CONTENT WARNING: Violence, pictured blood, mentions of misogyny. The usual talk of harming others that we've likely all grown used to.
[Excerpt from Musings on Lycanthropes and Other Manbeasts of Myth and Legend]
Author's illustration of a lycanthrope (art by me!)
These beasts, they roam in the dead of night, under the light of the full moon- known to induce abnormal behaviour in humans. If you should travel at night under the full moon, exercise caution, for the moon induces a kind of insanity in man and beast alike.
Little ancient study of lycanthropes has been found, yet a fragment of an old legend exists. The ancient peoples believed that wolves howled at the moon not just as a communicative tool, but to offload their concerns and life stressors onto it. Certain people who were particularly influenced by the full moon's light became infected with the brunt of the emotions that were shared with it by the wolves, and by the manbeasts that soon arose. It is often thought by scholars that the recent industrial advances may have an effect on our sun and moon- the antithesis of nature versus two celestial bodies that nature could not exist without.
I believe that this is true, and that both of these reasons may be why they are bloodthirsty as they are. They have the anger of the Earth itself coursing through their veins.
Many mysteries still exist about lycanthropes, their origins and their behaviour. Is it solely the full moon that causes their transformation, or are there other factors?
After all, to what extent is a lycanthrope a human, and to what extent is it a wolf? Is the lycanthrope aware of its atrocities, or is it merely an animal guided by nature and instinct?
Katlego
This past month has been wondrous! The Simoleons are rolling in, and I've made quite the impression on the local community. Though, as my money grows, so does my employee- and although she is hard-working, I can't have her working hard forever.
I wasn't sure what to think of Áine at first, but she seems fairly harmless. I don't mind her being here, but if she's pregnant, then she can't stay here forever. I barely have room for the two of us, let alone three...maybe four...maybe five people!
Before I had the chance to discuss her eventual need to move out from this house in some months' time, there's a loud and unfamiliar knock at the door. The witchfinder again, I wonder? - no. As it turns out, it is someone entirely different. Apparently every man in Henford has the exact same stern expression.
"What do you think you're doing?! I am the only healer in Henford, and it will remain as such! I will not allow your business to conflict with my own. I am Samuel Annorin, the famous healer and alchemist, and I will not tolerate other people trying to cancel out my business!"
My customers have told me about him. He charges extortionate prices for his cures that many of the common folk cannot afford. It is why many of them come to me.
"If you're so famous then how come I haven't heard of you? And who are you tell me where I conduct my business? I conduct my business out in the middle of nowhere. How on Earth is that stopping you from earning any money? From what I hear, maybe if you dropped your prices you'd actually have some income."
"Drop my prices? My prices are cheaper than they are in some places! Do you have no idea of the state of medical care in the city of San Myshuno? People come from all over that area to me because they cannot afford potions or medicines where they live. They consider me a saviour!"
"A saviour, hm? A saviour for the rich, perhaps, but not the common people who do all the jobs people like you wouldn't touch with a forty-foot pole. Shove your draconian business practice where the sun doesn't shine. I'm staying here, and I will keep helping people for whatever coin they can give me. If your business is threatened by a folk healer earning less than five per cent of your wage, then you need to grow a backbone. Now, begone- I have herbal remedies to brew."
The man leaves with a childish huff, and I go back to business as usual- that is, after I've finished giving Nia her daily hose of hugs and forehead kisses.
Gideon
When Brádach and I heard the news of werewolf sightings through Lord Volpe, we headed straight to the apparent scene of the crime. I still haven't told him about what happened with the witch. Didn't have the energy. Maybe if I can find this wolf, however...
My head hurts, and I awoke this morning in a mess of mourning and guilt that I don't fully understand.
Even in my profession, you never get used to the dead bodies. The smell of decay, as well as the body voiding itself...
This guy looks pretty banged-up. Blood everywhere, claw marks all over him. Brádach wonders if it may have been an ordinary wolf. Superstition is high right now, so people could easily mistake the shadow of a normal wolf for a monstrous one- but no normal wolf has claws like that.
"I thought all of the werewolves were killed ages ago? Not only that, but don't werewolves only turn on a night with a full moon? Yesterday definitely wasn't a full moon. I doubted it until I saw the size of those gashes in his arms and legs, but it doesn't make sense."
"Then why did you drag us out here if you didn't think it was plausible?"
"Think about it, Brádach- werewolf on the loose. I kill the werewolf, and I probably get paid a nice sum. Of course, it's probably dangerous work and they're probably harder than a witch to catch. Still, it's worth it if I can make a good few Simoleons off it. Then we can sell the pelt, the skull...It'll keep the roof over our heads and my kids' stomachs full. It'd be nice to finally treat them as well."
He doesn't seem totally convinced by that, but he's also confused about the situation. The vampires and the werewolves were a threat not long before the witch-hunts took off properly. Everyone thought there were no more werewolves, at least in Henford and the surrounding country. Maybe it's one from another country?
"I don't know too much about werewolves, Gideon, but I know that they too are creatures of some kind of magic. One theory is that a wolf's howl unloads its anger onto the moon, and the full moon can unload that wolfish anger onto a person. Something like that. There's also a branch of witchcraft that focuses on lunar magic, but I don't know if the two have anything in common."
For someone who was supposed to know a lot about magic, Brádach knew bugger-all, but he still knew more than me. Daniel and Josiah are being taught to read by the neighbours, and they're teaching me slowly. Once I get a good hang of it, I plan to pore through those old books on magic. Once I know the history of witches, it'll give me more of an edge on how to catch them. For now, we look around the area for more signs of a werewolf.
[Letter to Reynold Morgan]
Dear Prior R. Morgan,
I understand that you are to take Mother J. Milburn's place as leader of the Peteran Monastery of Withernham once you are able. I invite you to my cathedral just outside of Finchwick. It would be wise for us to get to know each other. Any time during an afternoon would be ideal. I look forward to your visit.
Fear the wrath of The Watcher.
- Eye of Jacob J. Jourdain
I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about going to the Jacoban cathedral. I don't know if I want to meet this man, nor do I want to particularly see Clementia again so soon. Then again, perhaps it's necessary. Judging by what Mother Joyce has told me, Shepherd Julian is not an entirely pleasant man. I'll have to discard all my priestly politeness and put my foot down with him- firm enough to not to be a doormat, not so firm that he thinks I'm insulting him. It seems he's expecting me either way.
"I will warn you, Brother Reynold, his stances on witchcraft-"
"I know. I've spent my entire life hearing what'll inevitably pour out of his mouth. Don't worry. I'm going to take up his offer."
I decide I won't wear the Peteran robes into the cathedral. He might take it as a sign of disrespect. Mother Joyce says she'll do this morning's sermon. I want to get this over with as soon as I'm able.
* * *
The cathedral is a sight to behold, but not in a good way. It looks like something straight out of one of those gothic tales of monsters. The iron fences, the stone, the stained glass- the place really does make you feel insignificant to the world...though, given the Jacobans, I guess that's the whole point.
The intricate stained glass pictures a near-formless creature with many eyes and hands burning the land beneath with its gaze. Is this how the Jacobans of old saw the Watcher?
As I enter, there's an eerie coldness. I expect everyone to turn around, but no-one does. Everyone looks more or less terrified, save for a calm-looking silhouette which I can only assume is my sister. The man at the pulpit has everyone encaptured within his fervent tirade...the High Shepherd and his flock.
"The witches and all of the plague and famine they have caused upon this country...This is our punishment for our wrongdoings! The Watcher's wrath is eternal. The tyranny of the witches will end- but only with our retribution!"
It is taking all of my strength to not speak out, and to hold my nerve. Hopefully he doesn't see me clenching my fists.
I knew very little about Julian Jourdain, other than the fact he hails from Champs les Sims and that Mother Joyce considers him something of a thorn in her side for reasons I'm likely soon to find out.
"We must all be completely and utterly honest with The Watcher about our errors, lest They only bring further punishment upon us all for what we have done! Remember, the Eyes of the Watcher are always upon you. The only way we can overcome this dark moment in history and protect our fellow people is by fighting back against the menace of magic, and by joining the ranks of the Jacoban cathedral!"
"No matter what ills may come to this country, as the Eye of Jacob, I will be your guide. If you have fallen astray from the path of righteousness, I will do everything in my power to correct it. The only way you can hope for another chance is by honesty and absolution- that is, unless you want to face the Watcher's wrath for yourself!"
Not a goodbye, nor a thank-you. He just dismisses them from the church. My sister stays, heading into another part of the church. He turns his head to face me, and I approach him slowly, with deep breaths. I can't let him or his elitism intimidate me. His stance reminds me of a bull about to charge.
"I'm afraid the sermon has just finished. You'll have to return tomorrow."
"I'm not here for that," I say, firmly. "I'm here because you requested me here by letter."
He lifts an eyebrow, and snickers. "Ah. I expected someone more...experienced. You must be Prior Morgan. I hope you realise what you are undertaking. Mother Joyce was rather a great leader. You have a lot to live up to."
I offer a handshake, but his own hands remain at his side, balled into fists.
"I am the Eye of Jacob of this cathedral, High Shepherd Julian Jourdain. I appreciate your visit. I would like to ask you to dine with me in my quarters."
Shepherd Julian leads me through a cold and daunting stone corridor, and once we arrive, I take a step back. His own quarters within the church is seeped in luxury. Now I know where all of those donations go, at least...he lives in more luxury than anyone in Finchwick does. There are antiques everywhere and expensive decorations, including what looks like ancient Selvadoradan artefacts on the mantelpiece.
He lays out a platter of meat and pours a cup of some sort of non-alcoholic wine. I don't touch it at first, but he takes a sip out of my cup. "Be my guest, Prior Morgan- it's completely safe."
Julian
Prior Morgan is not what I expected, at all. I expected someone older. How does Mother Joyce expect someone so young to successfully succeed her? Either way, he seems rather quiet. I ought to try and drive some conversation out of him.
"Your sister is an asset to the cathedral, Prior Morgan. A brilliant swordswoman on top of that. She'll be a perfect High Shepherd, should the need arise. I do not understand why so many people are so against the idea of a High Shepherdess. Women are much more capable than many seem to think. I used to never think as such when I was your age, Prior Morgan, but the years since have taught me otherwise."
His eyes widen like an owl's for a moment. Many are surprised to hear such progression from the Jacoban cathedral. In fact, plenty of people have left the Jacoban church over my decision to have Shepherdess Clementia succeed me- but I do not need those people under my roof. The Watcher will deal with them accordingly.
He's still silent, chewing slowly on the same piece of meat he's been chewing on for the past five minutes.
"How do you feel about eventually being in competition with your sister, I wonder?"
"There is no competition," he replies, with forced calmness. "She chose her path, I chose mine. My faith isn't a competition- it's a way of life."
I do wonder what has driven such a rift between brother and sister, but I suppose I ought to not pry. Perhaps it's time for less idle chitchat.
"So, Prior Morgan- what is the monastery doing about all that is going on?"
I take a moment to finish eating. "About what in particular?"
"The menace that is witchcraft. The recent news of a werewolf sighting on top of that- I thought they'd all been killed. It seems the Peterans are sitting idly by whilst the country gets torn to shreds by the occult. You must understand why that concerns me, Prior Morgan. The Watcher's eye is upon us both more than anyone else."
He looks taken by surprise for a second, then clears his throat and straightens his posture. In a way, I see my old self within him- the ego of a young man who is yet to meet the person, or experience the event, that will make him realise he is not as powerful as he once thought.
"Nothing."
I am disappointed, but not entirely surprised. Mother Joyce's reaction to that question was similar, though much more polite.
"Nothing? Withernham is a place where peasants often gather, is it not? You'll happily allow the witches to make their soil barren and their livestock sick, will you? Is that your idea of charity to the poor?"
"In the past, witches often helped the poor- fed them and healed them, when those with all the riches would have gladly let them die otherwise." He takes another sip from the cup of wine. "Is that your idea of charity, High Shepherd? Or is your idea of charity to live in a room like this whilst innocent men and women are rounded up like cattle and burned at the stake?"
It takes me a moment to gather myself and my response. Somehow, I thought no Peteran could be as difficult as Mother Joyce was. I hate to falter in front of anyone; I can feel the Watcher's gaze burning through my skin, and I can feel Their shame seeping into my chest. I notice he takes a deep breath, stretching his arms out and avoiding all eye contact with me.
"You understand that I am trying to help the community, don't you, Prior Morgan? No-one will have faith in a church that's fallen to pieces, and we receive enough in donations that I can keep this place looking as grand and as beautiful as it is whilst assisting the good people of Henford. As for the witches, well...The end of the witches means an end to the suffering. If we conquer the Watcher's punishment, They will see our true strength and They will spare us."
Prior Morgan puts slams the wine cup down with enough force to knock my empty cup off the table.
"You're taking everything about the Watcher out of context, Shepherd Julian. If you've ever read any of the Omiscan texts, you'd know that the Watcher has always been a benevolent figure and a guide. They have no power over what happens to any of us- no-one does, except for fate and, occasionally, ourselves. Perhaps if you picked up a book other than the Book of Jacob once in a while, you'd know the truth of the witches, instead of spreading the lies."
He tries to excuse himself, but I stand in his way. He keeps trying to nudge his way past me, but I don't let him.
"All I'm trying to do is help people, Prior Morgan. No-one is exempt from the wrath of the Watcher. The more people who I can bring towards the light, the better. There's no place for positivity and hope in this modern world, Prior Morgan- you're almost fifty years my junior. You should know that better than I do.
People are so obsessed with forgiveness that they've tricked themselves into thinking there are no longer consequences. I may seem harsh in my ways, but they are necessary. If the people do not seek to reflect upon themselves, then The Watcher will exact a horrible wrath upon them. Our lives are brief, but eternity is not. Our lives may seem miserable at times when we are looking into the darkest parts of ourselves, but we must tolerate some level of misery if we are to enjoy what comes after in peace."
"Everything about your worldview is completely backwards, Julian," he replies, with a raised voice. I don't take kindly to him not addressing me by my title. "If you fear the wrath of the Watcher so much, then why are you so willing to let bloodshed go unchecked? Wouldn't the Watcher not tolerate something so vile? Or does The Watcher just happen to look the other way when it's people with magic in their blood on the other end of Jacob's sword?"
I must say, he's a fierce one- surprisingly so. I've never seen such bark and bite in the history of all of the Peterans I've ever met. I hoped he'd be more reasonable, but Reynold embodies everything I fear for in the next generation. The lack of respect for elders or anyone else. Shunning tradition. Blinded by kindness and by open-mindedness in a world that does not reward such a thing.
"Who am I to question the entirety of what the Watcher believes, Reynold? Who are either of us to? All I know, is that the Watcher is not the kind figure many believe Them to be. I want people to know the truth, for their own good."
I see I've finally gotten through to him. He takes a moment to recover from his little outburst, and I open the door for him.
"I'll be taking my leave, Shepherd Julian. I appreciate the food and the wine. I don't know exactly what issue you took with Mother Joyce, but know that I'll be taking none of it from you or anyone else."
Clementia
I could've sworn I saw him in here earlier- I thought it was my eyes deceiving me! What on Earth is my brother doing under a Jacoban roof, I wonder? He storms across the stone, each thunderous step echoing through the place.
I call out to him, but he ignores me, slamming the door behind him.
He told me he'd been working on it, and then storms out of the cathedral and completely ignores me. It should frighten me more than it does. I do wonder what he was doing in the cathedral, however. He'd never step foot in here- at least, or so I thought. A change of heart, perhaps? I never understood why he still subscribed to a kind and loving Watcher. Our parents were both drowned for who they were; that alone should have convinced him the Watcher is not a benevolent deity. When we were young, I was furious and jealous beyond belief that I was not born with magic. Now I am older, I realise that it is a blessing in itself to live a fairly-normal life.
Shepherd Julian walks in, seeming flustered. "Good afternoon, Shepherdess Clementia."
"Shepherd Julian, I must ask you something. Do you know why my brother just stomped through the cathedral? I don't imagine he'd have ever willingly stepped into a Jacoban place of faith."
"Ah. I asked him to visit so I could get to know the future abbot better. It seems he clashed with me, especially when I mentioned the issue of witchcraft. I half expected him to be a lot calmer and a lot more understanding. I must ask, Shepherdess- what is it between you two? I sense there is a rift of some kind."
I may not be on entirely good terms with my brother, but I made a promise to him never to tell, and I intend to keep it.
"Ancient history," I reply, in jest. "Reynold can be difficult at times, I'll admit that."
"Hm, you don't say...Well, either way, I appreciate your hard work around here, Shepherdess. I can tell you that you are nothing like your brother. You are kind and reasonable, and you have your eyes wide open. You undertook this position knowing that not everyone would agree, and you showed them all that they were wrong to ever doubt you."
He leaves to plan tomorrow's sermon, and I kneel at one of the Eyes of the Watcher.
All I feel that I can do is pray for the Watcher's mercy upon him. Growing up, the focus was often always on him, the one born with magic. Whenever I voiced my concerns, it was always that I 'didn't understand'. The problem was, he didn't understand either, and my parents didn't realise their mistake until it was nearly too late.
On the one hand, it is not a sister's job to keep her brother on the right path; I am my own person, with my own life. I do not need to revolve it around him. He's an adult; he can learn to deal with things the same way the rest of us have to, I tell myself. On the other hand, if I do not step in and try to sort it out…I don’t want to think about it, but it’s only a matter of time.
I hope Shepherd Julian never learns of Reynold's secret. If he ever found out he was a witch, he'd kill him, and likely me alongside him...
Every time I think I'm one of the lucky ones for not having magic, I realise that won't make a difference in the eyes of the witchfinders.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
- A note that the artwork in this chapter at the top is by me, and is only for my own use < 3