Blood Moon

By Ariel Dodson

A chance meeting with young lord, Etienne Sanroche, catapults 15 year old Laure Beaumains from her isolated forest home into the glittering artifice of the castle. But the lure of the natural world proves too strong, and when Laure is attacked by a creature of the forest, the tragic events that follow test Laure and Etienne's love and lives to an unimaginable limit. For a wolf cannot be tamed, and thwarted freedom bites in blood ...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ariel Dodson
• Release date: May 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301719891

Ariel Dodson

Ariel Dodson writes fantasy, mystery, weird and horror fiction for adults and teenagers.She is the author of Blood Moon, a novel inspired by a 16th century werewolf legend, and the Southmore fantasy series for teenagers involving magic, jewels and an ancient family curse. The most recent novel in the series, The Shadow Heart, was published in August 2017.Ariel's short fiction has been published in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Dark Lane Anthology, Red Cape Publishing's A-Z of Horror series (F is for Fear and J is for Jack o'Lantern volumes), Kandisha Press' Women of Horror series (Don't Break The Oath volume), Kids Are Hell anthology (Hellbound Books Publishing) and, most recently, the Sand, Salt, Blood anthology (Sliced Up Press). Her story, "The Keeper", will appear in the forthcoming At The Lighthouse anthology (Eibonvale Press).

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BLOOD MOON

By Ariel Dodson

Copyright 2013 Ariel Dodson

All Rights Reserved

Ariel Dodson has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

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Chapter One

Auvergne, 1588

I don’t remember much about the attack. Just being thrown to the ground – a searing pain and – blackness. The next thing I knew was that I was being carried back to the castle, covered in blood. Raula said she had never seen so much blood.

But I jump too hastily in my story. I forget that others do not know me, although they may know the rumours, the village stories, the old wives’ tales. They have travelled quite far, I believe. But if you are to understand, I must start from the beginning – if indeed anyone knows where a beginning starts.

Well then. I will start at the beginning, as I remember it.

My name is Laure Beaumains. I was born in the Auvergne mountains. My parents both died of a fever when I was very young, and so I was raised in the chateau of my aunt. A kind enough woman, I suppose. Certainly no expense was spared to satisfy all my needs. But a fussy and hypochondriacal type. She never had any time to spend with me, so busy was she playing with her latest medicines, and so I was largely left to my own devices.

I only have one clear memory of my parents, and that is of my mother caressing me, her hands long and soft and white, and always adorned with a red jewelled ring. It was to come to me when I married, resting on my finger like a blood drop. The middle left one, the same one I remember my mother wearing it on.

And so I grew up, alone and unobserved, for the most part. I had various companions at times, but they never stayed long, perturbed, no doubt, by the isolation of the house and its ageing staff. The doctor visited my aunt regularly, but I had no need of him, and chiefly spent my hours wandering the forest near the chateau, or taking one of the horses out for exercise. I was warned not to take either myself or the horse far from the house, for strange things happened to those who wandered too deeply into the natural world. The forest was inhabited by wolves, for starters, and Delphine, our house servant, had many chilling stories about men who turned into beasts, which made me tingle with fear and excitement. I could often hear the voices of the wolves raised in song from my bedroom window at night, and I remember snuggling deeper into the bedclothes, and wondering, with a shiver, if those long, drawn howls emanated from anything that was once – human.

But I loved the forest, and felt more alive there, amongst the trees and birds, than I ever did in the chateau, looking at my books and pictures. Some of the animals began to know me and to realise that I meant no harm, and I would bring them titbits to supplement their feeding. I could see eyes glowing in the shadows, and slender shapes slinking amongst the giant trees, with the forest so deep and silent around us that I felt I could hear the hum of the earth within my soul. I did not pry at them, but I could often make out the pointed, trembling nose of the fox, or hear the excited flutter of wings behind me as I left them to their meal.

And yet, sometimes, there was something else as well. A heavier footpad, a duskier tail, glimpsed from between the ancient tree trunks, a slow breath that seemed to whisper from the very depths of the forest itself, and then I thought of the wolves, and I was afraid. But nothing ever troubled me, the forest seeming to accept me as one of its own, and I grew bolder, venturing further each day, my basket laden even more heavily with food stolen from the kitchen.

And one day, as I made my way to a certain tree where I knew a lame fox lay waiting, there was not a fox, but what appeared to be a bundle of rags, crumpled amongst the powerful roots. I was startled mainly, I think, because I had never yet seen any evidence of humankind in this great natural city, and it terrified me to think that someone might be there, watching. I turned quickly, but the great dark trunks were blank and aloof, as ever. I moved slightly closer, my heart for some reason beginning to knock against me, and the thing moved. I jumped back with a gasp, as a small pale hand reached from the thin coverings. It was a child.

A small child, perhaps seven or eight, with dark hair so matted with dirt that it appeared grey, and pale gold eyes that seemed to burn with the light of a creature used to darkness. She raised her hand fiercely when she saw me kneel down before her, as if expecting a blow, but I took the hand, and held it, and lowered it slowly.

Here, I said quietly, and passed her a small chunk of the scraps I had brought with me. Eat.

She seized the meat with fury, one yellow eye trained on me watchfully, and devoured it in a few seconds, raising her face for more. I fed her slowly, not wanting to make her sick, and when she had finished, I gathered her up in my cloak and carried her back to the chateau. The poor creature was starved, weighing hardly more than a child half her age. She made no more effort at resistance, but seemed to have accepted her fate, and was half dozing by the time we reached the gates of home.

Dusk was just falling, dimming the outside world to a pale grey, and a light was already burning in the kitchen as I slipped back in, depositing the small bundle in front of the fire. Santine and Francois, the house dogs, were already warming themselves there, and they seemed instantly upset by the appearance of the interloper, beginning to whine and growl, circling us in agitation.

I was on very good terms with the dogs, and could only conclude that the sudden appearance of a stranger on their own hearth without being formally invited, had upset them as guardians of the house. I motioned for them to be quiet, but their whining increased, and I finally had to march them out by their collars and close the door. I could hear the scrape of their claws on the wood as I walked back to the child. She had awakened, and seemed curious as to where she now found herself, craning her neck in all directions.

I must admit I had given no real thought as to what would become of her at the chateau, and a half crazed plan to sneak her up to my room without anyone seeing flew into my head. I could just imagine what the response would be to the poor waif. But I was saved the worry, as the door suddenly opened and Delphine and the cook appeared, preceded by the barking dogs. Instinctively I stood in front of the child and waited for them.

They were gossiping about the doctor, whom I gather had been in to see my aunt that day, and entered the room at first without seeing me.

Hush, Santine, said Delphine sharply, slipping her a titbit from the table, and dropping one behind for Francois.

Those dogs are growing too fat, commented the cook, drily.

Nonsense, retorted Delphine. If it relieves their boredom then so much the better.

They’re not bored now, Cook observed. What ails you creatures tonight? and they both drew back sharply as they saw the child.

The dogs had stopped barking now, emitting just an occasional whimper, and the silence in the room was so heavy that I could almost feel it, pressing on me like a wall. And yet I stood defiant.

Mercy in heaven, muttered Cook in a low voice, and her hands wildly passed over her body in the sign of the cross.

Delphine said nothing at first, but I noticed that her hand rested on the crucifix she wore around her neck on a black ribbon.

I was irritated; I could not help it. To see these grown women react so fearfully to the presence of a small child!

The child sat behind me, placidly, drinking in the warmth of the fire. She was wide-eyed, but seemed calm, and ready to face her future, whatever it may be.

I found this child abandoned in the forest, I said then, firmly. She was cold and starving and so I have brought her home. She will live here now.

The words seemed to bounce around the room in a whirl, resounding off the scrubbed surfaces and shining copper pans, before they landed on the ears of Delphine and the cook. But eventually some understanding seeped through, and Delphine started, taking a hesitant step forward. I was almost frightened to see that she was trembling violently, something I had never seen in the formidable woman who had functioned both as nursemaid and adviser in the earliest of my memories. And to be so terrified of a small, helpless child. I remember that incident vividly, as though I had taken my first steps from the path of childhood, although I had not known it at the time. And yet I stood firm.

Laure, said Delphine softly, and she seemed to be trying not to let her voice shake. You do not know this child, or where she has come from. I am pleased that you have tried to help her. I am sure that we have some old clothes of yours to give her. But then she must leave.

She will not leave, I responded, and I realised with a start that this was the first time I had felt a taste of power flowing through me. She belongs to no one and so she will come here. It would be nothing less than murder to throw a child back out into the forest. She will stay here.

But Laure, your aunt –

My aunt rarely sets foot out of her bedroom these days, I retorted sharply. I only see her occasionally, and you know yourself that the last few times I have seen her she has suggested finding me a companion. No other is forthcoming and so I choose my own.

Yes, Laure, said Delphine. But your aunt is not well. The child may be – infected. You may be putting your aunt’s life at risk.

You know perfectly well that my aunt is no more unwell than you are. And you could not expect that a child left exposed to the elements would look the picture of health. However that will change. Delphine, would you please look out those clothes you mentioned and arrange for a hot bath to be made ready. Cook, would you please bring a tray up to us. She will sleep with me tonight.

And I gathered up the child and marched past the whimpering dogs and the trembling women to my room.

It was while I was bathing her that I noticed a small stream of blood on her breastbone. Delphine’s words echoed in my mind suddenly and for a moment I wondered if the child could be ill, but I could not find that the red trickle had any source, and so dismissed it from my thoughts. Perhaps she had suffered a nosebleed, I thought, and watched the ruby liquid drain into the bath in a pale pink glow.

She had not spoken all day, and I was beginning to wonder if she could. The servants would not come near her, but passed all requirements to me, and I could not help but feel an angry contempt for their behaviour. So after all this time it seemed that Delphine and the others actually believed their own stories, and the realisation that the blind fear of a superstition would have allowed a child to die in the forest infuriated me.

So, I thought defiantly, I choose my own companion, and felt pleased as I looked at the small figure, swathed in one of my old nightgowns and sitting up in the bed looking wondering. Now that she was clean and tidy, her dark hair brushed back, I could see the sharpness and intelligence of her face, the pale gold eyes eager and alert.

What is your name? I asked then, sitting down beside her.

She looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, and I thought perhaps I was right that she did not know language, when she spoke suddenly. Raula, she said, and looked at me expectantly.

I smiled. I do not know if she was trying to tell me her name, but Raula she became and Raula she stayed.

Chapter Two

She learnt quickly, her command of language improving rapidly, although she did not speak much. She seemed to feel that words were an excess, and saw little need for them. She did not trouble the servants with requests and they responded in kind, so that any of her external needs were dealt with by me. The arrangement seemed to work on all sides, for although her presence in the chateau had come to be accepted, the servants still harboured an irrational fear of her, and avoided her whenever they could. I laughed at their fears, and felt my interest in the child growing daily. I took pleasure in showing her books and pictures and teaching her songs and stories. Yet her chief delight still lay with the world outside the chateau, and we were regularly to be seen entering the forest.

She knew the ways of it, far deeper and more intimately than I had ever guessed at. She knew where the doves rested and the hares burrowed, where secret springs gurgled and chuckled beneath their canopy of swaying leaves. We took long walks together, with baskets of food for any wild things that might come our way, and the forest became a dearer friend to me with every visit.

One day, as we traversed the green, shaded paths, Raula intimated that she had a surprise for me, and I found myself following her into a part of the forest I had never explored before. A rough, disused path, although recent enough to have not been entirely reclaimed by the elements, wound in a narrow, snake-like ribbon past the boles of ancient trees and through the clinging sprays of bushes. I remember wondering idly who had used the path so recently that it was still recognisable, and was suddenly overcome by a heartsick fear that perhaps Raula’s family lived somewhere nearby, and that I might lose her.

Where are we going, Raula? I asked her. But she smiled and beckoned me on.

I could never have found my way back to the chateau from this spot. The scene grew darker as the leaves closed overhead, and every so often I could hear the mournful cry of a bird from somewhere above. Yet Raula seemed to know her path, and at last she led me triumphantly to a clearing, circled by the stately trunks of trees, and boasting a heap of large piled rocks in the middle. It was spring, and the rocks were surrounded by the fresh heads of flowers, nodding ceremoniously at us in the slight breeze. From somewhere to the side of me I could hear water running, and a dove cooed from a hidden perch amongst the treetops. It would have been a beautiful picture, save for one thing. For there before us, standing majestically on the highest rock, was a wolf.

I froze. It wasn’t a large wolf, in fact it looked as though it might only be half grown, and its tongue wagged pinkly from its open mouth, as if it had been expecting us. Suddenly Delphine’s stories didn’t seem quite so superstitious anymore, and I had a horrible fear that the creature might turn into a wild, half mad human before my very eyes. That is, of course, unless it decided to try us as an appetiser first.

I remember thinking somewhere at the back of my mind that we should back away, slowly and soundlessly, and my hands closed over Raula’s shoulders as if bracing myself for the attempt. But my feet did not seem able to obey my brain, and I remained rooted to the spot. And then the wolf leapt lightly from its perch and sprang towards us.

I don’t seem to remember feeling anything in that moment. Just a horrible, overwhelming numbness, like a desperate acceptance of my fate, and a calm waiting for it to be over. And then Raula stepped forward and reached out her hand.

The fear cut me like a knife, and I pulled her roughly back behind me, as the creature stood staring at us.

Run, I whispered, but my voice was so tight that no sound came out.

And then the wolf, obviously tired of our games, sprang forward and rolled Raula to the ground. My heart throbbed with terror, but I saw a branch lying to the side of me, and seized it with trembling hands. It was standing over her now, its pink tongue licking her neck – and she was laughing.

I stood, stunned.

Raula picked herself up and pulled me over by the hand to where the wolf stood waiting. See, she said softly, and raised my hand to the creature’s thick, grey fur. I felt the tremor run through its body, and the quick, light pounding of its heart beneath the thin covering, and it seemed to beat in time with my own. Then the pink tongue shot out from between the long needles of teeth, and I felt my heart stop as it licked my hand playfully and stepped back, as if begging a pat. Raula laughed delightedly behind us, and then moved forward and flung her arms around the animal’s neck.

I fell to the ground, almost sobbing with relief. The wolf sat back on its haunches then, Raula’s arms still around its neck, and gazed companionably at me, its tongue hanging loosely from the powerful jaws as it waited, panting. Was this how the child had lived? I wondered. I had heard of such stories in myths, but could it be that Raula was a real case? A child raised by wolves?

And then I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It all seemed so ridiculous, and the creature so friendly and real – not at all like the supernatural phantoms of the night that Delphine had tried to make me believe in. Is this what people are so frightened of? I thought, and stretched my hand out to the animal, savouring the thrilling sensation of sliding my skin through the rich, coarse fur.

We met the wolf cub many times after that.

She would wait patiently for us on the topmost slab of rock, and when she heard our steps on the narrow path she would glide like a grey shadow through the trees, and raise her head for a caress. We added titbits for her to the basket, slinking into the vast kitchens of the chateau when Cook’s back was turned, and stealing portions of the shining red, uncooked meat for our store. After feeding, we would play amongst the tall tree trunks, or they would lead me to new wonders of the forest – a rippling, hidden brook, the first flood of bluebells, or a new nest of baby birds. It astonished me how Raula seemed to fit, unquestionably, into the surroundings, and I felt when I was with them, that I, too, belonged to that mysterious world of green hangings and sunlit shadows.

I never saw the wolf cub eat anything except what I had brought for her, although she could not have subsisted on that small fare alone. However she always seemed to defer any killing or stalking until we were gone, and I liked to fancy that the beast was sensitive enough to have intelligently chosen not to offend us. Those were happy days, with the pale April sun smiling through the fresh leaves and tinting the growing earth with its rays of gold. There, in the overwhelming human silence, the earth’s spring song burst around us in a frenzy of colour and life. Save for the birds, it seemed as if the cub and Raula and I were the only creatures in the world. Sometimes I wished it could stay like that forever.

And then one day, quite suddenly, that world dissolved.

May had just turned her green feet, I remember, and the forest was fresh and sparkling with a recent shower. The deep incense of the earth filled me with the strangest sense of longing and satisfaction all at once, and I hurried with Raula through the now overgrown path to the wolf cub clearing.

She was waiting patiently, her tail slightly wagging, or perhaps just fanned by the breeze. She bounded playfully towards me when she saw me, her pink tongue lolling in delight, when a shot shattered the stillness, and the beauty of the spring morning seemed to fall away in a blur before my eyes. The cub started, then dived into the trees in terror, and Raula, angrily, shouted something unintelligible. I tried to run after her, afraid that she had been