CHAPTER 19: I Have Called Thee

Fear not: for I have redeemed thee,
I have called thee by thy name;
thou art mine.
Isaiah 43:1

Before anybody could muster a shocked reply to the dwarf’s irreverent words, the windows began to shatter. Cold air whistled between the slats of the shutters that still locked the storm from the hall.

Father Völker leaped up, to stare at the dark huntsman who stood in the doorway to Dietrich’s room. Two ravens sat on his shoulder, croaking and chuckling to each other, and he held his boar spear in one hand.

“Guten abend, Father Völker,” the Erl King greeted him. “You have become a sudden annoyance. I preferred our young friend with his soul intact.”

“You bastard,” Danti grated, wiping away the tears that stung his eyes. He let Araciel slip into Albrecht’s arms, standing. “You won’t be satisfied until every one of us is dead, will you?”

Cold wind blew through the slats of the shutters, rattling them against their hinges. The Erl King smiled.

“My sculptor … you, at least, I will spare. Few have immortalized me in stone these past centuries, and I find it pleasing to be remembered.”

“Enjoy it now,” Danti growled, drawing the ceremonial sword Alrune had given him. “Because when I’m done with you, there won’t be anything left to remember.”

The Erl King’s lips twitched.

“My daughters told me you were the brave one. How refreshing. So many warriors have grown soft, in these times of plenty.”

Albrecht dragged Araciel backward, then took a quick breath when he saw who lay curled and gasping on the floor where the wolf had been. Dietrich groaned, head turning. Dark brown eyes gazed at Araciel’s motionless form.

“Is … he all right?” the noble asked.

“He’s dead,” Albrecht replied, feeling like something in himself had died, too.

“Good,” Dietrich breathed, closing his eyes. Tremors shook him, and stilled. Albrecht leaned forward, fingertips moving from his chest to his throat.

Two corpses rested beside him.

Alrune slipped next to him.

“Get the hell away,” Albrecht snapped, scowling. The dwarf gave him a malevolent smile as he pushed open Araciel’s giaquetta and laid an ear against the jeweled doublet.

“These are the times of the Lord,” Father Völker said, facing the Erl King. “They are no longer your times of war and death, Teiwa.”

“Are you so certain, Father?” the Erl King asked, taking a step forward. The storm whistled through the shutters, as if trying to rip them from the window frames. “Your very church bites and worries at itself like some flea-bitten dog. How long will it be until the persecutions begin?”

Völker didn’t drop his gaze, gripping the crucifix in his hand and standing firm.

“There is no division in the Church regarding the old spirits that were once worshipped as gods, Teiwa. You’re no god. Nobody remembers you outside of these mountains. Nobody worships you. Your time is past.”

“Do you think I can be chased from my land by the likes of you, priest?” The Erlkönig laughed, the ravens on his shoulders fluttering their wings to keep balance. “I am the god of men, not eunuchs. Will you meet my spear with your little cross, priest?”

“I’ll meet you,” Danti said. He stepped in front of Father Völker, lifting his blade. “You’re pretty good with poison and bluff, but how good are you in a real fight?”

“Danti, no.” Völker laid a hand on his shoulder. “You cannot fight him with such weapons.”

Danti faced the Erl King steadily, ignoring the priest.

“I don’t have any other way to fight,” he growled. “And this whoreson doesn’t look that tough.”

“You are disrespectful; my daughters also warned me of that.”

“I haven’t seen you do a single thing a normal man couldn’t do,” Danti replied, eyes narrowed. “I wonder if you’re a spirit at all.”

“Don’t fool yourself, sculptor. You have seen my power.”

“I’ve seen illusions and trained pets, and some sleight of hand with a poison bottle,” Danti spat. “A roadside charlatan with a mirror and an accomplice could do the same.”

“Temper, temper,” Alrune muttered, his attention drawn back to the others for a moment. Albrecht scowled at him, and the dwarf smirked, turning back to Araciel’s still form. No pulse fluttered under his fingers, no breath lifted the fallen angel’s chest.

“There goes one who stayed not fast ’til the bitter end,” he muttered, drawing his fingers away. He sat back on his heels and shook his head.

“You know I am more than a charlatan,” the Erl King said, watching Danti’s advance. The two ravens flew from his shoulders, flying to the windowsills and watching with bright, excited eyes. The stormlord shifted his spear in his hands, holding it as a staff. “I am the king of wolves, the god of huntsmen. I rule the forests and the skies. I am one of the few left to stand against your foreign religion.”

“You are the only one left,” Völker declared. “There are no more old gods.”

“What makes you so confident?” Teiwa asked. “You drive us back and drive us back, until we can retreat no further; until like a cornered wolf we are forced to stand and fight. I am here … but there are others who haven’t turned, yet.”

“Are you cornered here, Erlkönig? Is this as far as you run?” Völker gave the dark spirit a speculative look, one hand still grasping his crucifix. “You cannot stop our progress, Teiwa. You killed everyone here once, and it still wasn’t enough. We returned, and we’ll keep returning, until you are defeated.”

Behind them, forgotten, Alrune placed a hand flat over Araciel’s heart.

“I know thee by thy name….” he whispered, leaning over the fallen angel. The scholar’s voice suddenly deepened, thundering through the keep’s shadowed hallway.

“Come ye then by the Name and in the Name of Shaddai, and by the Name and in the Name of El, Iah, Iah, Iah, Who hath cast ye for your pride into the Land of Darkness and into the Shadow of Death. Come ye then by your seven-fold name: Araciel, Arakiel, Arqael, Araquiel, Arkiel, Arkas, Saraquael – come forth!”

The keep shuddered as the storm ripped the shutters open and slammed them against stone and shattered glass.

“NO!”

The shout rose over the noise of the storm and slamming shutters until it seemed to shake the very souls of the watchers themselves. The Erl King’s eyes rose from Danti, to watch what transpired behind them all.

Araciel stood. All the lamplight in the hallway seemed bound in his hair and eyes, making him a living flame. Behind him, Alrune watched with a wicked smile on his lips, his hands hugging his knees to his chest in silent glee.

“No.” The devil’s eyes smoldered with hatred. “Thy fight be not with Man, Teiwa.”

The stormlord’s eyes narrowed. After a long moment, he shifted his gaze to Alrune.

“I see….” he murmured. “The priest has a counterpart, and both fight for this one’s soul.”

Araciel reached down to pick up his forgotten saber. There was murder in his bearing.

“Thou be unwelcome here, Teiwa,” he grated, his voice lacking his usual warmth, his tone insultingly familiar. “Thou hath made a multitude of enemies.”

“Whose side are you on now, Araciel?” asked the Erl King, caution in his manner for the first time. “Do you fight for the girl? Or your God? Or your Satan?”

“‘See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil,’” Alrune smirked, straightening to stand in Araciel’s shadow. “Are you afraid yet, Erl King? You’ve offended Man, God, and Satan with your foolishness.”

“Your God and your Satan are intruders in my land,” the Erl King said. He held out one hand and pointed to where Dietrich laid still on the wooden floor. “And mankind cannot resist its own nature.”

“The beast,” Danti muttered, looking away from Dietrich and closing his eyes a moment. He felt very old and very weary.

“The beast. That which is noble and untamed.” The Erl King nodded.

“That which be uncontrolled and savage.” Araciel strode forward, and everyone fell out of his way; Albrecht, Father Völker, even Danti. He and the Erl King stood a spear’s length apart, one night-dark, the other flame-bright.

“What did I do with Sebastiano and Caterina, Araciel?”

The devil’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“Well? What did I do with them? You’ve seen what I did to Dietrich. He wanted the wolf, Araciel, he wanted it very badly. He burned to kill you before he died. I suppose, indirectly, he did. I’ve been called a just god.”

“Thou be naught but a murderer.”

“What did I do with the children?” The Erlkönig smiled cruelly. “Can you guess?”

“Danti?”

The sculptor started.

“We don’t know,” he said gruffly. “There isn’t any sign of either of them. Just some clothes, and that sword.”

The fire burning around Araciel seemed to dim as he stared at the Hunter.

“What did thou do with them?”

“You could try to force the answer from me. But by then it might be too late.” The Erlkönig’s dark eyes traveled to the windows, where the shutters banged against broken glass.

“Araciel.” Danti took a deep breath. “Go look for them. I’ll stay here.”

“It be my place to fight for thy lives,” Araciel objected, his uncertain voice hardly audible over the rattling and banging. “As the Mandragora hath just reminded me, in his own way.”

Alrune bowed.

“Dammit, Araciel, Johannes told you to protect his children! Dietrich’s dead. Are you going to let Caterina die, too?”

Araciel drew a sharp breath, and the last vestige of the angry creature Alrune had brought back vanished. The Erl King’s eyes moved from Araciel’s face to Danti’s.

“Go, Araciel,” Father Völker said. “Danti and I will be safe, and I fear Alrune can protect himself.”

“What about me?” Albrecht muttered, edging closer to Danti.

Araciel took a reluctant step backward, then another, and then half-turned to face Danti.

“Be thee certain?” he asked, blue eyes disturbed.

“Go on.” Danti looked away, toward the Erl King, and hefted the ceremonial sword. “Find them.”

The devil’s hand fell on his, taking the sword from his grasp. Danti started to object, then closed his mouth as Araciel handed him his own light French saber.

“This will serve thee better.”

Danti took a deep breath.

“Now go.”

“I will return with the children.”

“Go!”

The wind carried snow, pine, old stone, rank metal, wolf, human, and a scream. Basti ran, snow flying around his paws, ears half-back, and threw himself forward.

The other wolf’s ears snapped forward, its chest dropped closer to the snow. Basti stood between it and Caterina, a low growl rattling his throat. He smelled human on the clothes, and wolf on the wolf; and behind him, fear and confusion.

The great wolf lifted its head, fixing him with its eyes. Its dark fur was streaked with grey and its eyes were almost colorless. It was huge, and old, and confident. Basti bared his teeth, still growling. The wind seemed to scour his last apprehensions from him, fill him with new strength. He had been remolded, and he exulted in his new form.

“Naich?”

His ear twitched, as he almost turned to listen. Instead, he hunkered lower, protecting the girl, as he’d been commanded. The two wolves stared at each other, eyes glittering in the lantern light, wind whipping snow between and around them as if to hide each from the other.

The grey-streaked wolf lowered its head and lifted the silverbanded flute in its mouth. It looked back up, past the smaller wolf, its eyes filled with a familiar patience.

Basti’s ears twitched again as he recognized the flute. For a moment he was confused; had this wolf eaten Naich? He smelled no blood, saw no bones. Then he realized who the wolf was, and his snarl grew.

“Basti?”

The graying wolf cautiously stepped forward. Basti crouched, muscles bunching in its hindquarters.

“Basti!”

Basti’s ears flicked backwards at the sound of his name, but he didn’t dare turn from Naich. He heard snow crunch under Caterina’s feet as she moved.

“Basti, is that you?”

The great wolf’s colorless eyes shifted, to glance at him, then to glance back at Caterina. Another step forward, and Basti felt the Erl King’s command like a goad — find her, protect her. Everything that was wolf in him cringed away, forbade him to attack; this wolf was too large, too fierce, he could not fight and win.

But he was driven.

“Basti? Basti, wait!” The shifting, whipping wind brought her scent to him, the sound of her skirts. He took a step away as she tried to reach out for him, shifting to stay between her and Naich. “Basti, it’s Naich. I don’t think he’s dangerous. Please, Basti, wait!”

Naich patiently watched, breath white in the cold air. The metal bands around the flute misted from the heat. Basti felt a hand fall on his back, and shifted again, interposing himself. Caterina stopped, and he stole a glance. She crouched in the snow, pistol and chain in one hand, the other still resting on his back. Something glistened in her eyes.

“Basti?”

He whined, wanting to speak, to warn her. But his voice had been stolen.

The ring clicked against the pistol as Caterina slid the weapon back into her belt pouch. She held on to the piece of jewelry, drew it out again. It was gold, heavy, a wealthy man’s ring. The ring an heir of Gestern might be given.

“Were you … the master of the keep?” she asked, looking up with rising fear.

The wolf swung its head, once, and dropped the flute. Basti tensed, then relaxed as Naich remained still.

“The one who killed all those people.”

The wolf waited.

“You tore their throats out,” Caterina said in a strangled whisper. Basti could smell the horror on her. “You invited the Erl King in. You caused all of this.”

The wolf didn’t threaten her, still waiting.

“Is this what you wanted all along? You were waiting for the Erl King, weren’t you? All these years. Waiting for this. Were you insane, when you let him in? Or did he fool you, trick you? Did you get what you wanted from him? Or have you begun to regret what you did? Do you serve him, or do you hate him?”

Basti whined again, remembering a word written in frost. His mind whirled from the effort of listening, of making sense of her words. The wind called him, bidding him to leave the keep grounds and hunt in the woods. But a black shackle hung on his heart, the Erl King’s command, and a warm hand laid on his back, fingers curled in his snow-dusted fur.

“How did you become a mute flautist?” Caterina asked, staring at Naich. “Where did you go, those years? And why are you back, now?”

The wolf waited.

“Were you the one who attacked Basti?”

Basti stiffened, lips curling back from his teeth as the grey wolf that was Naich continued to stand. The grey wolf, the large wolf … as large as the one that had attacked him. Something deep inside of him shrank back in confusion, hid beneath the simple anger of the wolf-self. Naich? Naich! Naich examining him that first night during dinner, his strange interest in Basti’s wounds, his midnight excursions….

“All right,” Caterina sighed at last. “All right. I don’t have much choice, do I? I don’t have time to ask questions.” She slowly stood, her dress caked and dampened with snow. Basti’s ears snapped back as she tried to step around him, and he moved, his attention fixed on Naich again.

“Basti, I want to look at Naich’s flute.”

He lowered his head, eyes not leaving the other wolf, ears back, and inched forward. Naich took a step back. Noblesse oblige. Basti snapped up the flute and whipped his head around, tossing it toward her. The great wolf didn’t move.

Caterina turned the instrument in her hands as though trying to find some hidden clue, some hint of how the ancient master of Gestern had become a voiceless musician. Finally she slid it and the ring into the pouch.

“What do you want, Naich?” she asked. “Gestern?”

The wolf took a step toward the gate, swung its head around to look at her. Basti tensed again, throat vibrating in an unvoiced snarl.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt the keep or any of my guests,” she said.

Naich swiveled his ears, patient.

“What are you going to do?”

The wolf hesitated, then swung its head back toward the keep, waiting.

“Basti? Do I trust him?”

Basti looked up at her and whined. Everything was too confusing, and all he wanted to do was make sure she was safe and then run away, off into the wild green freedom of the forest.

“Very well,” she said. She dropped the ring in the pouch and bent over to pick up the lamp. Basti shifted closer to her. “I’ll follow you. But I swear it, Naich – Gestern – if you betray me, I’ll destroy you.”

Naich turned and began walking through the stone gate posts, past the half-open iron gate. She worried her lip, looking down at Basti. Basti tilted his head, looking back up at her.

“Come with me,” she said. “Please. We need to help the others.”

Basti whined again, then pressed a moment against her skirts and began leading her back toward the keep. He couldn’t resist her plea any more than he could resist the Erl King’s commands.

The wind had blown the keep’s shutters loose, and Caterina heard them banging against the walls as they approached the building. Fear twisted her stomach as she wondered what was happening in Gestern’s halls; were the others still alive? Dietrich? Araciel?

Cold air and snow blew through the shattered windows and battered shutters, and shards of glass littered the polished wooden floors.

Naich — no, Gestern — raced through the door as soon as she’d thrown it open, glass crunching under his paws. He rose on his back legs and pawed insistently at the door to the southwest stair tower. All of the sudden, he was no longer the patient man she had known, but a creature of violent action.

Hoping he knew what he was doing, Caterina opened that door too, and was pushed aside as Gestern took the stairs two at a time. The light from her lantern reflected off of the bloody tracks his glass-slashed paws left behind.

Beside her, the dark-furred little wolf that she’d guessed was Basti picked his way through the glass-covered floor, constantly looking up to watch her. She stopped at the stair doorway, watching him.

“Oh, Basti,” she whispered. Her heart ached at the thought of the young Neapolitan trapped in this beast’s form. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We’ll turn you back, I promise. I promise.”

The little wolf shivered, ears twitching, head constantly turning as it sniffed the air. Then its head snapped up.

“Caterina!”

Caterina shrieked, startled, as a hand fell on her shoulder. She turned, grabbing for her pistol. It was Araciel, his giaquetta hanging open and his glittering doublet in disarray.

Basti leaped.

Araciel lifted a ceremonial sword, swinging it up as a shield. Basti’s chest slammed into the metal, staggering the devil. One of Basti’s hind feet snagged on a loose fold of fabric, and the small wolf used the leverage to lift himself higher over the blade. Teeth snapped inches from Araciel’s face.

“Basti, no!”

Hands closed on the loose skin around his neck, trying to drag him back. He snarled, aborting an irritable snap at Caterina as she hauled him away. He tried to shake her off, growling and snarling at Araciel.

Caterina wrapped an arm around his chest, her other hand buried deep in the fur at his neck, and ignored the glass that ripped her skirts and bit into her legs as she tried to hold him. Before them Araciel had frozen, his blue eyes fixed on the dark-furred wolf.

Basti scrabbled for purchase on the smooth floor as Caterina threw her weight against him. Glass shards skittered down the hall.

“Araciel, stop him!” Caterina cried, fighting to hold Basti down, to keep him from attacking. She had no idea what had come over him, but she didn’t dare let him attack again. She didn’t dare take the risk that either one of them would hurt the other. Blindly trusting that Basti wouldn’t bite her, she clung to his neck, pleading, trying to draw him back from the brink of the wolf to the world of humans.

Araciel pulled off his giaquetta, wincing. Basti struggled even harder as the devil approached. The devil threw his garment over Basti’s head, and Basti tried to back up, shaking his head.

Caterina’s arms slid from around his neck as he shook his head. Then the giaquetta slid away, and the wolf was muzzle-to-face with Araciel.

“Be careful!” Caterina cried out.

The devil knelt before Basti with his hands inches from his chest, as though to grab him. Basti dropped low and backed up, snarling.

“Basti, be that truly thee?” Araciel asked, voice anguished. “Hath thou also come to hate me?”

Basti fell silent, ears rising slightly as he gazed at the devil. Caterina heard him make an uncertain sound, almost a whimper. For a moment the wolf seemed to waver, his head turning down the hall to where the small side door was still open.

“Araciel, can you do something for him?” Caterina still sat on the floor, staring.

Araciel didn’t look at her. He was concentrating on the dark-furred wolf that retreated from him.

“Basti. Sebastiano. Remember who thou art.” The devil fell silent a second, a strange expression passing over his face. Then, as the wolf took another slow step back, he seemed to gather his thoughts again. “Sebastiano da Napoli.”

Basti whined, but Araciel was relentless, on his knees, hands held out.

“Basti, I call thee by thy name, for thou art my friend, no matter what guise thou do wear.”

Caterina watched as the small wolf stood indecisively, its head slowly rising, its chest lifting from the ground as it listened. Araciel leaned forward.

“Basti, please, do not leave me. Remember thy name. I need thee.” Araciel’s voice dropped. “Basti, I did nearly lose all this day. My enemy did call me back and nearly make me his. Our companions be in peril, and I be much afeared. Basti, do not leave me like this, when I be so much in need of my friend.”

Basti whined and looked at Caterina. Then he took a hesitant step forward. Both Caterina and Araciel sat motionless, watching, as the small wolf approached.

At last Basti thrust his muzzle against Araciel’s face, tail moving back and forth, a tentative question.

“Basti,” Araciel whispered, his cheek brushing against the wolf’s dark fur, “my friend. Thank thee.”

Caterina smiled.