Inachevé

Twenty - Written by the Wolves

Pulling his hands through his tawny colored hair, Kale Thatch dropped his pen onto the desk and pushed his chair back with one foot. Moving his hands from his head into his lap, he stared blurry-eyed at the papers stacked on his desk. The yellow nightstand flickered twice and then burned out with a sizzle.

“Darn it,” Kale muttered to himself, slamming the chair’s legs back to the floor and pushing himself from the sitting position. In unmotivated steps, his arms swinging limply by his side, he went to the kitchen to fetch a new light bulb. Keeping his eyes on the utility drawer, he reached out to flip the light on before a hard smack knocked his hand out of the way.  Kale drew his hand to his side, rubbing it fiercely. He looked around the darkness, his breath coming out in tremors. Before he could react, a large figure wrapped his monstrous hands around Kale and wrestled him to the ground.

Lying on his back with an unbearable weight on his slim frame, Kale managed to say a few words. “Get off of me.” He winced when his arm, which had been twisted behind his back, was pulled upwards in an uncomfortable jerk.   

“Kale,” came a deep, resonating voice, “You’re coming back.”

“No, I ain’t,” Kale shouted hoarsely before breaking out into a fitful of coughs. “I left, I’m not going back. And you ain’t going to convince me neither!”

A smack across the face sent Kale kicking and yelling. He arched his back, shook his head back and forth, and cried out to the stranger not to return him to wherever he was needed.

“You were never supposed to leave anyway!” the voice shouted, shaking Kale roughly. Getting up onto his large feet, even for a human, the stranger yanked Kale to his legs and made him stand. “Now, pull yourself together and turn on the light.”

Obediently, Kale flipped the light on and stood gravely before the stranger. With his head bowed, he spoke again, hoping that his shaking of the head and repetitive defiance would make the stranger leave him. “No. I-I ain’t going back. Y-you ain’t going to take me back there. I belong here.”

The stranger, who had monstrous shoulders and a broad, rectangular shaped face, turned to Kale with quivering lips. Pointing a stiff finger at the boy, he said in a cold voice, “You don’t belong here. It was a mistake letting you come here. There’s trouble, and we need you. Amoux.”

At the sound of a name he hadn’t heard for years, the boy with the turned-up nose, soft blue eyes, and thin lips, looked up slowly. In his gruff, Southern voice, he said, “What did you just call me?”

“Amoux, don’t do this. That’s your name. Now, come with me.”

Kale’s face trembled and his lips curled in rage. Balling up his fists and striking the air, he screamed, “You’re taking me nowhere! I hate it there!” Kale felt hot tears streak down his face, but he didn’t care if the stranger saw him cry. “You told me I’d stay here. You told me, don’t you remember? You said that if I did what my family wanted me to do, you’d grant me this dream.” Kale’s voice softened, almost like a whimper. “You promised me you wouldn’t take it away.”

The stranger’s structured face softened and his brown eyes dropped in sorrow. “I’m sorry, Kale, but I’ve got no choice. I gave you it, I can take it back.” Raising his large, dark hands, he reached for Kale’s face.

In a panic, Kale dodged the curved fingers, yelling and pleading. “No! Don’t! Please, don’t!” But he was no match for the stranger, his small body was soon locked in the stranger’s arm and a strap was fitted over his face. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Kale sobbed.

“I’m sorry, Amoux,” the stranger whispered as he placed his hand on top of the boy’s head. Whispering an enchantment in a monotonous voice, the stranger’s hand began vibrating and a strange effect began to take place. The boy’s light brown hair began spreading around his face, darkening as it did so. The turned-up nose and thin lips began thickening and lengthening into one, straight appendage. His small, curved ears began pulling upwards into tapered triangles.

Kale’s eyes darted around the room in terror, looking at the things he held close to his heart. The photograph of himself, his child, and his wife were blurred by tuffs of hair growing around his face. The classical music he had been playing softly in the background became acutely noticeable and the smell of his cat drove his senses crazy. His whimpering became snarls and his hands curled into claws.

The stranger released Kale, letting the enchantment take over on its own.  Kale’s legs contorted and stretched until they were hind legs with a long, expressive tail waving between them. His spine elongated and he felt his lungs drop further in his chest and expand to the sides of his ribcage. Arching his back and moaning deep in his throat, Kale felt his gums split, making room for four white canines. Dropping to the floor, Kale panted in exhaustion of the transformation.

“Don’t try to bite me, the muzzles on your face for a reason.”

“What face? You know, I’ll get even with you, Boris,” Kale vowed.

Laughing, Boris knelt down beside Kale. “You remember who I am.”

“Of course, I do, you’re the warlock of Ulric.” Kale pulled his front legs under his chest and pushed himself onto his four paws. He was an attractive wolf with his bold snout, expressive blue eyes, and muscular shoulders and hind legs. He was entirely black—not a white mark on his coat. “Since I can’t get out of this, why do you need me?”

Boris took hold of the leash connected to the muzzle and walked to the front door. “The werewolves, Amoux, they’ve come again. This time, they aren’t on friendly terms with your father or you.”

Smirking, Kale trotted past Boris and sat beside the door. “The werewolves? I didn’t know we were on terms.”

“Well, you did leave us for several years.” Boris unlocked the door and the two of them walked out into the dark streets where a fog hovered in the horizon. “I’ll explain more when we get back to Ulric. But if you want something to lick and chew on, do you remember Fenris?”

Making a small skip, Kale replied in a lighter voice, “Yes! I do, he was the good werewolf, wasn’t he?”

“Well, he’s not anymore. You see, there’s some land that your father and Fenris found; they both want it.”

“Why do they need me?”

Surprised at such a question, Boris stopped and looked down at the wolf. But before hectoring him, he realized that the young wolf had missed a lot. Tsking, Boris straightened his shoulders and continued forward. “Oh, my dear Amoux, you have missed so much. I will have to let your father tell you more.” Slipping the muzzle off of the wolf’s face, Boris patted him between the firm shoulder blades and smoothed the velvety head. “Now, go! Go where the wind blows. Go where the moon shines. Go find your home, and go all night. You know the heart of a wolf, so listen to it!” With that, Boris released Kale into the forests on the edge of the city.

Without hesitation, Kale broke into a gallop; his feet striking the ground in a steady rhythm and his ears laid flat on his head. His jaws opened, letting the cool air rush into his pulsing lungs and rushing veins. He thought of nothing back home, only the one destination his wolf-soul desired: his pack.