Northern Greyscott Falls

Killing his infant son was the hardest part. Leaving him to rot among the stone statues—making that long journey home with the sweet scent of his little body still upon him, completed this sleepless nightmare. But this was a task expected of all fathers of his kind—something much needed and long overdue.  He was doing what his father and his father before him were too cowardly to do. 

River Porter’s deep brown eyes peered down upon the babe. Could he go through with it? Would he be able to run the six inch dagger through the tiny heart until the light went out of its dancing blue eyes?  Could he, once again, stomach hearing the faint gasp, witness the flailing arms and legs go still as the blood pooled around the lifeless thing that would have been his son?  

Really, it was the wish of his people that these babies were sickly, so as to claim a mercy killing. But fate would not have it so. Sick or healthy, they must all die. River would follow this law and be damned for it.

***
 
“Is Daddy going to be alright this time, Mom?” Becca Porter asked, trying not to let the cream-colored porcelain bowls slip from her hands.

She was nine—the youngest of four girls and was given menial household chores because she was so clumsy. Her mother attempted to change that by entrusting her with delicate things. Her father loved her and her sisters, but also resented them at times. Jewel looked up from the book just long enough to give Becca a sharp stare. “Just set the table," she said.

“Alright.” Becca dropped her head and moped back to the dining area.                                          

Jewel Porter lived in New Berwick all of her life. So very beautiful, she had captivated River the first time he laid eyes upon her. Six months later, they were married. Jewel served as a Sencha (Historian)  for one of the local covens.  Putting her spell book aside, she brushed her dark raven hair from her cheek with her delicate white hand.  The long wavy locks brushed against the fluffy pink pillow on the cot where she rested. Jewel was very protective of her husband and resented the daunting task that tormented him–that tormented all of the husbands and fathers of her community.

She had given birth just hours ago, but had dismissed the midwives. Not wanting to appear weak and sickly when River returned, it was important to her that he found the household functioning as usual—as if their infant son’s blood was not screaming upon his hands.

Jewel bled heavily and the pain tore into her loins. “I’m not going to cry this time,” she said softly. She forced the sea back into her eyes; it burned and blurred her vision. The room spun around and her breathing deepened.

Chelsea, seventeen and her eldest daughter, stood in the shadows of Jewel’s bedroom. She gasped at the sight of her mother who looked pale and weak.

“Mom, are you alright? You don’t look well.” She walked briskly across the room to Jewel and felt her forehead. 

“I'll be fine, Honey." Jewel placed her hand on her abdomen. Chelsea could see her chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“Shall I send for the midwives?” Before Jewel could answer, Abby and Dria, Chelsea’s younger siblings, rushed to Jewel’s side, bumping the cot so hard it moved an inch or so. They had overheard Chelsea's concerned for their mother.

Abby frowned. “Mom, what’s wrong?” 

“Watch it!” Chelsea shouted, “…and don’t crowd her!” The two stepped back immediately at her command—just as they were taught to do. Dria, the quiet one, stood glassy-eyed with her hands to her mouth.  Suddenly, a crash came from the kitchen that made them jump.

"Really, Becca?" Chelsea shouted.

“''I'm sorry,” Becca’s timid voice screeched, as she fumbled to pick up the broken dishes.
 
 ***
 
After River had cleaned up the blood, he wrapped the limp body in a blanket, (that was lovingly crafted by Jewel) and placed it in a tomb beside the other four infant brothers. He stood looking at the five coffins—his eyes filled, and he sighed heavily. He had daggered the oldest son in 1994, the second in 99, twins in 03, and now this one. Five nameless, lifeless, little heroes lying in a row like cartons of eggs on a bottom shelf in a run-down grocery store.  He tucked the red velvet knife case under his arm and pulled the heavy crypt door closed. After locking it, he made his way to his car that was parked just outside the tall, black iron gate.

River steered the silver SUV recklessly towards home. Above him hung a third quarter moon surrounded by glittering stars that winked down at him. Once he attempted to drive right through the steel railings and end his heartache–only to slam on brakes at the last insane seconds of that senseless thought.  But who else could do the killings? Jewel?  No–not my Sweet, her heart is too pure; and certainly not the girls.  

The winding road seemed endless as he tried desperately to make it home to the warming arms of his wife. As he drove, honeysuckle, the region’s perfume, kissed his face from the opened window.  He remembered the many stories his grandfather had told him about New Berwick: the place where his ancestors had married, built homes, fished, hunted and planted trees and gardens.

The land was full of forests, woods and creeks. Giant mountains loomed over the steep hills and valleys. There were barns, small ranches and mansions. Some mansions took up many acres and looked like small elegant castles. Beyond the swell of hills, rose fruit trees of apples, pears and peaches. The stretch of blue-green grass held plants of every floral color of nature’s beauty. Everywhere was white sparkling falling water.

The sky welcomed a host of indigenous and migrating birds, while the forests embraced its medium and small fluffy breeds. Silver threads of the river snaked throughout the region—insuring life to every species. As River’s eyes scanned the road-side portion of the territory, it was hard for him to believe that this land had not always been beautiful.

***
 
When River entered his house, the smell of his favorite dish, lamb stew, permeated the air. Becca saw him first and nearly knocked the pitcher of ice tea off the table.

“Honestly, Becca," Dria blurted.

Becca ran to him, grinning. “Daddy.”

River held out his arms and she fell into them. After hugging Dria, River looked towards the cot where he was certain Jewel lay. But to his surprise, she was standing looking radiant, dressed in dark slacks and a long-sleeved soft blue blouse that matched her blue eyes. River walked to her and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her lips, then pulled back a few inches and frowned.

“Honey, should you be up so soon? Remember the last time…”  

“I’m fine, Sweetheart…really." Then she said in a low voice, not wanting the children to hear, "I drank a potion.”

He nodded and looked over his shoulders to be sure she wasn’t overheard. “Jewel, you know that’s not only forbidden, but it's dangerous.”

“It was just a little snake blood,” she said, toying with him. “The snake hardly noticed. He slithered away as happy as a Lark." She grinned and pecked his nose with a kiss.
 
Before he could scold her, Chelsea burst into the room, followed by Abby.  “Mom, you’re up. Look at you," Chelsea said, her eyes wide.

Abby looked Jewel up and down. "What did you do? You look wonderful."

"Dad, she was so pale, and…and we were so scared…” Chelsea stammered.
 
“Your mother is fine. Okay? Stop worrying.” He kissed Chelsea and Abby on their foreheads. "I'm going to go wash-up for dinner."  He left Jewel's side and walked across the room to the bathroom. The children gathered around Jewel—each kissed and hugged her neck. With the girls on either side still holding on to her, Jewel managed to walk over to the dinner table.

River finished drying his hands on a paper towel and joined them. "Okay, let’s eat,” he said, rubbing his hands together.  He pulled out the chair for Jewel and did the same for his girls, then took his seat next to Jewel.  

Abby wasted no time after sitting down before blurting, “Dad, can I get a tattoo? Mom said I could if you said yes.” She fidgeted in her seat waiting for a response.

“I’ll think about it.” He took a big whiff through his nose.  “Wow—everything smells so good.”  River spooned lumps of lamb, carrots and potatoes from the large crock pot and placed it into his bowl.

"I cooked, Dad," Chelsea said.

River put a spoonful in his mouth. "Umm," he moaned, shaking his head with approval at Chelsea.

“Becca set the table,” Jewel said with chest-rising pride. Becca smiled while twirling the spoon in her stew.

Abby’s eyes shot up at the ceiling as her mouth formed a smirk before she spoke. “And…she only broke four dishes, a bowl, and one of Mom’s favorite tea cups.” Chelsea frowned and elbowed Abby while Dria giggled.

Jewel flashed a glare at Abby. “That wasn’t very nice Abby. And I hated that tea cup anyway,” Jewel said, looking sympathetically over at Becca.  “You did fine, Honey.”

“Yes, Sweetheart,” River said, “the table looks really nice. And I hated that old tea cup too. Good riddance."  He smiled at Becca and stuffed his mouth.

River was a thoughtful, kind husband and father. His goal, like most Porter men, was to have a son to carry the family name. He adored his girls, though sometimes he was bothered by their flashing bright eyes, and sunshine smiles, their giggles, the long white legs moving under them and their pale thin arms that would wrap around him whenever they greeted him at the door. These were all the things he’d never know from his sons whose bodies lay in a crypt. 

Jewel looked over at her tall, husky husband. She reached up and brushed a dark brown lock of his hair from his forehead. He turned to her and smiled with the oil from the lamb sauce shining on his thin lips. He and his brother, Dex had inherited their father’s wealth. They also inherited his good looks and had evolved from a good stock of fighting men.

Their great, great, grandfather, Merchant Porter, his three older brothers, and nearly a hundred other young men were the security force for the Covenant witches back in 1842. They were highly skilled fighters and were nicknamed Moon Crawlers because they could blend with the shadows and were famous for their almost invisible presence and feather-like movements among any given enemy. Many said they could ease past a nest of snakes and not get hissed.

The Moon Crawlers once destroyed an entire zombie unit that Corina had created to attack the Covenant witches. They entered the camp before her mystic hounds could scent them out. Corina was enraged. After gazing over the ash and bones of her defeated demonic army, she sought revenge.

It was nearly sundown, and the evening spewed its familiar scent of jasmine in the air. Merchant Porter, his brothers, and a few other Moon Crawlers enjoyed the night off celebrating one of their men’s wedding to a local beauty.  Corina sent a shape-shifter to impersonate one of the young girls responsible for bringing and serving a special dish. Only, this dish was prepared for the Moon Crawlers exclusively.

The shifter slaughtered two wolves—chopped up the meat and mixed in the human portions of a young boy. She emptied a vial of blood taken from the girl as she lay unconscious. After adding a mystic herb, water and goat’s milk, it was placed in an iron cast oven to bake. The dish was served to the bridegroom first. After serving it to the other Moon Crawlers, the shifter abruptly left.

Hours later, they found the girl who was still unconscious lying by the roadside with little memory of what had happened. She swore it wasn’t her they saw serving the food.  As the hysterical girl began to recover some of her memory, they noticed a deep cut in the palm of her right hand. The girl told them that on her way there, she had been chased by something that emerged out of thick, black smoke with crystal-like eyes and long bony fingers. They believed her, knowing how Corina operated, but had no idea what it meant.

Two weeks later while guarding one night, the Moon Crawlers, including those off duty, to the horrors of their families and the witches running for their lives, the men, one-by-one and sometimes in groups of threes and fours, began to turn into huge, vicious wolves. The witches managed to escape safely to a sacred cave where a spell protected them. But humans weren’t as fortunate. They were ripped apart—left with throats as gaping red holes and staring eyes that still held the full impact of their death.

The early morning sun was the first to witness what the full moon had done. It beat down on the men as they lay sprawled naked and horrified. They were covered in blood with human flesh still stuffed in their jaws or hanging from their teeth. Many woke in their homes beside the bodies of their wives, children, and parents.

The groom who was still on his honeymoon found his bride’s torn headless body in the next room. The sheriff and several townsmen carried him away screaming, “I don’t know what happened. I swear to Almighty God. You gotta believe me. I’m innocent.”

After being found guilty of butchering his wife, he was placed in solitary and scheduled to hang. But during a full moon, he escaped. At daybreak, they found pieces of the guards scattered on the floor, on shelves, on the desk, on top of filing cabinets. There were multiple bullet holes—all in the direction of the cell. The iron bars had been splintered like twigs. And there was a large bear-size hole where the door had been.

The curse only affected the males. Over the years, the werewolf population grew until they had to acquire their own region. They settled in Greyscott Falls.

The Covenant witches were powerless to undo the spell. It required the death of a young child. And this was against everything they stood for. However, before every full moon—and with the men heavily chained, the witches would send a thick mist with fake growling noises to mask the howling of the men, and to spook any outsiders who might venture too far into the region.

But River and the other fathers felt this was not enough. They decided on a more permanent solution. “The best course,” an elder wolf said, “is to end the curse by letting it die with us.” That meant all male children had to be eliminated at birth until the last werewolf died. It was hard to get the men to agree at first. River fought it as long as he could. It was even harder, almost impossible to get the women on board. But after years of witnessing the horrors their men faced with every full moon, they too agreed the curse must end.

However, not all of the pack agreed with the law. Tempers flared, lives were threatened and Civil war seemed imminent.

***