The Blood Moons

Chapter Two

To understand the origins of Hawthorn’s Paw, one had to know the secret that Vera held. The land was inhabited with more than just humans. There was also supernaturals. Not everyone knew of their existence. To many, the different supernaturals were merely story-tale characters, used by parents as warnings for mischievous little children. But the Blood Moons guild and their select few bounty hunters knew that they were more than story-tales. They were real. This tied into Hawthorn’s Paw as it was supposedly the birthplace of the very first wolf-shifter, Norlan Hawthorn.

It wasn’t necessarily a large town, but it wasn’t small either. Settled on the more popular trade route, it had an inn and a few cafes as well as more than one general store. The buildings were bland in their off-white and deep brown colors. Unlike the other villages and towns she’d come across, many of the residents of Hawthorn’s Paw actually lived within the town borders, having very few farmers or tradesmen requiring lots of land. Whenever Cyla was in the surrounding area, she made a point to stop and stay a night recouping and restocking her provisions. So much in fact that she was on friendly terms with the inn keeper, Tom, despite not being all that friendly with anyone else.

Tom, she found, was happy with his life as an inn keeper. She thought him smart and cunning enough to do just about anything he set his mind to. But this is where he was happiest. Every day he would wake, eager to meet another stranger and hear a new tale. He was a great lover of tales, often exchanging food or drink for one. Sometimes these tales were of ordinary nature like selling their cloth or pottery in the next town. They’d go on and on about how the clay was of great quality or how the wool they’d bought from the shepherd wasn’t nearly as much as the last shipment. Always it would be followed with a sigh of contentment as they would state, “and The Goddess be blessed for the rising and setting of the sun on another day. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Tom could always relate to these customers since he would also bless The Goddess every night before he slept.

Then there were the travelers she knew that told him tales of adventures. Fights with bandits or monsters (real or imagined) or even just to find a bit of mischief or love. He had told her he would see the fights in his mind as they talked, hear the scraping of metal on metal, feel the adrenaline course in his blood. He would simply be washed away in the ebb and flow of the story, then, just as the others before, they all would praise The Goddess for their strength or their cunning or the bond of love as they would finally win out in the end, finding their way to his inn.

Tom would then let out a breathy whistle, throw a giant grin on his face as he thanked them for their story, and give them a tankard of beer in exchange. Each time the customer would grin, bless him in The Goddess’ name, and then go on about their business. And each time Tom would feel the satisfaction of being an inn keeper again.

He had tried many times to get Cyla to tell him her life story. And she knew she had quite a few that would tickle his fancy. But every time she would simply give him the look that he soon learned to mean to not push her and stay silent. Her life was hard and sad and not something she liked to dwell on. The less people knew of it, the less questions there would be that were meant to dig in the wounds of her hardened heart. She couldn’t have that; she needed that heart cold and solid if she was ever to accomplish her own goal. And, despite Tom’s persistence, she was more patient than him, easily able to distract him with a simple word about food or living quarters. Sometimes she wondered if he knowingly let her do this. It didn’t change her mind on sharing, but it was pleasant to her to think that there was at least one person who cared enough about her.

She paused on the dirt road that ran through the town outside a decent-sized two-story building. She took in the dusty, white-painted stone walls and the wooden window frames and shutters, a sense of familiarity bubbling within her. It had been a long time since she’d felt that feeling, but she believed it to be the feeling of home. She peeked out from under her deep black hood, brushing once again her wayward curls form her tanned face. Maybe it’s time to cut them again, she thought, remembering the last time she did. It was the first time she had started training and they kept getting in the way, causing her to faulter and hesitate. Her trainer had grabbed it all in a fist and brutally hacked it off. Her face darkened. Perhaps not. While always grateful that her employers had taken her in and trained, fed, and housed her, it wasn’t a time she thought of fondly. She ducked her head again and pushed the dark-stained door open.

It was near to dinner time, so the dining room before her was filling with customers and townspeople alike. There was a pleasant layer of chatter filling the air intermingling with the tantalizing smell of Tom’s wife’s cooking wafting from the kitchen. A fire was lit in the stone hearth in the right wall, providing just enough light for the room to not be gloomy but shadowed enough to be private if someone wanted. To her left was the bar and to her relief there was only two people seated there. She silently made her way through the growing crowd, her senses heightened.

She slipped up to the bar, laying her elbow along it, and waited. A slightly portly man with platinum hair around his ears was at the other end, chatting with one of the other two men. He was leaning on the bar, his face attentive and awestruck. Curious, Cyla extended her hearing, hoping to catch what they were talking about, as she slid onto a stool.

“It was as big as a horse, I tell you!” the dirty-blonde merchant said, a long-fingered hand waving up by his shoulder. Bright eyes danced wildly as he recalled. “Black as night ‘cept a solitary patch of white around one eye. It snarled with teeth as long as two knuckles and eyes as red as blood that seemed to chill me to my very soul!” Tom stared at him, mouth agape.

“They weren’t red, you twit,” the scruffy man sitting beside the merchant scoffed. “They were so blue they pierced into your soul.” The man turned to Tom. “I could feel my insides turn to ice as he was sizing me up. By The Goddess, I swear if it could have swallowed us all with one bite, it would’ve.”

“Why didn’t it?” Tom asked, leaning on the bar with both elbows. Both men shuddered as they looked at each other.

“The screams,” the merchant whispered.

“Screams?”

“Aye. Right as the monster was going to leap, a scream ripped through the trees.”

“An eery, unearthly sound,” the older man said.

“It cut through the air like knives; dug right into our bones it did. I’ve never heard anything like that before or since. As soon as it started, the wolf darted off and blackness swallowed us whole.”

“Dear Goddess!”

“When we could finally see, the wolf was gone.”

“So, what was it? The scream? And what did the wolf want if not to fill its belly?”

“We have no idea. Nothing and no one was taken, that’s all we know.” The merchant paused as he thought for a moment. Then he laid a hand over his eyes and sighed real low.

Cyla cracked a small knowing grin. That noise was from a tool bounty hunters carried to fight against shifters. It was high and piercing to human ears, but to a shifter’s enhanced hearing, it was unbearable. It sends them running in the opposite direction, thereby saving innocent civilians or keeping them from regrouping if they were traveling in packs. Then the sudden blackness was a night bomb, another tool they carried specially made by the Blood Moons to obscure sight. Of course, just like the supernaturals, the nature of the guild’s toys were kept secret. So, while she knew it was a night that could have ended in disaster, to the men, it was just another wild story.

Tom gave them the tankards of beer before glancing her way. Seeing her amber eyes and red hair peek out from under the black hood, he smiled warmly. Wordlessly he strolled over to her. He took his time filling a tankard from a large barrel on the back counter before setting it expertly in front of her. Cyla felt herself relax as only Tom made her and allowed herself to grow a genuine smile.

“Cyla Fillas, long time since I’ve seen that beautiful face,” he said, settling comfortable across the bar from her.

“Hello, Tom. How are the girls?” she asked. Tom rolled his eyes to the ceiling while sighing.

“The Goddess only knows how they’re going to put me into an early grave.” He held his heart dramatically. Cyla chuckled.

“Oh, I’m sure those daughters of yours know all too well.” She remembered how teasing and taunting the two teens were the last time she came through. And that was almost six months ago. She imagined it had only gotten worse as they officially came into marrying age. Tom sighed again, a real deep authentic one and for a moment, Cyla could see him age.

“I just want them to be safe. And loved. Safe and loved. Is that too much to ask?” His brown eyes connected with hers through his blonde hair, full of worry and a bit of sorrow. Cyla frowned slightly as she patted his hand.

“They know that. I promise.” For a moment there was only the sound of the now-busy dining room and its conversations floating about them. Tom cleared his throat, his face returning to the youthful, easygoing man Cyla knew.

“So, what can I do for you tonight, m’dear?” Cyla dug into her money pouch in a hidden pocket of her cloak, pulling out two gold coins.

“A room for the night and meal, Tom.” Tom scoffed, waving her hand away.

“When have I ever taken a coin from you?” he asked, slightly offended. Cyla smiled mischievously.

“Six months ago, when I was here last and I insisted on paying. Just like every other time I’ve been here the past five years, Tom.” She caught Tom’s hand, laying the coins in his palm and forcing his fingers closed over them. “Just like I’m insisting now.” Tom grunted softly before stuffing the coins in his pocket.

“Usual table?” Cyla nodded. “Alright. I’ll have your food out in a moment.” He turned to leave for the kitchen before pausing. “Unless,” he threw her a wink, “you got a story for me?” Cyla rolled her eyes before turning and slipping off the stool with her beer. Without a word, she disappeared into the crowd. Tom chuckled. “Too bad. I’m sure the stories from you would have been blessed by The Goddess herself.”

Cyla slipped onto the bench behind a small table in the back corner of the dining room. The wall felt cool against her back as she pressed slightly against it. She kept her hood up, sipping from the surprisingly sweet beer as she watched the room. Nothing really stood out of the ordinary. Well, there was a new bar maid. She seemed pretty enough, but Cyla couldn’t remember ever meeting her. She wasn’t too surprised though. Tom was known to take in strays and let them work for board and food. Cyla was about to turn her eyes away when a large-shouldered man started pushing his way through the crowd. Her eyes darkened warily as he stumbled forward. He bumped against the girl, knocking the tankards she was carrying so that beer spilled all over herself.

She said something harshly to the man, but he seemed to not care. He pushed roughly against her, his hands grappling around her hips and breasts. She attempted to scowl, but Cyla could see the fear on her face. The bar maid pressed her elbow in his chest, using her body weight to shove him aside. He stumbled back, another man catching him before he hit another person. Taking the opportunity given her, the bar maid hurried into the crowd, immediately disappearing.

Cyla frowned, she always hated men like that. They all thought women were only for them, to serve any need they had. Making her mind up on an unspoken question, she silently slipped around the table so that she faced the wall. Putting her back towards the crowd felt wrong to every one of her instincts, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to stay. She even dropped her hood, letting the mass of red curls free. She wasn’t sure why, but she knew that they always acted like a beacon to men and that sooner or later he would be drawn in. She just had to bide her time.

Tom stepped beside her for a moment, setting a plate of stew and bread on the table before her. Giving her a warm smile, he left without a word to attend to the people stepping up to the bar. Cyla picked at the plate, savoring the salty venison and the warm sponginess of the bread. It beat rabbit any day.

She was just about to finish the food when she felt the drunk man’s presence finally come near. About time, she thought as she swallowed her bite. She played around with the fork on the plate as she waited, pretending she didn’t notice anything of the ordinary. The man stumbled up to her table, the same friend as before behind him with a worried and exasperated look on his face.

“Goddess’ blessing to you, pretty little lady,” the drunkard slurred. When she acted as though she didn’t hear him, the man persisted. “The music is really nice tonight.” Cyla realized then that, indeed, a man had pulled out a fiddle and the lively music was drifting above the conversations in the dining hall. Still, she wouldn’t acknowledge that to him. “Perhaps you’d like to dance?” He burped at the end of his sentence, lurching forward slightly. Cyla couldn’t stop her nose from crinkling in disgust.

“I’m in no mood for dancing,” she finally said, her voice flat. The man snorted while his friend sighed.

“Come on, sweetheart. Just one little dance,” he said. Cyla internally rolled her eyes while, in reality, she simply stared ahead. The man grabbed her arm, giving it a sharp pull. Her arm moved a fraction, causing her beer to slosh down her arm. She stared at it from the corner of her eyes while the man’s friend attempted to pull him back.

“Leave her be, you i***t,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “I heard she’s the one who brought Bryant Dram in—alone.” The drunk shook his friend’s hands off him, giving Cyla another once over.

“You trying to say this pretty little thing took down Bryant the Bad?” Cyla could feel his eyes rake over her. He reached for her arm once more, but Cyla was ready. She grabbed his hand and stood, pressing his wrist backwards. This caused his knees to buckle and fall to the ground. The dining hall went silent; she could feel all their eyes silently watching them. The man growled angrily, causing her to add a bit more pressure. He grimaced and twisted slightly, trying to get out from the wrist lock. Something patted his inner thigh and he glanced down to see she wasn’t just leaning over him. There, sitting precariously high, was a dagger. His eyes darted back and forth between the dagger and her amber eyes. He was expecting her to look angry, but instead she appeared bored.

“Call me ‘pretty little thing’ one more time and I’ll show you what will happen.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. He gulped audibly. She took this to mean that he understood and moved as though to release him. Just as she was letting up on the pressure, she thought of something and pressed again, harder this time. He hissed in pain, crumbling within himself. “Don’t think I didn’t see you harassing that bar maid as well,” her voice was an angry hiss. She leaned in real close, her pink lips nearly brushing his ear. “I suggest you keep all women away from you or else I will hunt you down and gut you, neck to navel.” She scraped the edge of her knife slowly from his thigh, across his belly, stopping just over his heart. “Understand?” His eyes grew as big as saucers before rolling back in his skull. I guess he understood. She released his wrist just as he went limp and collapsed into a heap on the floor.

“Get him out of here!” Tom hollered from behind the bar, his usually cheery face a deep scowl. Quickly, three men dragged the unconscious man from the inn as the conversations picked up again. Silently, Cyla stashed her dagger back in its spot on her thigh and returned to her seat. She glanced around but saw that the girl was no longer in the room. Sighing internally, she looked at her plate of unfinished food but found she no longer had an appetite. Now was as good a time as any to retire for the night.