CONTENT WARNING: Mild-ish horror, bad language, blood (pictured), mentioned violence, generally kinda upsetting in ways. If comforting a loved one in late life / illness is a sore spot right now, give this one a miss.
Gideon
I make sure to spend a few days with my kids before I find out more about the salesman that wasn't at the market. Supposedly, he was always there, rain or shine, sick or well. I decided to instead pretend that my children were sick, and in need of some kind of herbal remedy. With the local cunningwoman gone, of course the next person that the locals would point me to was the apothecary. They told me that he wasn't at the market today, but one woman told me where he lived if I was in dire need of herbs for a remedy.
He didn't live too far out from Withernham, somewhere closer to Finchwick. I knock on his door, saying that I needed herbs for my children, and that I'd be happy to pay double.
"No! Don't! You don't want anything from me. I'm evil! I'm a monster!"
"So am I," I reply. "Open the door."
"No! Please don't hurt me! I swear, I-"
"Do you know a woman named Katlego Anansi? You sold her some herbs a few days ago. I have to ask some questions. She's fled the town. People are accusing her of making people sick, and I have a feeling Samuel Annorin has something to do with it. Do you know anything about him?"
At first I didn't fully suspect this man, but if that's the case, then why the embarrassing self-flagellation? Why wouldn't a salesman want to make double the coin from a customer's desperation?
"Please, sir. I'm trying to clear her name, and I need your help."
I notice the doorhandle shake a little, and the man opens the door with tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Good sir, please, I did not mean to-"
"Didn't mean to what?" So he is hiding something. "What did you do?"
The man, Henry, shows me the letter written to him...telling him to tamper with a bag of herbs that he would later sell to Katlego at a good price. On top of that, if he didn't, Annorin threatened him, asking for both his money and his life.
"I have a wife and child, Sir...I can't put anyone else before them!"
I want to punch him, so very badly- but I can't. He did what any father would do- not put a stranger before his own. Luckily for him, I too know the complexity of fatherhood, and what a father has to do to ensure his family are safe.
"I have kids too, Henry. I'd have likely done the same thing."
He raises his head, his face reddened with constant tears.
"I know what it's like to do terrible things with your family's best interests in mind - and I now know just what kind of terrible influence Annorin has over just about everyone. He could piss in one of those cures and people would still say it cured their dying uncle."
Henry breathes heavily, his hand to his forehead. "Thank you, good sir- for your kindness, understanding, and your pacifism."
I can't help but laugh. "I don't know about pacifism. Henry, I need to keep this letter safe. I need all I can to try and show everyone exactly who Annorin is. Yes, it means people may turn against you, but that's a given. If you help me in whatever way you can to prove Katlego's innocence- including telling everyone the truth-"
"I can't do that! Annorin will kill me."
"No, he won't. I'm a swordsman, Henry, and I'm not afraid of any man- especially not him. Besides, if I do harm to him, then he can just heal himself with one of his oh-so-special cures, can't he? If you help me, I'll protect you in whatever way I can- even if that involves running my sword through Henford's most 'influential' healer."
Henry nods his head in agreement, and pats me on the shoulder. I give him my address, so we can keep in touch through letters. We have to try and convince the townspeople that Katlego is not to blame. Given her attitude, however, maybe it's too late. Maybe she'll happily start a life elsewhere, and not want to come back at all. If that's the case, I can't say I blame her.
We may have to take our time with this one, though. I fear what an immediate reprisal might mean for Henry. I said I'd protect him, but we'd have to wait until the townspeople were less obsessive about him and less angry about Kat for any of it to sink in. I don't see this being an easy task, but I have to make it up to Kat somehow for what I did.
Reynold
The women in the refuge have taken to helping around the rest of the town and in the monastery. For now, I was in charge of all of the sermons, likely until the inevitable occurred. Trying to maintain a priestly charisma was almost impossible, especially with all that is soon to happen.
Mother Joyce has been deteriorating a lot quicker than any of us thought she would. I haven't been back home for a few days since her speech, waiting at her bedside and staying with the witches in the basement. Anxiety, on top of anxiety, on top of anxiety...and I'm not even the abbot yet.
"You have a home to get to, Reynold."
"No. I'm staying here until-" -no- "-as long as I'm needed. Is there anything I can do otherwise?"
"I don't know. The pain is awful, but you said the cunningwoman is no longer in town, yes? She was lovely. So polite...Such a shame she had to go. You needn't worry. The Watcher is close by."
"She didn't have to go, Mother Joyce. Samuel Annorin had her chased out of town. Framed her for making the people sick, somehow."
Mother Joyce got her remedies from Katlego? Today of all days, I am trying to reign in my anger, but the list of people whose lives have been ruined by Annorin could wrap thrice around the entire planet. In forcing Katlego out of Withernham, he's forced everyday people out of treatments that would make their lives...and the ends of their lives...much easier. I couldn't tell if this was his attempt to force the poor to save up for his potions, or whether it was his attempt at a semi-legal cull.
"Don't you start crying on me, Reynold."
"I'm not."
"Don't lie to me. I may have only known you for two years, but I know you inside-out. You're-"
She stops a second.
"...You're like a son to me."
When others called her Mother Joyce, it was purely because it was her title as abbess- but when I said it, I truly meant it. She has been like a parent to me, also. Sometimes stern, sometimes unreasonable, but she had my best interests at heart, like any parent.
"You've been like a mother to me as well, Joyce. I can't thank you enough for what you did, and what you've done since. If it weren't for you, then I don't know where I'd be. I don't know who else would have gotten hurt-"
She places a hand on top of mine, the way a grandmother would. Her palms were rough and calloused from a lifetime of nothing but hard work and devotion. Nothing mattered to her except for her people.
Joyce
I still remember it, clear as ever- the night two years ago, when Reynold Morgan appeared on my doorstep in tears, banging on the door and begging for my help.
I remember the flood of tears from his glowing eyes. I remember the blood all over his hands, and it wasn't until the light of the half-moon flashed through the leaves that I noticed he himself was untouched. It wasn't his blood. There was a young woman in his arms, unconscious and covered head-to-toe in it. There was a gash across her face and across her chest, which, strangely, seemed to have already begun healing a little.
I let him in, and closed the door behind us. I thought she'd been attacked as a victim of the witch-hunts, initially. He lay her down on the floor in the study.
"What happened?"
"I don't know," he mumbled, over and over. "We were arguing, and then- I don't remember, but I think- they never taught me. They never taught me how to suppress it, and now- my sister-"
I didn't know where to start. I had no clue what he was talking about. I assumed from his strange eyes that he was some sort of witch, but I didn't know what kind. Witches losing control of their powers and maybe setting a precious object or two alight- I'd heard of that, but nothing like what he was about to tell me.
"Her wounds already seem to be healing a little. How long has she been like-"
"Not long. I healed them myself, as best as I could. She'll live, I hope. Clem, if you can hear me, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry..."
It wasn't safe anywhere for a witch. I'd seen plenty of crocodile tears in my lifetime, but these weren't false at all. Something had happened to cause this young man to fly out of control, though I don't know how someone like him could do as much damage as I'd witnessed.
I lay her on a bed in the refuge so she could rest. Thankfully, she was still breathing, and I had plenty stored away to patch up the horrific injuries. At first, I had my doubts, but I couldn't judge him- not until he'd explained his side of the story.
Every time I hear his raw, raucous crying in my head, it almost brings me myself to tears. Even as an abbess, it was rare that I ever saw genuine guilt. Many came to me wanting their fragility satisfied. They came to me wanting reassurance that the Watcher would forgive them for their misdeeds, as if they thought Peterism was just an excuse to keep making the same terrible mistakes over and over.
"Tell me as best as you can what happened," I asked him.
His words were so fractured and so disorganised that I almost didn't know what he was talking about at all.
"Sister and I argued- very, very angry- then- on the floor, blood- a lot of blood - not breathing. Healed her best as I could- lunar magic. I they didn't teach me- how to control it. Taking all of my- to not let it- angry- so fucking angry-"
I gave him my hand, and he crushed it so hard he almost broke it. He kept groaning, as if in pain. "I turned, I think- the wolf- snapped out of it- found her like this..."
If he was never taught about how to cope with such a transformation, then this was way out of his control. That was what I thought at the time. I was confused- I'd heard that all the vampires and werewolves in Henford had been made locally extinct by witchfinders and strife. On top of that, I had always thought werewolves only transformed upon the full moon, not when sufficiently enraged. I was unsure whether to believe him, as if something had driven him insane- but I can't think of anything else that could cause so much damage, and the eerie eyes were enough confirmation that Reynold wasn't any typical person.
"Listen to me, child. There was nothing you could have done to stop it if no-one taught you how. Is this definitely the first time you've knowingly-"
"First time," he responded, through hurried breaths. The guilt and pain in his voice soon faded into rage in a way that almost terrified me. "Doesn't happen until adulthood. They were- they're supposed to teach you how-"
"Breathe, child," I reply. I did my best to try and guide him, as difficult as it may have been at that moment. "I know you're experiencing a lot right now, but you have to try and gather yourself as best as you can."
He manages to lift himself to his feet, clutching onto his arms and gritting his teeth.
"I attacked someone. The Watcher must be furious..."
"The Watcher is not furious at you, child," I told him. "They are your guide, not your judge."
"I don't know what to do," he replied. "My sister almost died because of me, and she'll only live because of me. I can't do this every single month and every single time I severely lose my temper. It's unbearable. I have to control it, but I don't- I don't know how. I can't go back home after all of this. Please, don't make me go back home. I'll do anything. For you or for the Watcher."
I almost said no. Him being a witch was dangerous enough for him, but having a werewolf around was dangerous enough for anyone. Still, I am a Peteran abbess, and the Book of Peter does not say anything about throwing those in need out into the cold. If I could help him to control his emotions, then maybe it would do something to stop the transformations, or at least make them less deadly.
He was safer in here than anywhere else. I would do whatever I had to do whatever I could to keep the churchgoers safe, but I couldn't just let him deal with this on his own. I knew little about the Lunvinchenaîné. I didn't even know there were any left- but I was willing to learn. In the eyes of a Peteran, the best you can do for a dark heart is to guide it towards the light.
That was when I had allowed young Reynold Morgan to stay with me in the monastery. When the full moon was on its way, I was forced to close the monastery on those days for a long time until he finally found a place to live.
Some days were better than others. Reynold is a man that does everything in his power to maintain an air of calm, but there were some days in the past where he was prone to outbursts of anger. Others, we worked through it, through much difficulty- and some nights, I had to lock him in the deepest and quietest part of the basement, under the study.
I had allowed his twin sister Clementia to stay as well, but she took one look at her brother when she came to, and I never did see her again after that. It is a shame that she turned to Jacobism; it wasn't known for its appreciation of women, and still isn't. Reynold tells me that what he did stopped her believing in a kind and loving Watcher, even after a lifetime of being raised Peteran.
All I know is that her scars were not just physical. Whilst many brush off such mental afflictions as mania and hysteria, often locking these people up, especially the women- the Book of Peter acknowledges such things, and the book is hundreds of years old. It teaches us that, whether someone is sick of body or mind, we must do what we can to look after them- not just discard them.
I know I have not made a mistake in choosing him as my successor. I trust his judgment, and I know that it has been many, many months since he has turned at all. By an unimaginable amount of inner strength, somehow he has managed to withhold it, something many others like him found nearly impossible. Despite his youthful foolishness and naïvety, and his pursuit of vices which no Peteran priest ought to pursue- he has a kind heart, and a good head on his shoulders.
It will be little different than coping with taming the wolf. It'll be a struggle at first, but he'll get used to it- he is much stronger than he gives himself credit for. Most of us began our role as abbot or abbess when we were old enough and wise enough to have found calm...or to have had our emotions dulled by the passage of time. To undertake such a position isn't something I would have, or could have done at his age.
* * *
The pain is almost unbearable, and I wish I had enough within me to wring Annorin's throat myself, Watcher bless my soul. My only painkiller is the light and love of the Watcher, though a medicinal one would be a pleasure as of now...
Lying here on what may be my deathbed, it does not scare me- accepting my eventual place with the Watcher was the easy part. The difficult part was leaving behind such a wonderful group of people. Liliana, Susana, Elias, and all of the other Peterans had all made my devotion to the faith worth it. The world seems so much smaller when confined to a bed, just myself and the young man who is more or less my adoptive son.
"Mother Joyce...I won't be able to stay here tonight. The witches say they'll take care of you."
"That time already?"
He doesn't say anything- just nods. I can tell the oncoming full moon from his demeanour alone. He goes from his usual soft tone to something more monotone.
He won't like what I'm about to tell him, and I probably shouldn't say it on this day of all days- but I have spent all week thinking of loose ends I need to tie up, just in case.
"Reynold, my son...someday, the people close to you will have to know."
The stern look he gives me would have sufficed as a reply, but it wasn't enough. "What? So they can murder me where I stand? It's taken me this long to work up the courage to tell Susana I'm a witch. I almost told her, Joyce, I was this close- but it's not worth the risk. Everyone I know will turn on me."
"The people who love you most will understand, Reynold. You risk the safety of certain people if you don't tell them. I don't mean tell all of the Peterans, but...you're going to be a father soon. Áine needs to know, especially if your child inherits the magic in your blood instead of hers. I have little doubt that someone like Áine would not accept that about you. She loves you for you."
He sighs through his teeth. It's not the answer he wants to hear, but it's the one he needs to hear.
"I'm not telling you this because I don't trust you," I tell him, "I'm telling you this because I love you as if you were my own child."
He doesn't say anything, just nods, and bids me a farewell before leaving for home. With a combination of luck, perseverance, and the light of the Watcher, there won't be any issues tonight.
Reynold
I do everything I can to distract myself, but everything that worked in the past doesn't work now. By some miracle, I'd found a way to hold off the transformation, but whatever it was I did does nothing now. No amount of scribbling or writing thoughts changes anything. The crescendo of rage grows worse.
I thought of all the good things. Of Áine, of Susana, of Gideon working to turn his life around. I then thought of Gideon's admission. He poured his entire heart out to me knowing it would change how I thought of him, knowing that there was a chance I would hate him because of it. The witchfinder was more honest than a Peteran priest. Then again, no-one other than a witch would think to kill a witchfinder. People had plenty of reason to kill a witch, and plenty more reason to kill one of the Lunvinchenaîné.
People had two reasons to fear us. We were great protectors and healers, and we could turn into terrifying beasts with immense power. The moon-chained could take away as much as they could give, and just as easily. It was no surprise that we were one of the first to be wiped out of Henford. As far as I know, I'm the only one here now. I remember back to a story I'd read from a biologist who saw the last remaining member of a species of now-extinct birds, recalling its futile and painful social call into the silence.
What began as a prayer for strength to withhold the transformation turned into pitiful begging to a wooden statue. In my desperation. I pray to the Watcher to guide me through, so that I don't give in to the beast again. Then again, perhaps the Watcher wants to test me and see if I can do it without Their guidance.
Everyone knows me as the kind, thoughtful, sometimes-humorous priest who is both the best and worst public speaker in Henford. They know me as their friend, someone they can rely on and someone who will listen to them. They don't know me as the witch who almost killed his own sister in a fit of rage, who could turn into a vicious monster. The more I told it to myself, the more I hated myself for it, but there isn't anyone I can trust with this information.
I haven't even told Áine. I can't even bring myself to tell my own partner. I love her too much. I don't want to scare her off. She means the world to me, but I felt the way our child wriggled about in her womb much earlier than it should have. It must have been reacting to the moon. All witches felt a certain connection to the moon, but I knew then that our child has my blood. Sometime, I will have no choice but to tell her. It'll start acting up on the full moon, and I'll have to guide both the child and Áine in the best ways to deal with it.
I'm already too agitated these days to try and hold back. The witchfinders, losing Mother Joyce, my eventual new role in the Peteran monastery, Shepherd Julian, my sister...there's no way I can maintain myself the way I used to. All of those months of holding back, and it just isn't possible anymore. I don't remember much of anything from my actions as a wolf. They're either a blur, or slight remnants of hazy memories, as if trying to recall a dream. With all that's on my plate, perhaps I ought to think more positively about it. I'll be taking a break in the mind of a creature who cares for little else other than survival.
I take the key with me, and lock the basement door.
Lunvin's ire feels like flames in my chest. She's furious. She hates the state of the world and what people have done to it. Their betrayal of nature leaves a pain in my heart, as if someone I love has stabbed me in the back.
The agony is as unbearable as it always is when it's a full moon that causes the change. At least when I turn due to rage, it's immediate....My veins are on fire, and my entire body aches. A nauseous sensation lingers in my stomach. I do everything in my power to focus on something else, trying to steady my breathing. It's not long until I'm trying to groan the strain on my mind away instead. It feels as if I am giving birth to a nightmarish version of myself. I force myself to think of humanity and of goodness, and not of Lunvin and Her lupine children.
As the light of the moon envelopes me, I realise everything I've tried to do has been futile. I'm outraged on Lunvin's behalf. Her pain and immense fury is my own. A flash of blinding light, and I'll be one with the wolf again.
Vengeance.
Prey.
Alone.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Fun fact time!
I know that 'lunacy' is considered outdated as a term, but in the context of the chapter title, it relates to the belief that the full moon causes strange behaviour in humans, and this is also considered to connect to myths of vampires / werewolves by some people.
I didn't want to continually tease this reveal over and over annoyingly until Act Two, which was my initial plan. I deemed it to be something too dragged-out if I did that. Instead, I told myself I'd reveal it the next time there was a Full Moon in my game...so here we are.