literature

Legends

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"Professor Sewell! Come quickly! You're not bloody going to believe this!"

Professor Elizabeth Sewell gave the intern a cross glare through her glasses. She was a middle-aged woman, with red hair just beginning to silver. She was not finicky about her appearance, yet she tried very hard to avoid the "stern librarian" appearance displayed by many of her colleagues. "Language, Mister Porter. If you wish to be a professional, you'll need to control that hasty tongue of yours."

"Right sorry," young Porter gasped obligatorily as he shoved aside both flaps that served as the door to her tent and beckoned her outside. He was a consummate portrayal of young adulthood: longish hair that constantly dangled over his brows, sloppily-shaven stubble, and lose, dirty clothes. Dark brown hair and eyes were the only color contrasting an otherwise pasty complexion. "But you must come see this! We've found something in the cave!"

Elizabeth sighed as she closed her archeology book, obviously in no hurry. The late Professor Valeroso's love for the Mayans always managed to enchant even a seasoned archeologist such as herself, making her remember the passion of a first-year student like Collin Porter here. That was what gave her the patience to deal with his enthusiasm, but he needed to learn patience in the study of history. Fossils were hundreds of years old; they weren't going anywhere. "What did you find?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, placing a hand on her wrist. "You must see it for yourself! We've made the discovery of the century!" If she had a penny for every time she had heard that phrase, she would double her income as an Oxford educator. Everyone knew that the "discovery of the century" had been the rediscovery of the decedents of Atlantis a year ago – or rather their rediscovery of Earth.

It was a rocky trudge up the hill to the caves. Dr. Sewell glanced up at the sky and wished the clouds to hold back the ominous weather they threatened. The threshold of the cave buzzed with activity from the rest of the interns, all babbling with more excitement than she had ever seen from a group of student archeologists. Porter fastidiously checked the torches for fresh batteries. Whatever it was, he wanted her to have a clear look at it. She noted the expectant, hopeful stares of the other pupils as Collin lead her into the familiar blackness.

"There!" he said a few meters in, aiming the torch's light on a skull. On first glance it looked like the skull of a canis lupus, a wolf. But then she noted it was too big. Much, much too big. And as Collin swept the light underneath it, she made out more pieces of skeleton putting up out of the earth… a large, hominid skeleton. Scraps of ancient fabric surrounded the remains. She gasped and dropped her torch. Discovery of the century, indeed.



Within weeks, Sewell and her students became household names, their faces everywhere. Very quickly were the remains freed from their earthen tome and transported to Alexander Keiller Museum, where she was given the resources of an entire department to study the findings. Archeologists, anthropologists, geneticists, historians, and even teachers from fields she had never even heard of all came to examine the so-named "Werewolf remains" for themselves. Any accusations of a scam were inevitably silenced by the meticulous and sometimes repeated examinations of the bones. Genetic samples confirmed a genome never before seen, a clear hybrid between canis lupus and homo sapiens. Very quickly did the museum become a destination point for veritable pilgrims that Sewell and her students were forced to assemble the skeleton as best as they could and put it on display for limited periods between examinations.

"While we are hesitant to say this proves the existence of 'werewolves' amongst us," Sewell said in a press release, "I will go on record speculating that approximately six centuries ago, a creature roamed the lands and while we have yet to determine where it came from or what it was, it seems very likely that this creature sparked the legend of the werewolf, which grew out from there." Whether she was being the consummate scientist or the discovery had not fully sunk into her own brain, she was not sure. Many were being forced to re-evaluate their world views, herself included. Where lycanthropy fit into everything, she could not yet determine. But if she could wrap her head around the existence of human life on other planets, she could learn to accept this… eventually.

A few months later, the media circus had not died down. Every time it was about to, some new scientist came along to examine the bones for him- or herself and when they inevitably confirmed her findings, whipping the media back into its frenzy. As the latest redundant news program streamed on the telly, Elizabeth shut it off in disgust.

"Our lives have become a damned circus," Collin sneered, leaning over the glass case there the bones now lay.

"Language," she reminded him sternly.

"Sorry Prof. It's just, today's my parents' anniversary, and I can't even go out in public without someone asking me about the f- the bones."

"I understand, Coll. None of us could have seen this coming-"

There was a knock on the door. Everyone jumped; it was well past the museum's closing time and they were expecting no visitors. Whoever was on the other side knocked again, obviously impatient.

Collin, rather than answering the door, dashed towards the window and peaked out. "There's a government truck parked out there!" he exclaimed.

"Professor Sewell?" a voice penetrated the door. "We know you're in there. Please let us in, on the crown's authority!"

She and Coll exchanged a nervous look before she slowly turned the knob. Before she even had the door completely open, in flooded a seeming legion of government agents, all stone-faced as they took choreographed positions and secured the room.

"Forgive this intrusion," a middle-aged man spoke, differentiating himself from the sentries with a colored tie, a flag pin on his lapel and an actual expression on his face. "I'm minister Arthur Jocoby, of the Queen's newly-appointed Bureau of Interplanetary Relations."

"The BIR?" Coll asked from his position firmly in the center of the room, as if magnetically repelled by the agents in the room. He kept one arm protectively over the glass coffin, as if he could protect it if they so chose to take it from them. "What does your lot want with us?"

Jacoby smiled. "Nothing. These two gentlemen, however…"

And through the door ducked in two seven-foot, robed werewolves.

One had mottled shades of tan and gold, the other flat gray. Both had brown eyes that swept the room before finally landing on the bones.

"… have understandable issues with the public display of their ancestor's remains," the government representative stated.



Approximately 600 years ago…

Tar'ril could not contain it any more: the longing, the fear, the resentment. His mate tried to ease his feelings, but with a child born to them he found that he could not, in good conscience, raise a new life into a slave's existence.

"What choice do we have?" Shi'ril asked, as she lay on the simple mattress they shared with their newborn son. She was a female of pure white, but their son shared his solid-black coat of fur. "Our masters do not treat us cruelly. You've heard as well as I the abuses the Na'vah heap upon their slaves. I say our son is lucky to be born into an Atlanan household. We are at least treated humanely."

"Our masters tolerate us because we are useful to them," Tar'ril said as he paced the small room. The mattress took up half the space; he practically spun around more than he walked and felt himself growing dizzy. Finally stopping, he watched his son as the young life slept, completely oblivious to his low status in the world. That innocence would not last long. "But even the 'kindest' Atlanan still treats a Lahani as subhuman."

Shi bit her lip. "Tar'ril, we are subhuman."

"That is what they keep telling us and telling us," he punched his fist into his other hand with each "telling us" for emphasis, "until we can not help but believe it. I'm tired of being treated like I have no soul just because our forefathers were grown in tanks and not birthed from wombs as the humans are."

"Do you think The God would give a soul to a genetically engineered slave?" Shi'ril asked bleakly.

"Look at me!" he all but screamed, spreading his arms out. "Look at yourself! We reason. We feel. We love, just as much as the humans. I ask you, how could we do such without souls? They may have created our bodies, but only The God can give life! The Atlanans are not The God, nor do they even try to claim such."

The child began to cry, startled by his father's outburst. Shi'ril scooped him into her arms and labored to soothe him. "But we would not exist without them," she said. "Do we not owe them to fulfill the purposes they created us for?"

"Have we not labored for them for centuries?" he growled. "The God punished the Atlanans for their dalliance with the natural order when He spread the plague across the Mother World and cut them off from it, but He did not punish the Lahani for being the products of such genetic tampering. So why must the sons continue to pay the debts of their forefathers?"

"What you are suggesting – it cannot be done. They'll kill us!"

"They will try but they will fail," he assured his mate. "You have seen the aptitude tests – I am one of the best pilots in existence – even better than most humans! Our master grants me unrestricted access to the estate ships. We need merely to take off tomorrow night and we will be out of range before they even discover our absence. We need only to find the Free Lahani after that."

"The Free Lahani are a myth," Shi'ril sneered, though she refused eye contact as she said it. Instead she kept her gaze down at the baby as he suckled from her breast. "You would risk our lives and the lives of our son on a rumor."

"No, they aren't. I once met one, saw him with my own eyes. He had a joy to him that I can only explain with his freedom. Soon there will be enough of us to stand up against the Atlanans and the Na'vah and declare 'No more!' Our son deserves more than this life, more than this hovel we inherited from my obsequious father who was willing to leave me and my brothers to the mercies of the humans. My brothers who were sold off one by one and separated from all they held dear." He pointed at their child. "Our son will know his brothers, and his sisters, and his nephews and nieces too."

Shi'ril wavered, staring intently at her child for a few silent heartbeats. "Very well," she said. "We will go with you."

The next day went unbearably slowly Tar'ril. Liberty was so close that he could taste its sweet nectar. He mentally reviewed everything in painstaking detail many times throughout the day: the timing of the guard change, the ship controls, the astral navigation he would need to lay out. One schooner already had supplies loaded on, and during a routine "maintenance" check he smuggled aboard spare clothes and diapers. His mate would bring their meager personal possessions with her in a bag.

As the day came to an end and the sun set, Tar'ril grew contemplative. The previous night's conversation grew heavy in his mind. How could his mate even doubt she owned a soul? He knew that The God had granted them souls because He answered Tar'ril's prayers. Hadn't He given him the mate of his dreams, and a strong child? And now He would grant him the last desire of his heart: freedom. Oh, that's a good thought, he realized. I will have to share it with her the next time she expresses doubt.

As the time came for the masters to retire to bed and the household shut down for the night, Tar'ril boarded the vessel. With shaky hands he powered up the systems, enjoying the hum as the engine throbbed to life. Never before had he been so thrilled, not even on the day of his first flying lesson. With everything in readiness and the night sky clear, he ran to the port entrance to usher his mate and child inside.

At the other end of the platform his mate stood. But where was their son?

"I'm sorry, Tar'ril!" she called out to him, "but I couldn't allow you to endanger our child."

A shot rang out.

Tar'ril felt a stabbing pain in his leg.

He fell back, and as fortune would have it landed against the control panel for the door. It closed shut as his mind began to process what had happened to him.

Betrayed… me. She betrayed me… betrayed… our son…

There was no time to hesitate. He had to act or he would be killed. His old life was closed off to him; all he could do was get to the Free Lahani. Tar'ril staggered away from the door and grabbed the first aid kit near the door, threw it open and dumped out the contents. He rummaged out a clotter and slapped it onto his bleeding leg, screaming more from emotion than the sting of the bandage sanitizing his wound and forcing his blood to congeal faster.

Dragging himself into the pilot's chair, Tar'ril guided the ship into the air. It was the rockiest ride of his life; he had to swallow back the contents of his stomach twice. All the while his only thought was getting clear and finding the Free Lahani. They were his only hope of ever seeing his son again. If there was even the remotest possibility they could somehow smuggle the boy out to him, he had to try it. The masters would never let him see his son again.

Once into space, Tar'ril set the course and activated the tachyon-sails. Before he could jump, though, alarms blared: Patrols! He throttled forward, trying to put as much distance between them as he could. He could only move in a straight line; it was impossible to engage a tachyon jump while performing evasive maneuvers. The ship's systems squealed warnings; he was under fire. "No ch-choice…" he said through gritted teeth, and hit the button to begin the tachyon-jump.

Just milliseconds before he was sent hurtling across the cosmos, a lucky shot – or unlucky, depending on your point of view – racked the lee engines.



Present Day…

"It is impossible for a ship to explode during a tachyon-jump… time is frozen. More than likely, he was hurtled off course… very much off course, with no way to make another jump once back into real-space," Ob'ril continued the tale of his ancestor. Everyone had gathered around in stool-perched circle, all except the body-guards. The brothers sat beside the glass case of their ancestor's bones. Ob'ril and his gold-furred younger brother, Dre'ril, took turns with the narration, which kept all the humans in the room enraptured, Professor Sewell most of all. And why wouldn't it? The tale wouldn't have lasted six centuries if it wasn't moving.

Sensing his turn, Dre'ril took the narrative over: "Tar'ril's son, Nef'ril, grew to become as passionate for freedom as his father. Maybe it was in the genes, maybe it was a coincidence. When he became a teenager he fulfilled his father's dream and ran away to join the Free Lahani, hoping to find his father amongst them. But no one had heard of Tar'ril. What happened to him became a mystery amongst our people. And now you have finally answered it, in part."

"We've spent our whole lives searching for him," Ob'ril said. "We have become… how do you say it? Historical detectives? Basically your own profession, or our peoples' version of it."

Elizabeth stood up, walking to gaze at Tar'ril's skeleton in new light. Where once she had seen the bones of a mystery monster, she now gazed upon the mortal remains of a legend. She felt a mixture of honor and mortification for what she had done. Judging by the awed expression on Coll's face, he shared her sentiments.

"You misassembled the feet," Dre'ril noted. Indeed, she looked down and saw flat feet peeking out from under the Lahani's robe. She felt her face warm. Some archeologist I am. They had configured the bones with a digigrade structure in mind.

"How do you think he died, professor?" Ob'ril asked, his eyes boring into her. He was a serious chap, without a doubt. Elizabeth knew that even without the awe of being in the presence of her first aliens, she would have felt intimidated by this one. He had an intenseness about him.

"The most honest way I can put it," she said, "Is that he came to Earth at the wrong time. We call that period of history our 'Dark Ages' – people were primitive, motivated by fear and superstition. Any humans who saw him would likely have assumed he was a demon or a monster. From the trauma on the bones, it's most likely he died of injuries from an attack. He must have gotten away, or they would have burned his remains… but it was too late. He crawled into that cave and never came out."

A dense, suffocating silence overcame the descendents of Tar'ril. Professor Sewell knew she could not have lied to them. Even if they couldn't have eventually figured out the truth for themselves, she respected them too much to lie. They deserved to know the truth from her own lips – they, her counterparts… colleagues. "I am so sorry," she added, softly.

"For what?" Dre'ril asked. "You solved the riddle of my family. What happened to him… it is not your fault."

Ob'ril stood up and walked over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She tried not to flinch under the scrutiny of such an awesome creature. She forced herself to make eye contact and knew, without a doubt, that these beings had souls. "Thank you," he said, dipping his head.

Dre'ril took Collin and did the same with him. A quick learner, he mimicked the Lahani's gestures. Elizabeth felt a swell of pride, nearly bursting the dam of her emotions. He would go far, that one.



The next few days were busy ones. Ob'ril and Dre'ril worked alongside their new human friends to repair Tar'ril for transport back home. Their leaders had already promised a tome in the Honored Gravelands on the Lahani home world if they could confirm the bones were, indeed, those of Tar'ril. Genetic comparisons between the bones and the brothers proved it. Tar'ril would finally arrive at the planet that centuries ago had harbored the first Free Lahani.

Elizabeth (as she told them to call her) proved to be a worthy new friend. She shared their passion for history and took them through a guided tour of the lands their forefather likely roamed during his last days, including the cave where he died. Much to everyone's surprise, the brothers managed to detect and unearth a recording device, containing the last words of their ancestor. Elizabeth was adamant that they transmit the recording to her as soon as the data was recovered. They were more than happy to oblige.

It was an emotionally exhausting trip, and when the time came to return home, the brothers felt great relief. Earth was a fascinating planet they fully agreed to return to someday, but important family business needed attending to at home first, of which the funeral was primary and sharing their findings with the rest of the historian community was secondary. With Tar'ril's remains finally secured aboard their ship, the brothers bid goodbye to their newfound friends and returned to the stars.

Rather than set course immediately for home though, Dre'ril suggested they coast out of the solar system and enjoy the sights first. Ob'ril reluctantly agreed, knowing their days would become even more hectic once reaching home. They needed some time to process the realization of their lives' goal, and to rest.

Once past the asteroid belt, they engaged autopilot and finally relaxed. Dre'ril got out of his chair and stripped off his clothes, motioning for Ob'ril to do so as well so he could put the clothes away. Ob'ril was more than happy to comply, finally able to remove such uncomfortable restrictions. Nudity was not socially accepted for public appearance in Lahani culture, but amongst family and the closest of friends, they thought nothing of exposing themselves. Indeed, it was a sign of trust to do so amongst friends not related to each other.

"Where are you going?" Ob'ril asked as his brother tossed their clothes into the closest and hurried out of the cockpit.

"I just remembered something Elizabeth mentioned," Dre'ril answered. "That Tar'ril's appearance likely gave rise to some legend called a 'werewolf.' I want to look it up before we're out of range of Earth's communications network."

Ob'ril shrugged and followed his brother. He watched as loads of information came pouring in through the monitors. Thankfully, the humans of Earth had this level of technology, for without it they wouldn't have been able to feed input into the lingual translator and download English language into their own brains.

"There is a lot to sort through," Dre'ril noted, his eyes growing wide. "Oh look, there's a few recorded plays… movies, Collin called them."

"Might as well watch one," Ob'ril said, taking a seat. "That seems the best way to start."

Dre'ril nodded and selected one called "The Wolf-Man," of which there seemed to be the most cross-references. They sat back and watched as names that meant nothing to them flashed across the screen…

…and nearly two hours later, sat in horrified shock as an even larger list of names scrolled passed them.

"That was…" Ob'ril began, but choked on himself.

"Horrific," his brother finished the thought for him.

After a heartbeat, Ob'ril finally found words to speak. "Is that really how they perceived our ancestor?"

"Seems so," he said. "The movie was obviously set in the past, and you saw how primitive everything looked. Remember what Elizabeth called those times? Superstitious, fearful - the 'Dark Ages.' Stories change with time… I'm sure Tar'ril's story has been romanticized on our side to a degree. And to these people… seeing an alien for the first time, one that resembled a predator… and not knowing what it was… obviously, things got out of hand."

The list of names refused to end. "Turn it off," Ob'ril growled, even as he pushed himself out of his seat and exited the room.

"Brother? Where are you going?" Dre'ril asked, following him.

Ob'ril said nothing, merely answering the question by letting his brother observe. He made his way to his ancestor's side and placed a hand over the wooden coffin the British government had provided. Lowering his head, Ob'ril did not try to staunch the tears that welled up in his eyes.

"Ob?" Dre questioned, placing a hand on his arm.

"I was just struck by the tragic irony of it all," he explained. "Tar'ril fled because he was tired of being called something less than human. So he escaped, only be wind up in a place far worse… a place where they called him freak, demon and monster. He took the ultimate gamble… and lost. And in the process shaped not one, but two legends."
Written for WerewolvesAtHeart's bi-weekly writing challenge: "If werewolves were real, how might they react to the way they are portrayed/perceived in this world?" Admittedly I went with a very different take on werewolves but I'm hoping the gamble will pay off. I wrote this in a day! Nearly 4 K words! That's got to be a new personal record.

I have ground to a halt on my novel, so I thought maybe a little universe-building would help reignite the spark. So yes, this story references elements from my own science fiction world. Hopefully one day my book will be published and you'll all be able to come back to this story and find all the little elements and extra touches that make continuity nerds (like me) grin. Until that day though, I'm hoping this story is strong enough to stand on its own merit.

Hmm. It has nudity, but I don't think it deserves a Mature tag, do you?

SPECIAL THANKS
~ElasticPoodle for helping me with her greater experience in being British. ;)
*DeathWind13 for his commissioned piece of art depicting a Lahani in my universe. He's holding a crazy-affordable sale on commissions to pay for his medical needs, so please go check him out!
© 2010 - 2024 JZLobo
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W-Lupus's avatar
:star::star::star::star-half::star-empty: Overall
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Vision
:star::star::star::star::star-empty: Originality
:star::star::star::star-empty::star-empty: Technique
:star::star::star::star-empty::star-empty: Impact

At some points this is good, in others, not so. I'll explain. It's mainly due to how you've written the story. The pacing is good, nice and fast for a short story, but it feels rather jagged in places. There are parts where I want the narrator to elaborate further, but it's skipping on to the next scene. In some places, the detail is sparse where it should have more. When the skeleton is found, you focus a few short sentences on describing the skeleton, but the characters reaction just feels a bit forced. I think you could portray the character's emotions better.

The plot is good, just the execution of it that needs more work. One flaw though - what happened on earth once the bones were gone? Quite a big plot whole, since it created such a media frenzy. Also, the dates don't quite add up. I assume the skeleton is found in South America because you mention the Mayans. In 1400 the Maya were still an advanced mesoamerican civilisation. The Spanish arrived around 1500, so the native civilisations were flourishing. The Dark Ages occurred after the collapse of Rome and the invasions of Barbarian Tribes - the Franks, the Saxons, Huns, Goths and such into Roman Territory. In Europe, the Renaissance was underway around 1400. Just to think about okay?

That's essentially the thinking behind the stars. Good idea, but had some plot holes and lacked in certain areas. Good still, but can be better.