Chronicles of the Penitent [fiction, part 3]

The clouds over Allensburg hung over the moon like a funeral shroud, rendering the brilliant moonlight into an ash-grey haze that concealed as much as illuminated. Shadows pooled like tangible, living things, staking their claim over the town, retreating only from the piercing glare of the lamp that the Confessor carried.

They stood in the center of the town square, all of them clad in thick coats in a futile attempt to ward off the cold.

"We have ten days," The Confessor spoke, his breath misting in the air, "We know too little about this Lycanthrope as of yet, so we must gather whatever information we can."

He turned to Gregorio and Thorne, "The two of you will scout out the surrounding wilderness." He allowed himself a small smile, "Both of you have excellent tracking skills... and whatever Gregorio's daggers cannot bring down, your axe will." He nodded to the larger of the two.

Thorne nodded grimly, his hand subconsciously wrapping itself around the hilt of the broad axe strapped to his back.

Kwairen looked at the Confessor, gracefully gesturing to himself and Joanna.

"You two will serve as my eyes and ears to the people." the Confessor answered, "I fear that Hans will not be of any help to us regarding this beast. Perhaps the family of Jonas the cobbler would be able to give us more information."

"It shall be done." Joanna replied quietly, as Kwairen bowed.

The Confessor turned his gaze towards an old church building on the far side of the town. Birds, ravens perhaps, were perched on the bell tower, watching him back. "We meet back here tomorrow at noon." He said, as he pulled his tricorn hat lower over his eyes and walked towards the church.

----

"What do you suppose this Lycanthrope could be, Gregorio?" Thorne asked, his large frame moving with surprising grace as he followed the small gypsy man through the forest trail.

"A Werewolf, perhaps?" Gregorio replied, his voice thick with his accent, his hand playing with a narrow, pointed dagger.

"Maybe." Thorne replied, as he looked around. Already the green-gray mists began to rise again, the icy tendrils of fog wrapping about their legs. Thorne grit his teeth, as the cold brought back memories of his crime.

A bloody axe, and a terrible feeling of being so cold. Fingers stiff, wrapped tightly around the axe hilt with the grip of a drowning man. Legs cold, rapidly cooling blood pooling at his feet. Icy silence ringing in his ears, save for the distant crackling of a fireplace.

"Thorne!" The larger man snapped out of his dreadful reverie when Gregorio stopped, pointing something out near a clearing with his dagger. Thorne walked up to the smaller man, squinting his eyes to see...

There was something within the mists, an odd shape breaking the smooth outline of the meadow. A mass of torn edges and odd angles, of caked mud and matted hair.

----

Joanna moved with sure grace, Kwairen following quietly beside her. "I do not wish to waste our time speaking with these townsfolk." Joanna stated, "They are too paralyzed with fear to give us anything of value."

Kwairen gave her an inquisitive look.

"It's really simple, Kwairen." Joanna flashed him a smile, "We seek out first-hand information."

Kwairen finally nodded in understanding, looking towards the direction of the Allensburg cemetery.

----

The doors of the church swung easily enough, the Confessor thought, as he pushed open one of the large double-doors to the church. The interior of the church cried out of faded glories, lifeless tapestries and grey paintings hung on either side. Shadows filled the church where the faithful should have been, and a lone, incomplete candelabra lent it's lonely light to the altar.

A single figure stood by the altar, dressed in simple robes. His square-jawed face was one of dislike the moment the Confessor entered. Almost protectively the priest circled around the altar and walked briskly up the center asile to meet the Confessor.

"You." The priest said, with barely disguised disapproval.

"Greetings." the Confessor replied, with a sardonic smile and an exaggerated look over the church interiors, "Has the donation tray been getting a little lighter as of late?"

The priest leveled a glare at his unwelcome guest, "I have heard of you, Confessor. I do not know what madness it was that drove Hans to send for your aid, but we do not need you here."

"Really now?" the Confessor said propping up his staff beside him, "It doesn't seem that way considering four of your flock have met their untimely demise over the past few months."

The priest narrowed his eyes, "They are my flock, Confessor, and it is my god that will watch over them."

The Confessor looked over the altar to see the image of the priest's god, a proud and haughty fellow, holding a sword and looking very much like a protector and conqueror at the same time.

"As it will be." the Confessor said, moving with a speed that caught the priest by surprise, the Confessor's fist wrapped around the priest's collar, "Your god will watch. It's what he has always done. I however, will act."

The priest opened his mouth to say something when the Confessor rapped the side of his face with the cross-shaped tip of his staff and tightened his grip on the priest's collar. "I have not come here to discuss the finer points of theology with you." the Confessor hissed, "I come here seeking information on this Lycanthrope. What your god thinks of me is none of my concern."

"Then why do you seek me out?" the priest gasped, trying to breathe.

"Because," the Confessor leaned closer, "No one knows the flock better than it's sheperd."

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OOoookay... this project is getting longer everytime I type a new installment. :p I this one isn't as quickly paced as the previous one, but I hope you guys still like it!