
Jane couldn't help smiling. Gunther had always been able to fall asleep anywhere. She, on the other hand, had too much to think about. She sat quietly, listening to his even breathing, and tried to come up with a new strategy.
The remainder of the day passed quickly as the squires rested, enjoying the respite from the constant walking they had been doing for the past however many weeks. Jane had lost track, the monotony of endless days on the road interfering with her sense of time.
This day stood out; a marked improvement in many ways. Relaxing, talking, planning and unwinding despite their unchanged situation. Even Gunther had benefited, although his morning meeting had not gone as planned.
He was building up the fire as dusk settled, calmly moving around their camp in a civilised manner, his entire demeanour much improved. The messy scruff on his cheeks was entirely foreign to Jane compared to his usual clean-shaven look, but she still saw more of Gunther in him today than she had in quite a while.
"What?" He asked suddenly, and Jane realised she had been caught staring.
"Oh, um . . ." Thinking quickly, Jane asked "Do you think it was the fluff on your face that Vadoma found most attractive? Or is her failing eyesight to blame?"
Raising a hand to his face and realising just how hairy it was, Gunther smirked. "No doubt my beard is irresistible to most women, but I wouldn't expect you to understand, Jane."
There it was again; that implication that he saw her as . . . What? Jane asked herself. Not a woman? She had to admit that bothered her, but she couldn't put a finger on why. She had spent her entire adolescence wanting Gunther to see her as an equal and now it seemed he did, almost too much.
"You are right," she said instead. "I really do not see the appeal. You look like an—" She stopped herself just in time. An animal, she had almost said. "A pauper," she finished weakly. Gunther would definitely take that as an insult, Jane knew.
"Now I am going to go wash at the creek before it is dark," she said, before marching toward the path out of the clearing.
Ooooo
Rolled up in her blanket near the fire, Jane stirred in her sleep. The ground underneath was hard, and a small stone she had missed when preparing her bed was digging into her ribs. The smoke from the fire lingered in the clearing, without a breeze to carry it away. Winged insects hovered in the air as well, and one buzzed by her ear.
But none of this was responsible for waking Jane. In fact it was a sharp pain in her gut, frustratingly familiar. It had faded before she was fully awake and Jane hoped she had imagined it, but unfortunately it came again. Jane rolled over with a groan, reaching for her pack. She really had lost track of the days.
Peering around the campfire Jane realised that Gunther was still gone, off hunting as promised. She thanked the gods for small mercies before reaching into her pack.
In some ways perhaps it would be good if Gunther's view of her was accurate, and she wasn't really a woman, Jane mused as the sharp pain came once more.
When Jane woke again it was to the sound of agony, but it was not her own. She bolted upright, struggling to free her arms from her blanket and searching for the small knife she always kept beside her as she slept.
The noise came again, a groan from across the clearing. Jane looked around, her eyes adjusting to the early morning light.
"Gunther?" She gasped, finally breaking free of her blanket and moving towards her comrade, who was crumpled under a tree at the edge of their camp. "Are you injured?"
"Stop!" He yelled, his voice riddled with pain. "Stay away!"
Jane stopped short, knife in her hand although she didn't realise she held it.
"I do not understand, Gunther! Let me help you!" She took another step, but stopped again as he shouted at her.
"Stop! You must stay away from me!" His hands were clutching at the sides of his head as he knelt on the ground, shaking.
"What is happening?!" Jane yelled back, rooted in place. "Let me help!" It was not the full moon, she knew. She had not been so reckless as to lose track of that.
Gunther had dropped one hand to grab at the bark of the tree he huddled under, as though anchoring himself to it. His other hand remained tangled in his hair, and he was muttering something over and over. Straining to hear, Jane was confused to hear her own name.
"Jane Jane Jane Jane Jane . . . " Again and again like a prayer, or perhaps a curse.
"Let me help you," Jane pleaded again. "What can I do? What do you need?"
"Jane, Jane go! Go Jane, please, Jane, oh, Jane," he moaned, and it wasn't in pain, but something else entirely, and the hair stood up on the back of Jane's neck.
"What—why? I will not-!"
"JANE GO AWAY!" Gunther roared at her then, finally lifting his head to look at her.
Jane stepped back in spite of herself, true fear prickling all over her body. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her knife, sweat forming on her palms.
Gunther was not himself. Physically human, but there was a monster behind his eyes, snarling through his mouth and fighting against him.
"Gods Jane," he moaned again. "You are –oh, your smell. I need you, I need you, I need you . . . to . . . go."
Realisation hit Jane in a dizzying, nauseating wave.
"Oh sard," she cursed, heat rushing to her cheeks. "Oh, no."
Horror, humiliation and sheer terror gripped her as she rushed to gather up her pack and sword, her blanket lying forgotten as she left the clearing. Gunther held tightly to his tree, still muttering.
"Run, run, Jane RUN!" Was the last thing Jane heard, and then she ran.
