Chapter 7 #2
“‘Ere!” Ooki yelled, her thin frame calling our sisters to climb on top of the wooden whale. Moments later, my sisters laid two bodies on the sand who were breathing. One had muddy yellow hair like dying leaves, and the other had skin almost as dark as Ooki’s. The features were oddly similar.
We took them in. Cleaned them, fed them, healed them. But the yellow-haired one healed quicker than the dark-skinned one. We could feed the dark-skinned one cooked foods and fruits, and the food would stay down, but the yellow-haired one would vomit up anything cooked or fresh vegetables.
One day, I caught a hare and brought it in for mother’s stew. But when Mutah cut the belly of the hare open, the yellow-haired one rose from his bed in a gasp of breaths as if he were dying. Mutah tried to lay him back down, but he was strong. His eyes set on the freshly cut hare.
Yellow-Hair grabbed the animal and devoured it. Meat, bone, and coat. When he was done, he collapsed on the floor. Mutah had to get three sisters to return him to the cot next to the dark-skinned man who still thrashed with fever.
Seven days passed. Mutah was busy delivering the babies, and my job was to check on the two men. I entered my hut with a basket of fresh fruit to feed them when I stopped in my tracks.
Yellow-Hair was hunched over the dark-skinned one.
Brown fur spilled from his back, his legs bent backward, his feet, paws.
Blood spilled on the floor. Claw-like nails ripped into the chest cavity of the dark-skinned one.
Yellow-Hair was slurping the other man’s intestines.
Blood dripped from his mouth—no—a snout. The creature slowly turned to me.
The dark-skinned one was being eaten alive, and yet he reached for me. Blood boiled from his mouth, his eyes bloodshot. He was reaching, reaching, past the yellow-haired beast. My bladder released, and the basket fell from my hands. The dark-skinned one choked out three words.
“Werewolf, werewolf, run.” Then he went limp.
Beady red eyes locked on me. Its beastly body rose, his mouth foaming crimson.
I ran.
Faster than my little legs could take me. It took hours to reach the temple, but I didn’t stop, past the lazy river over the bridge, and through the woods, into the safest arms I know. Mutah.
Later that night, they buried the dark-skinned one with the other dead into the sea. Mutah said what I saw sounded like a kykyo, one must have wandered into the village after so much blood was washed on the shore. Kykyo’s noses were heightened in senses; they could track their prey for miles.
I didn’t see a kykyo. I saw Yellow-Hair morphing into a deformed version of a kykyo.
I told my people what the dark-skinned one said.
“Werewolf!” But no one knew what a werewolf was.
Yellow-Hair suffered from deep wounds and claws going across his chest. I knew they were self-inflicted.
“Werewolf!” I would point at him. He thought it was cute and proudly took on the name.
Telling the people there were many werewolves, amongst nations, who travel the world looking for home.
And my people let the beast in.
Healed him.
Gave him food.
Let him speak our tongue.
Showed him our most treasured things.
The elders told the werewolf his home was with us now, that he could stay as long as he liked.
I refused to sleep in the hut. Opting to take my place in Ooki’s bed.
When the werewolf walked amongst the village, he smiled, digging his claws into my people.
He fixed Mutah’s roof. Taught our people about laying bricks and strengthening our buildings.
He was praised for his strength and what he could do with his hands.
He exchanged information with elders as if it were a gift. But I knew his gift came with a price.
When a woman died two years later, her belly sliced open, her guts ripped out. My people thought the kykyo had returned.
No one questioned that the day she died, the werewolf went missing wearing a green shirt, and when he returned, his clothes had changed. There were nail marks on the inside of his arms. He rolled his sleeves down when he saw I noticed.
“Werewolf!” I snarled.
He winked at me. There was meat in between his teeth.
I was sixteen in the gardens, plucking flowers for my mutah’s herb jars. The mana flowed from my hands into the soil. I asked the flowers which one was ready to be lifted; many volunteered that day. Mutah would be happy.
Suddenly, the flowers stopped talking. They trembled, their petals folding in on themselves. A shadow blotted out the sun. I looked up. Fear sliced me across my throat, trapping the scream at the base of my vocal cords.
The werewolf.
I yanked my hands from the soil to run when he grabbed me. I called for help, he covered my mouth, and pressed my body into the flowers.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said. “If you don’t scream.”
I didn’t believe him. He had murdered others. Every year, someone would go missing. Another attack. Another kykyo, the elders had fashioned a party to search for the elusive creature to put an end to its rampage. But I knew it wouldn’t end. Not until Yellow-Hair was dead.
I watched lips stained red, promising he wouldn’t harm me if I didn't scream, didn’t speak, or say a word. I could imagine his mouth filled with blood. Meat dangled from his jaws, claws buried deep in my belly, slurping up my insides like candy.
“I just want to talk to you.” He eased calloused hands from my lips.
I spit. The taste of his skin was like licking dirt off the bottom of feet.
He eased off and squatted next to me. His thighs were thick, legs nimble. He bounced on the balls of his bare feet. I could tell he was ready to pounce. His gaze never left mine, his smile sharp, teeth pointed.
“I want to know about your magic,” he said, his voice low, hoarse. “Where does it come from?” He picked up a fistful of soil.
I didn’t understand fully. I’ve watched him teach the elders and my people his foreign tongue, and he speaks our language fluently. I’ve heard the elders tell him stories of the Moon and the Dragon. I’ve heard him ask each elder deeper questions, and yet he didn’t believe our stories.
The werewolf peered around as if he was listening for sound in between the shadows of the trees. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Magic.” He turned back after a while. He pointed to my runes on my legs, his fingers roaming up my thighs. “Da kohm fro’?” he said in my tongue.
“You know!” I said through clenched teeth.
“A dragon heart buried in soil? Come now, you are one of the smartest girls here. You’re telling me you’ve never questioned a child’s story?”
“No child’s story!” I cursed in his tongue.
“Hmmm…and I thought all this time you’ve not been listening, but you understand every word I say, don’t you? See, I know you’re just like me. I can see the wolf in you.” He hopped closer.
I backed away. He caught my ankle, pulled me to him, his face close to mine.
“No one can hear you scream from out here. He turned his head slightly, his ears morphed to long points. “If something were to happen to you now, no one would know until morning. By then, I would be long gone.” His large hand grabbed the back of my neck, pulling my head closer to him.
“What I don’t understand. Out of eight years.
I’ve searched all over this land. I know its mountains, its peaks, every inch of its terrain.
Gold. So much gold and you people use it to make bowls and furniture,” he laughed.
“We could rule the world with your magic.” He sniffed my neck.
His nails stretched to claws, raking down my arm.
My runes lit, illuminating us in a yellow glow.
I could fight him. The elders warned us never to use our mana for harm.
That our power is strongest when there is love, I could not love a predator.
Hate was what I embraced. Hate would kill a wolf.
I called to the sharpest rocks. If I could knock him out for a few moments, I could escape.
“No, you don’t,” he said, placing a heavy hand over my fist balled with soil.
“If you run,” his beard tickled my ears.
“If you fight.” A wet nose brushed against my cheek.
“I will have fun chasing you down, rutting you until I have my fill.
But, I won't rip you apart like I did the others,” he tisked.
“That would be a waste. I would turn you, make you into the wolf I smell underneath your skin. Allow the hungry to overtake you, and watch you eat your beautiful mother. Fuck you while she’s drowning in her own blood.
And you will do it. You will enjoy it. You will…
” his lips kissed my neck, his body straddling onto me. “...want more. Beg for it.”
I whimpered. My entire body trembled. I was eight again, locked in place. Red eyes watching me. Even if I closed them, they watched me. My bladder released, pee trickled down my thighs. My heart hammered against my chest. The werewolf looked at my soiled skirt and sniffed.
“One day, I’ll come back for you. Lick you clean, E’kili.”
He let me go. My back slammed against the ground, knocking the wind out of my chest.
“I’ll ask again,” he said, rising to his feet. “Where does your magic come from? Gold? Can you produce it by hand?”
His words jumbled in my head. The essence of him still pressed me into the ground.
He pulled a golden spoon from his pocket. “Da kohm fro’? Gold? Da kohm fro’?” His eyebrows stitched together. Brown fur grew from his chest. “Da kohm fro’, gold?” He threw the spoon at me. It slapped me in the face, shocking me out of paralyzation.
“It comes from the dragon’s heart!” I shouted. “The dragon gives it to us. We are part moon, part dragon. You are part man, part beast. Why can’t you believe what you see?”
Our entire beings were tied to this island, so was the gold. Everything flowed from the dragon’s heart that pumped for her children.
“I see.” He went to bend down.
I flinched.
His eyes turned back to brown. He plucked the spoon at my side and slid it into his pocket.
The next day, hanging from the werewolf’s shoulders, a great white Kykyo dangled lifeless around his neck. He slammed the beast down at the elder’s feet and knelt.
“I put an end to your terror, once and for all,” he said.
And my sisters all praised him. Made him clothes from the kykyos furs.
Filled his belly with fresh wine and allowed his language to invade their tongues.
Seven sisters coaxed him to spill his seed inside of them.
A parting gift, little beasts that would look like him.
I watched, like I’ve always had, in the shadows as he took the women.
His eyes drift to the crack I watch him through.
I startled, my heart pounding loud enough for the moon to hear. He winked and flashed sharpened teeth.
The next morning, my sisters gathered at the shore to see him off. I stood on the cliff, looking down, my hands balled into fists. I caress a dagger made from the kykyo’s bones.
He boards his ship, glances up at me. “My little werewolf.” His voice traveled in the wind.
“Till we meet again!” He waved.
I watched him set sail. The boat cut through the water. The sun bled on the horizon, many waters thrusting him onwards. I prayed to the moon that a storm would come, wash him and his boat away, thrust them down, down, down, into the sea, and we would never see him again.
Just in case my prayers were lost in the clouds. I would sharpen my teeth and grow claws. I would become the she-wolf and dance on his bones.