Chapter thirteen
1302 Words
The wind was blowing a little harder, it was starting to get cold. I just didn't feel like dancing to warm myself up, but a hot cup of tea was pretty tempting. I crept into the kitchen and saw that Gwen was sitting there. She seemed as frozen as I was.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Better now,” she said shaking, pointing to her steaming mug.
I took a seat next to her.
“Have you started reading your book?”
“On the occult mysteries? Yeah... After the exhibition, I took a look at what it said about werewolves. You know, for me it's far-fetched! I have a rather sceptical side,” I said.
“You mean you don't believe in anything that can't be proven?”
“You make an over-simplification, but yes, basically that's it.”
“Okay, so don't you think every legend has some truth?”
“Mostly, I believe that man's fantasies reassure him and help him feel less alone in the universe. It's a bit like aliens.”
Gwen looked very amused by my scepticism.
“Did you know that well-respected personalities have expressed their belief in the existence of werewolves?”
“Oh, yes? And who's that? Frankenstein's creature?” I scoffed.
“You’re making a mockery of things, Scarlett, but Herodotus himself talked about them.”
“Really?” I was surprised.
“Yes, he said that some inhabitants of the Black Sea were capable of magic and more particularly of transforming into wolves. They also knew how to take human form when they wanted. Herodotus also explained that their metamorphosis made them extremely strong and that they possessed the keen senses of a wild beast.”
“All this is exciting, Gwen, but I think it’s closer to mythology than anything. Telling such stories about men who could turn into wolves further supported popular beliefs. Herodotus was probably interested.”
“You’re so rational and so... narrow-minded!”
“Because no one has been able to prove the existence of such creatures. Besides, it's mostly an old story that is told to scare children, isn't it?”
“Exactly, Scarlett, do you know why the werewolf scares us?”
“Because they’re hairy, ugly and smell bad?” I teased her.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. After taking a long sip of tea, she explained:
“Most people are unaware of the real existence of werewolves because they consider them a popular legend, a scary story that has existed since the beginning of time. But no one ever wonders why such an implausible fable continues to endure through the centuries.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“At first the werewolves only stayed between themselves. But they had more and more contact with humans. And in human form, the werewolf has the same wants and needs as regular people. Over the centuries, they eventually mated with humans. They have bonded with them. This is imprinted in the subconscious of every human being. Today, a handful are mingled with the human population. They live like us, among us, discretely. Some werewolves didn’t accept this union with humans. Lyka, the chief of wolves saw this as the extinction of werewolves.”
I couldn't tell if it was because Gwen was an excellent speaker that this legend interested me. Although very far-fetched, this one was fascinating.
"The book you sold me doesn't talk about all of this," I pointed out.
“Because it is a popularization work which only gives the broad outlines. You’ll find all kinds of stories about werewolves. Many authors try their hand at explanations. We think we know the essentials about these exceptional beings, but we are surely wrong about many facts.”
“You seem so convinced of their existence.”
She looked at me with a smirk.
“And why shouldn't I be? Some believe in a God they have never seen.”
“I admit you're not wrong. I guess in both cases, faith in what I find irrational is not an issue. (Pause.) Who was Lyka?”
“History says that he is the first of the werewolves, the father of all others. His metamorphosis is due to a divine curse. But we know very little about him.”
“This is the story of Lycaon, the king of Arcadia transformed into a wolf by Zeus?”
“Hey, do you know Lycaon?” she said, surprised. “Well, no. His story is only an allegory, a parable that awkwardly illustrates what happened.
“The true story reads like a tragic romance! Lyka was the son of Aphea, a nymph who lived in Arcadia. Aphea had befriended a shepherd called Amyntas. One day the shepherd declared his love and asked for her hand. Blinded by her vanity, the young nymph had reacted in the worst possible way: by laughing to his face. She was very fond of the gentle Amyntas, and they both got along wonderfully, but she wasn’t in love. Anyway, because she was beautiful she dreamed of being courted by a god, a king, or a prince... Humiliated, Amyntas had taken his own life. The gods punished her for her actions. Not content with banishing her from Arcadia, her father Pan had disowned her and forbade her to appear before him again.
“The gods had condemned her to fall in love again one day, and to endure terrible suffering, but without telling her what the nature of this would be!
“Not a day passed without Aphea thinking about what she had done or seeing the handsome face of Amyntas breakdown because of her awful behaviour. Especially in the early morning, when her conscience awoke. Once again, the gods had decided that the enforcement of the punishment had been long overdue. They sent a stranger her way. A Visigoth warrior named Witteric. Thinking she was freed from her dark fate, she had this selfish hope that he would remain with her, and fill a little solitude or the abyss born of a lack of passion and tenderness. She revived like a flower awakening after long winter months. This warrior was like a ray of sunshine to her. Her sense of freedom was such that she no longer wanted to worry about the curse. She had paid enough! The gods thought otherwise. And so, through Aphea’s union with Witteric, a child was born.”
“Lyka?” I asked.
“Yes!”
“And what happened after that?”
“Lyka reigned two hundred years. Two centuries during which he established control of his kingdom. We think it may have been when Lyka died that his plans began to fail. Werewolves became tired of their manhunt.”
“Who became the leader after Lyka?”
Gwen paused for a few seconds, during which she seemed to think carefully about what to say.
“You know, what we know of the Garou was initially the result of an oral tradition. It was only around medieval times that the first real writings on their history appeared. I imagine many must have gotten lost. We don't have all the answers.”
“And you know so much about vampires?” I laughed at her with a big smile.
“This is a subject that shouldn’t be discussed with me if you don’t want to stay awake for the next seven days! Vampires are my great passion.”
“Maybe you could talk to me about this some other time?” I said quickly before she launched into another long story.
After that, I fled into the garden.
- Writer
