Wehren - Beginnings (Book 1) & Redemption (Book 2) (on hold)

Prologue

A/N: This is my first attempt at a novel, so be gentle. The first few chapters will be establishing history so may come off a little boring, gory, and/or dark, but hang in there, it will pick up. If you see something amiss, please comment.  I am not sure how long this will take, nor how long it will be. I am keeping it pg13 because of language and (future) sexual content, if I go overboard please let me know.  For those who like to criticize, please make it constructive, and remember, statues are never built for critics, only those bold enough to risk something. If you wish to complain, do not waste the virtual paper, I will not care. I like happy endings, and not the ones after a massage, so this will end on a good note, eventually. I appreciate votes, as this will let me know how I am doing. Thanks for reading!

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M

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Prologue

Ring around the rosie,

A pocket full of posies

Ashes, ashes

We all fall down

541 A.D. – Plague of Justinian

The village is small and isolated; some would call it insignificant, nestled in a small valley two days ride to where current day Prague, in the Czech Republic, is located.  Small stone and thatch hovels huddle along muddy streets where dirty children play amid the goats, pigs and chickens.  The village is poor, barely scraping a living from the soil, hanging on by a thread.  The sickness started as most do, one person, a traveler, asking for lodging at the local inn.  No one noticed the ring shaped rash or the swollen bump on his neck, or if they did, they dismissed it. He left the next day, but his legacy remained.  First one person then several, then, whole families started falling ill.  Panic made some leave, and go to family in other villages, thus carrying it farther.  Death visited this village, and those like it, sparing nobody. Young, old, male, female, poor or rich, everyone paid the ferryman eventually. Well, almost everyone.  The pandemic burned itself out a year later leaving survivors, changed on the genetic level, irrevocably.  The genetic markers have been passed down generation after generation.  The changes started small at first, like sensitivity to the sun, or aggressive behavior.  Over time, in some, they magnified.

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Oh, Lord help me, not again! Bogadashka Hrabe thought, as he ran out of the house, into the summer night, toward the barn.  Not an overly large man, standing at a mere 5’ 10” with a slight build and white hair, Bogadashka was not sure what he could do to intervene. Ever since the sickness, his sons, who did not get along before, have been fighting more often.  It seemed that their already mutual dislike had aggressively accelerated, turning to outright brawls. It’s probably over a girl. It’s always over a girl.

Just as he was rounding the side of the house the barn doors exploded outward, spraying wood splinters and pieces of lumber.  Lying in the middle of the debris was his youngest living son, Vasek, already getting to his feet, as his older brother, Vladimir, strode through the gaping hole, laughing. “You know she wanted it!” he yelled at his prostrate brother, egging him on. “She wanted a man, not a boy like you!”

“You don’t even LIKE her!” Vasek screamed in raw fury at Vladimir. “Chessa is MY girlfriend! You had no right to touch her!” Getting to his feet he charged towards his brother, tackling him at the knees and taking him back into the barn, the sound of breaking wood and panicked animal resounding into the night.

At least the moon is full, thought Bogadashka, I can at least tell them apart this way.

He thought about his two sons, as different in appearance as they are in temperament.  Vladimir inherited his grandfather’s stocky build, well muscled and strong, lacking in the height his brother had, but making up for it in sheer power. That is why, most of the time, these fights do not go in Vasek’s favor.

He has his mother’s eyes, Dark brown with gold flecks. Bogadashka thought, and her auburn hair. God I miss her. If she were here, she’d know what to do.

Vasek, on the other hand, had his mothers build, Tall and lanky, and his own coloring, blonde hair, which turned white after the sickness, and light blue eyes. 

I think he will bulk up, he is only fifteen, three years younger than Vladimir and there is time. He is not as strong as his brother but he is faster. Vasek should have challenged him to a race. This thought made Bogadashka chuckle.

As a father, he really did not want to say he had a favorite between the two boys, but he had to admit that after their mother died, Vladimir had developed a mean streak. He started isolating himself from everyone, drinking and taking advantage of many of the young girls in town.  It seemed the fonder Vasek was of the young lady in question, the faster it piqued Vladimir’s interest.

At that moment Vasek and Vladimir rolled back through the destroyed barn door, punching and kicking at each other.

“Bastard!” Yelled Vladimir as Vasek got in a lucky punch. “I will make you pay for that!”

Is that growling I hear? To Bogadashka it looked like the fight had escalated yet again and in the frenzy, one of the boys had started growling and it didn’t sound human. As he watched, the pair split apart, and Vladimir screamed, a high-pitched wail full of agony. 

Bogadashka just stared as his oldest boy started to change.  The sound of cracking bones and popping joints seemed to echo in the now quiet night. Vasek retreated to the area next to his father, afraid to approach his brother, the earlier argument put aside. Vladimir screamed again, rolling and thrashing on the ground. After a few minutes he stilled and with a last resounding pop the figure that was once Vladimir Hrabe was now the shape of a large auburn colored wolf with glowing red eyes. He stood and with one glance at his father and brother, turned and ran, disappearing into the night, as his father and brother watched in horror.

It was soon after that reports of wolf attacks started. The only thing the survivors could remember were glowing red eyes.