The Hunter

By Richard Mason Terry

The Hunter bent over the long curved blade of the saber. Hours had been spent carefully polishing its cold steel and sharpening its cutting edge. Originally designed to be used as a slashing weapon by horsemen, it was still a ferocious killing machine when wielded by an expert. The Hunter was as much an expert in its use as the Cossack warriors who thundered across the steppes hundreds of years ago. The Hunter lifted it carefully from the vise that had held it steady. This particular saber was almost three hundred years old. Perfectly balanced, it had been crafted specifically for the Hunter’s own hand, taking into account height, weight, length of arm. It was not just a tool, a crude weapon. It was an extension of the Hunter’s own body. A willing partner in the Hunter’s quest to rid the world of an unspeakable evil.

The wolfen raised its craggy head and gazed upon the moon. He had long dwelled in this New World city, but his time to move on was drawing near. He had lived off of the refuse of the large city, as he had lived for the last four hundred years. Taking the weak, the homeless, the derelict, the wayward, and the forgotten. Culling the herd as his cousins the wolves had been doing for millennia. His appetite for human flesh could hardly be overlooked if he became reckless in choosing his victims. Only occasionally did he indulge himself in a hunt. Pursuing healthy game that might challenge his instincts and provide some sport. Tonight would be such a night. If he must move on, he would make his last kill a memorable one.

The Hunter stood and stretched each limb. Instincts honed by centuries of stalking the evil beasts were snapping to attention. The Hunter slipped the saber into its scabbard and stepped into the night. The scent of the beast was strong in the air. He was close. Tonight would indeed be the night. The Hunter had been stalking this particular beast for several months. Patience was the key. The beasts were not mindless killers. The magic that had created them gave them intelligence and cunning. Combined with their awesome size, strength and ferocity, it made them worthy foes. The Hunter had many scars from many encounters. Sometimes, the Hunter had been the Hunted.

The wolfen sniffed the air seeking prey. Choosing the proper victim was key to his survival. He must feed, but he must also protect his secrecy. The humans were weak, but they were numerous. If they became alerted to his presence, he could not evade them indefinitely. So he stalked the large forested area the humans called Central Park carefully, looking for the right place to prepare for the hunt. A path wandered along a small creek that was lined by trees and bushes. This was a good place. He had killed here before. He would lie in wait by the stream, carefully downwind of his prey, and then spring upon them as they approached. He would give them time to realize their fate before he struck the fatal blows. He gloried in the naked fear he saw in their eyes as his jaws closed over their throats. He relished the taste of the hot blood pumping from a still beating heart. The wolfen could feel the bloodlust rising and did nothing to suppress it. Tonight, he would feed and he would exult at the kill.

A strong scent alerted the wolfen even before his keen eyes could detect their presence. Someone approached along the path. Warily, the wolfen checked the other approaches to make sure that there were no witnesses. He would share this moment with no one. They came around a bend in the path and the wolfen saw them for the first time. It was a human female accompanied by three large dogs. A sudden stab of fear rushed through the beast and his hackles rose along the back of his neck. He recognized the dogs. Where? When? Yes! Yes! That was it! Long ago, in the old country, the huntsmen had used such dogs to chase wolves. What did they call them? Barsoi! That was it! Long, lean, beautiful animals, built for speed. He had only encountered them once. He had been young and foolish. Overly confident in his skill and cunning, he had invaded the home of a huntsman and while making his kills had been attacked by one of these hounds. He still bore the horrible scars the vicious attack had made. But that was in the past. He would not turn his back on these dogs.

Their presence would increase the risk, and the thrill, of the hunt. It mattered not to the wolfen whether the dogs chose to fight or flee. They would not influence the outcome of this hunt. How typical of the humans to keep such animals as useless pets, long after their reason for existence had ceased. He would have to dispose of their bodies along with the remains of the woman so that there would be no questions. He could not bring himself to eat the flesh of these distant cousins, but if they chose to protect their mistress, they would have to die.

The woman had walked this path many times with the dogs. She gloried in their elegant strength and power. The trio in full gallop was a synchronized wonder of motion and speed, their glorious coats streaming behind them in the wind. They had been together for many years and the four of them reveled in each other’s company. These moments of solitude were a luxury that she enjoyed whenever she could find the time.

The wolfen sprang quickly from his place of concealment onto the path in front of the approaching dogs. He roared his bloodlust to the dogs and to the moon, raising his massive body onto his rear legs. He clawed the air with his powerful forelegs, standing almost eight feel tall in the moonlight. When the roar died, he looked at his victims with his lustful eyes. To his surprise, none of them had moved. The three dogs and the woman stood transfixed by the spectacle of his magnificence. This would be even easier than he thought. Shame, really. He had hoped for some sport on this last hunt. Tomorrow, his human half would pack and move on to another city. To another stalking ground. So it had been for centuries, so it would continue to be.

But first, there were kills to be made. A feast to be had. He must not be distracted. The wolfen began to approach his victims. The dogs stood, staring at him as he came nearer. Then, the largest, undoubtedly a male, lowered his head and looked at the ground. A low rumbling began to issue from the dog’s throat. The two smaller dogs flanking the male assumed the same posture and the keening increased in intensity. To the wolfen’s astonishment, the dogs began to glow in the nighttime gloom. As the keening continued to swell, each of the dogs appeared to be growing larger. Then the male raised his head and stared at the wolfen. His eyes were burning coals that seemed to pierce the beast’s very soul. The females’ stares joined the males and the wolfen felt fear for the first time in a very long time.

The woman slipped the leads from the dogs. They knew what to do. They would need no direction from her. This was their time. This is what they had been bred and trained for. The male raised his head and roared his challenge to the beast. Springing to the attack, he caught the wolfen by surprise, chest to chest and bowled him over backwards, slashing at his throat with his powerful jaws. The wolfen’s forelegs clawed helplessly at the air as the dog pressed his attack. Rolling to his feet, the wolfen tried to flee back to the safety of the forest, but the two females blocked his escape, meeting his surge with fiery eyes and slashing teeth. The beast turned down the path and fled in great bounds toward the open meadows beyond the creek. He possessed great speed and he could certainly outrun these dogs and secure his safety in the dense underbrush beyond the meadows.

As he ran, his mind raced, planning his escape. He had hunted here many times and he knew every path, every escape route, and every place of concealment. All he had to do was put some space between him and the pursuing hounds. He cast a look over his shoulders and, to his amazement, saw none of the strange glowing hounds behind him. Breathing a sigh of relief, he shook his head in wonder at what had happened. As he shook his head, he caught a glimmering streak out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head to his left, the wolfen saw one of the females running easily to the left and slightly behind him. Turning his head quickly to the right, he saw the other female flanking him to that side. But where was the male?

The wolfen had no time to be concerned about that. He had to reach the safety of the underbrush on the other side of the meadow. He ran as he had never run before. He ran with fear for his life for the very first time.

The beast possessed boundless strength, but the long run and the wounds inflicted by the male were beginning to wear on him. But his efforts were succeeding. He was beginning to pull away slightly from the females and the underbrush was in sight. Looking ahead to get his bearings, his heart skipped a beat as he saw a now all too familiar glow in the distance. As the distance between them narrowed, the wolfen could tell that the glow was the male. He had somehow overtaken and passed the wolfen and now blocked his forward path. The beast tried to turn to his right and was met by the slashing teeth of the female on that side. Where had she come from? Swerving to the left, he was met by the vicious jaws of her twin. Both of the females had easily overtaken the wolfen and now were running directly on his flank and would not allow him to deviate from his path to doom.

The wolfen slowed his pace. Obviously, this would be a fight to the death. If so, he was determined to acquit himself well. He would be able to kill some or all of the dogs, even if they did succeed in killing him. So now was the time, and this was to be the place.

The dog trotted slowly toward the onrushing wolfen flanked by his sisters. They had done their job well, as they had so many times in the past. Now it was up to him. This was what he had been trained for. His task was the capture. It must be done carefully, quickly, and securely. Otherwise, the beast would either escape to kill again, or would seriously injure him or his sisters. Neither would happen tonight. The advantages were all theirs. They had chosen the field of combat and the beast had obliged by fleeing in the right direction.

On some unseen signal, the male sprinted to his right at full speed. The wolfen, seeing the way before him suddenly clear, screamed in triumph and sprinted with all of the speed he could muster toward the underbrush. Without warning, the females were both on him, slashing at his flanks with their razor sharp teeth. His blood began to flow freely, but he could not stop to ward off their attacks. He MUST reach the underbrush! It was there, just a few hundred yards ahead! He would be safe there. He would make it.

With a sudden rush from behind, the male overtook the wolfen and fastened his powerful jaws on the back of the beast’s neck. Considerably bulked up by the magic that had created him, the male’s weight drug the wolfen down in a rolling, tumbling heap. The wolfen struggled to regain his feet, but this time, the male would not release his grip. As he struggled against the male, the beast felt the females pin his forelegs to the ground. Roaring his frustration, he prepared to die.

Alexis approached the huge panting beast. He was bleeding from the many wounds inflicted by the dogs, but defiance still gleamed in his eyes. The dogs still held him on his back, helpless, no matter how he struggled. “Here it ends for this one”, she thought. Slipping the cloak from her shoulders, she drew the ancient saber from its scabbard. Twirling the sword above her head in the manner of her Cossack ancestors, she drove the saber deep into the wolfen’s chest, severing its black heart. The beast screamed in one final act of defiance, then died, still astonished at what had occurred.

The females released their grip after the beast’s death scream died in its throat. The male held on until the transformation began. When the dead beast began to shrink, he released his grip on the beast’s neck and stood back with his sisters, watching in rapt reverence. The hair and great claws disappeared. The fangs shrank back as the huge muzzle began to recede into the skull. The legs straightened and lengthened as the body shrank and became leaner. Eventually, they all beheld the body of a thoroughly unremarkable human male apparently around forty years of age. Darkly handsome, there was a look of peace on his face. Alexis peered into the man’s face to see if she recognized him. She had never killed a wolfen that she had known as a human, but she always feared that someday she would.

Alexis pulled the saber from the man’s chest and wiped it carefully with a cloth before returning it to its scabbard. She pulled a small flask from a pocket in her cloak and sprinkled holy water on the man’s forehead in the shape of the cross, and then poured the remainder over the wound caused by her saber. She watched in amazement as the holy water closed the wound, leaving no visible scar. The miracles of God never ceased to amaze her. The body began to disappear, being absorbed into the earth. There would be no reminders to the rest of the human race that such a creature had stalked them. And the souls of all of those that had been his victims would at last be released.

Alexis looked up from where the body had been to see three very normal looking hounds. Kneeling, she called them to her and examined each of them carefully for any wounds. While the magic made them all heal very quickly, wounds still needed attention. Immortality merely means that you CAN live forever, not that you will. Standing up, she retrieved her cloak and fastened it about her. Leashing the three hounds again she made her way back up the hill to the path.

At the top of the hill, Mychtar turned and looked at the scene of the combat. He had been in many hunts, but this one was important. Very important. Only he knew why. And he would not tell either his sisters or his mistress.

A very long time ago, when Mychtar and his sisters were still in the whelping box, their lives had been changed forever. The master had just come home from trailing a wolf with Mychtar’s father. The master was a huntsman living and working in the great forest to help make it safe for the peasants. The mistress was bringing food to the table for the evening meal when the beast attacked. Bursting through the door, he caught the mistress by the throat, killing her instantly. Mychtar’s father leapt to attack the beast with a great roar, but was swept aside like so much chaff. The master died reaching for his hunting spear. Mychtar’s mother, full of her maternal instincts, carried the baby Alexis to the whelping box, and prepared to defend her three puppies and her human charge. Mychtar’s father crawled to the fallen body of his master and died trying to defend his lifeless body. His mother took advantage of the distraction and leapt on the beast’s back, slashing him severely on his neck and shoulder with her desperate attack. The beast roared an awful roar and slung his mother against the wall of the hut, breaking her back and killing her instantly.

As the beast roared in anguish and pain, the sounds of a mass of villagers approaching the hut interrupted. Fleeing into the night, no one was left but those who occupied the whelping box.

When the villagers got to the house, they were very fearful of the great evil that had been done. But the old priest who led them, calmed their fears sufficiently that the master and mistress were buried with the honors they so richly deserved. Even though the villagers protested, the priest ensured that the two faithful hounds were interred next to their masters.

No one would take Alexis or the puppies. The villagers were certain that they were cursed and the great beast would return for them. So the old priest took them home with him and raised Alexis to be a good and righteous woman. The dogs were taught the way of the hunt and grew strong and brave, loyal only to Alexis and the old priest.

Unknown to the villagers, the old priest had a secret. He had hunted the wolfen for many years, protecting his flock from the ravages of the marauding beasts. He had now grown old and had only a few years left. So he used those years to perform ancient rites of dedication and conviction. Rites that had their source in magic that was older than his Orthodox faith. For magic can only be fought by magic. He used those rites to confer immortality on Alexis and her hounds. He used them to confer superior intelligence, keen senses, great strength and speed. He taught them the way of the wolfen, the need for the hunt, and equipped them to continue his fight. There were others, but there were too few. And the wolfen were many.

It was the old priest who had crafted the saber for a woman’s hand and had taught her its use, as his father had taught him. It was he who had given her a purpose and the means to go and avenge her parents’ death. But to Mychtar, he passed the secret of why this had happened. He had shown Mychtar blood from the wolfen, drawn by the wounds inflicted by his mother. So Mychtar would remember the scent. So Mychtar would know when the wolfen that had killed his parents and his mistress’s parents was found. Only then would Mychtar know peace. The hunt would last forever, but at least his heart could rest now, knowing that the evil beast was no more.

Fortunately, the wolfen is a solitary beast, preferring to live and hunt alone. They met only to mate in a horrible, violent ceremony that allowed no verbal communication. Mychtar shook his great head in wry amusement. He knew the beasts were cunning and intelligent, but they obviously had no sense of history or balance. It was perfectly obvious to him, but the astonishment that he had seen in the dying beasts’ eyes told him that none of them ever was able to make the logical connection. For if the magic existed for evil to create a werewolf, why couldn’t the same magic be used by a righteous man to create a weredog?

Alexis whistled to Mychtar softly. When he was by her side, she stroked his head fondly. “It is time to leave”, she said to Mychtar and his sisters. “The hunt moves on. This city is safe for now, but any empty territory is a mecca for another beast on the move. We will have to return, but now, there is a need for our work elsewhere.” Mychtar trotted off into the night with his sisters and his mistress, content that the work that they were trained for had been done well that night. Many more adventures lay ahead, but the strength of their bonds and their mission would always see them through.