The Empty Page 4

  * * * *

  Dolnaraq awoke in a cage. He was lying on straw, which carried the overpowering odor of an unfamiliar creature. The floor was of unfinished wood planking, coarse and uneven. There were metal bars across the two long sides of the pen, and the two shorter walls were of painted wood, white and red. The young reyaqc rolled onto his back. The entire upper left portion of his body ached and throbbed. He angled his head in that direction and found his shoulder and upper arm bandaged in dirty white wraps. He attempted to lift the arm but only succeeded in producing a fiery pain that raced from elbow to jaw. Cautiously, leaning upon his right elbow, he managed a sitting position. His eyes were still blurry and he blinked repeatedly. But his nose worked as well as ever and he inhaled the cacophony of odors about him: horses, mules, sawdust, oil, humans. Too many humans.

  The sun was low in the western sky. Dolnaraq realized he’d been unconscious for most of the day. Tresset. What had become of Tresset? Dolnaraq was sure his companion had made the forest. Certainly, he’d been able to avoid the villagers. But what of these ones? The men who had taken Dolnaraq. Had they captured Tresset as well? Or worse. Perhaps Tresset had been slain rather than wounded and caged. Dolnaraq reclined, staring at the paint-chipped ceiling and sniffing at the cool evening breeze. There was no hint of his companion’s scent. True, Tresset could be downwind, but if he’d been captured by this same lot, surely Dolnaraq would identify some hint of his scent.

  No. Tresset was not here.

  Dolnaraq smiled. Tresset was not here now, but he would be soon. He would come to rescue Dolnaraq. And when he did, the two would ruin the men who had shot and captured Dolnaraq. Their blood and flesh would taste very, very sweet.

  * * * *

  The night came, and with it, movement. There was much commotion, some hollering, shouting of orders, the clanking of iron upon iron, horses neighing, and a handful of motorcars starting their sputtering engines. The large-bellied man appeared just prior to the leaving. He stared appraisingly at the confused Dolnaraq, nodding his head and grunting his approval. Another man, one Dolnaraq had not seen before, approached only moments later. He was short of stature, wore soiled clothes in need of mending, and had round eyes that seemed to twinkle as he spoke. “Food for you, my young friend,” he said as he slid a bowl of fatty meat and raw vegetables through a small slot at the base of the cage. “Food for you,” he repeated with a nod and a smile. Dolnaraq understood fragments of the human language known as German, enough to comprehend this simple statement. But he did not move toward the offered meal. Rather, Dolnaraq stared at the man with a hate known only between captive and captor. Dolnaraq would slay this little man one day. He would slay him and make a meal of him. “Food for you, my young friend.” Oh yes, food for Dolnaraq, but not such as this man could have dreamed.

  Dolnaraq’s cage was built on a flat-bedded cart and pulled by a single horse—an old gray and white beast with a sunken back and the odor of rotting teeth. The cage swayed and jerked with the movement causing the still-full bowl of slop to spill over onto the bare wooden floor. Dolnaraq felt the jolt of each bump and dip throughout the entirety of his left shoulder and neck. The pain would shoot directly into his head, nearly blinding him with piercing agony.

  They traveled for three days in total, but only this one time during the dark hours. Dolnaraq surmised that perhaps they were attempting to sneak from the nearby village where Tresset and he had hunted. This led him to conclude that they were hiding him, that for whatever reason, these humans did not want the other humans to know they’d captured the young molt.

  When finally the procession stopped, it was in a large grassy area on the outskirts of another small village. There was an immediate buzz of activity as the many human workers assembled booths and gadgets, stocking flimsy shelves with brightly colored stuffed toys and candies. A beast, much larger than Dolnaraq ever dreamed possible, was roped off with a simple stake just a few feet from Dolnaraq’s cage. The creature had dumb black eyes, floppy ears three times the size of a falcon’s wingspan, tree trunk-like limbs, and a long gray snout that writhed like a snake. The brute surely had the strength to free itself by wrenching the puny wooden stake from the ground. But, why then, did it remain a captive? This made no sense to the pained reyaqc.

  Once the general commotion had slowed to occasional shouts and curses, the small man with the worn clothing and the twinkling eyes again visited Dolnaraq. As before, he slid food through the opening at the base of the cage. “Eat, my friend. You must remain strong.” Dolnaraq did eat, but he felt anything but strong. His shoulder still shot with blinding bursts of pain. The thought that Tresset would rescue him heartened him some, but even this seemed a foolish hope. The group had traveled many miles; there were numerous beasts and humans in the company. Tresset could easily lose Dolnaraq’s scent in the foul-smelling blend. But Tresset would find him. He knew Tresset would do this. For surely, he would do the same for Tresset.

  The big burley man with the slits for eyes came by as the sun inched toward the final quarter of its daily journey. He grunted and nodded, then barked orders to a young worker tending the huge gray beast. The kid nodded and ran off to Dolnaraq’s left. The big man smiled then nodded again, mumbling something to Dolnaraq, though the molt did not catch the meaning. He then ambled away, apparently quite satisfied with himself. Dolnaraq would be quite satisfied when he opened the fat man’s bowels and spilled his innards onto the shiny green grass.

  The young man returned with four buckets of water—two wire handles in each hand. Setting all four of his sloshing metal burdens on the grass, he then lifted one of these, approached the cage with a sly grin, and tossed the water directly at the surprised reyaqc, striking Dolnaraq squarely in the chest. Dolnaraq howled in protest, shaking his head furiously and hammering his palms in a staccato drum roll against the grainy floorboards. But the boy repeated the process, only this time, knowing what was coming, Dolnaraq dodged the throw and the water splashed uselessly onto Dolnaraq’s sleeping area. Another quick splash to the right torso and Dolnaraq charged the bars of his cage causing the entire structure to shudder and creak, though the bars remained true and Dolnaraq stumbled backward in renewed agony as the fourth cascade doused him in the face.

  The boy laughed and hopped about, pointing at Dolnaraq. But there came a voice from beyond the youth. “Boy, what do you do?” said the little man with the twinkling eyes. “Leave this one be.”

  “Wilhelm said it must be bathed,” protested the youth.

  “So you decided to make a sport of it?” shot the other. “Besides, this poor creature is still injured. You increase the chance of infection if you dampen the wound.”

  Dolnaraq comprehended only a portion of this exchange, but he vaguely understood that the older human was chastising the younger for his treatment of Dolnaraq. How small this man’s mind must be. Did he treat Dolnaraq any better by being party to his capture and imprisonment?

  This small dirty man then made his way to the cage. “My apologies to you, my young friend. The youth bares the stupidity of a poor upbringing. Perhaps I can get you a towel.”

  But the man had wandered too close to the cage and with too little caution. Charging the iron bars, Dolnaraq shot his right arm between these, slashing furiously at the man and ripping his left cheek. Dolnaraq did not have claws such as Tresset did. His sustaining species was the fox, and thus he had dark curved nails at the ends of his fingers, not talons. But these were enough to slice the flesh, enough to wound and rip. The man stumbled away from the cage with a yelp.

  Dolnaraq grinned at the injured man and eagerly licked droplets of blood from his fingers. The man glanced back, appalled, and then staggered away to tend to his wound.

  * * * *

  The night was horrifying.

  Dolnaraq’s cage was moved to a sawdust walkway lined with booths and mindless attractions. He had not noticed these before, but at the top of each side of the cage were rolled curtains which were now released to fall
down before the bars, enclosing the confused reyaqc in near darkness. There was much commotion, hurrying about, shouts and curses as the crew rushed one way and then another in final preparation for, “the opening.” Whatever that was.

  Soon there were new sounds, new scents. Dozens upon dozens of unfamiliar humans crowded into the area—children hooting, females giggling, and men boasting and cursing. There was the strange sound of mechanical music warbling through the air. All the livestock became agitated. Dolnaraq could smell their heightened perspiration even in his shrouded pen. There were the pops of what seemed to be small guns, the creaking and protesting of machinery, and the smell of sweet foods wafted about the breeze. Two young males raced past, then paused, jabbering between themselves. One approached the cage, cautiously lifting the corner of the drape to peek inside. There was a shout, the voice of the obese slit-eyed man. The two children raced away squealing with mirth as the man who’d shot and captured Dolnaraq cursed and spat.

  Soon a crowd collected near Dolnaraq’s cage. There were mutters and whispers, talk of a scam and a phony. Then the slit-eyed man hollered above the crowd, quieting them. “Tonight,” he said in a grand and husky voice. “Tonight, you will see something amazing, something raw, something few human eyes have ever beheld. You’ve heard rumors of lycanthropy, of men who turn to wolf. But you believe these to be folly, the foolish talk of the simpleminded. But, tonight! Tonight, you face the truth. For the first time ever, a true werewolf has been captured and caged. Tonight, for your pleasure, I present—the wolf boy!”

  As the curtain rose, Dolnaraq was already pacing the length of his cage, his random tufts of fur on end, his nostrils flaring with the unfamiliar scents, his ears twitching to the multitude of sounds. There were gasps and whispers. A young mother drew her two small children close and backed away from the cage in fear. A bearded man raised a bottle of golden liquid above his head, hooting and cheering. Dolnaraq was confused, frightened. Why were these people here? What did they want of him? Did they plan to make him their evening meal? Dolnaraq understood some of what the slit-eyed man said. He’d mistakenly referred to Dolnaraq as a wolf. He’d said Dolnaraq was here for their pleasure. What pleasure could that be? The hunt? No. Dolnaraq was already captured. But, consumption. They would take pleasure in consuming Dolnaraq, for surely he would take pleasure in consuming them.

  In a rage of fright and anger, Dolnaraq growled, racing to and fro about his cage, swiping at the air with his curled fingers, cocking his head this way and that at the scents and sounds. The crowd applauded, but Dolnaraq did not understand this flurry of sound. Becoming more fearful yet, he found the sudden need to make water. The slit-eyed man stood just two feet in front of the cage, staring at the mesmerized crowd, nodding and grinning, so very pleased at what he’d done.

  There was laughter and hooting as the slit-eyed man cursed and stumbled over his own clumsy feet in an effort to escape Dolnaraq’s golden stream. His face red, his lungs heaving, the bulky man struggled to his feet, stumbling again and nearly knocking an old toothless woman to the sawdust ground. The crowd laughed some more. One man cried, “A toast to the werewolf!” Another responded, “I think he already toasted that fat carnie!” More laughter. More curses from the slit-eyed man. And the curtains suddenly fell, plunging Dolnaraq into darkness and causing the crowd to boo and hiss.

  * * * *

  Morning came and Dolnaraq had slept very little. The slit-eyed man, still reeking of Dolnaraq’s scent, ordered the “wolf boy” to go hungry. Apparently, this was retribution against Dolnaraq’s insult to his dignity. But Dolnaraq was not hungry and therefore did not miss the food. He was agitated, confused. What was the purpose of the crowd? What had they expected of him? He still wondered if he’d been an intended meal, and that only his attack—however flimsy and ineffective—on the slit-eyed man had delayed the feast. The sun was just inching over the horizon when Dolnaraq finally felt his eyelids becoming heavy and his limbs weak. Moving to the corner of his cage, he used his feet to scoot some straw together into a pile, and then lowered himself to the floor with a despondent moan. He understood so little of his situation and wished Tresset were here to guide him through this strange circumstance.

  The cat was there when he awoke. It was nestled beside him, under the crook of his arm. Orange-brown in color, it bore alternating dark and light stripes. Its eyes were wide and green, and its paws a snowy white. Dolnaraq snorted at the creature, but the thing simply meowed and nestled closer yet. Dolnaraq considered slaying it outright, but was not yet hungry enough to bother. He was sleepy and the feline was simply not that interesting. He fell back into slumber, allowing the diminutive creature to remain.

  The cat was still there three hours later when Dolnaraq awakened to the sound of the twinkle-eyed man. The small human wore gauze on his left cheek as a result of Dolnaraq’s attack. But this had not altered his manner toward the reyaqc. “Good day, my young friend,” he said as he arrived with a meager bowl of food. “It seems you’ve gained a new companion in the night.” The man smiled and cooed at the cat and generally played the fool in his attempt coax the creature to him. Finally sliding the food through the small slot in the cage, the man said. “You embarrassed Wilhelm last night. He’s been storming around the place ever since, cursing you and promising to kill you the first chance he gets. Don’t worry. You’ve made him more money in one night than he normally sees in a week. He won’t be harming you again, I’ll promise you that.” Then the little man leaned forward with a sly wink. “Only next time, please wait till I’m nearby before you piss on the big buffoon. I’d really liked to have seen that.”

  * * * *

  The days fell into a dull routine. The little man, whose name Dolnaraq learned was Oskar, would bring food and chat for a few minutes about the happenings of the day. The cat became a permanent resident of the cage. It ran off from time to time, sometimes returning with a slain rat or sparrow clasped tightly within its jaws, but always it nestled beside Dolnaraq in the long cool nights. Dolnaraq had never understood the human propensity to keep pets, but he did find a certain comfort in having the curious little thing around.

  After several days, each of which featured daily “performances” offering Dolnaraq up as a spectacle before an amused and skeptical audience, the carnival moved on to yet another village. Dolnaraq was agitated and restless. He had not been allowed out of his cage since capture and his muscles grew stiff and weak. Though Oskar would reach in with a rake each day and pull away waste, often slipping new straw into the space, and sometimes dousing offensive stains with water, the cage still became rank with the odors of Dolnaraq’s own existence. After moving on to yet another town and yet another week’s performances, Dolnaraq felt a familiar withering from within. It was rapidly approaching the time for another infusion. He now spent his days curled in a ball at the center of his cage, shivering and gasping, his skin becoming nearly transparent and taking on a bluish tone.

  “You are ill, my friend. What is wrong?” asked Oskar one brisk morning as he set Dolnaraq’s food dish aside and gazed in at his charge.

  Dolnaraq’s heavy eyes fluttered open. He stared at the concerned face just five feet away and knew he had not the energy to traverse the space. “Essence,” he moaned in a hushed growl. “Essence.”

  Oskar’s eyes widened. Dolnaraq had yet to speak since capture. “Why, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?” The man moved closer, right up against the cold metal bars, probably for the first time since Dolnaraq had swiped at him. “What is that you’re saying, now?”

  “Essence,” moaned Dolnaraq. At the sound, the cat purred and leaned against the feeble reyaqc’s stomach as if to lend support.

  “I’m sorry, my young friend. I do not understand,” said Oskar.

  Dolnaraq didn’t know where the energy came from, perhaps sheer survival instinct alone, but in that moment he leapt forward catching the startled handler at the base of the skull, pulling him forward, and drawing deeply from him. Oskar
stared questioningly into Dolnaraq’s vacant white eyes, a look of fear and perplexity creasing his genial features. The caretaker’s green eyes, normally so lively and bright, became dull and hazy. His jaw went slack. His form twitched then lurched. Dolnaraq released the limp figure, allowing the man to slump into a heap beside the cage. He then retreated into a corner, Oskar’s essence burning as it raced through his body, renewing, reshaping, rebuilding.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The rabbit was deft, agile, swift of foot, and Tresset was burdened with an ever-depleted form. Several weeks now, and still he felt the effects of the tainted essence. No sores could be seen—none besides the self-inflicted scratches as Tresset continually scraped rocks against his skin in an effort to purge his system—but still, the taint remained. It had become a part of him, a piece of his makeup. And so Tresset had come to despair his existence.

  The reyaqc require—first and foremost—human essence. Their form is essentially human, their internal organs similar, their intellect comparable. None are certain of the reyaqc’s origin; some say they are the product of unions between human females and demons, others claim they are a gross mutation; others, the next evolutionary step toward perfection. Regardless, it is safe to assume that there is some past human connection. But Tresset had forsaken human essence. He’d come to despise the need, to view it as inherently corrupt, and so refused to instill his system with this central component. Mountain cats, his sustaining species, were rare in this area and so he’d taken to infusing from simple house cats. The feline essence was similar enough that he had not suffered too greatly from incompatibility, but his body ached for the human component.