Wilde Jagd
#3 of Matters of the Hart
Matters of the Hart
2022 by Zorha
"I think that is enough stories for tonight." The old woman eased herself back into her rickety rocking chair with much effort. The brutal winter cold that seeped through the thin walls of their decrepit cottage ate at her worn bones. "I think it's best now if you get ready for bed ..."
The young girl put away the porcelain doll she had been playing with before combing out her own hair. The ivory comb found so many snarls and tangles the Backfisch's lips almost turned into a snarl themselves.
"But Gram, I'm not tired!" She pouted at the idea. "Besides ... none of the tales you've told have a happy ending ... the wolves are always left with no one .."
As if called by name the wolf wandering somewhere outside howled again. This time however, the howl seemed to come straight through the frosted thin glass of their grimy windows instead of down from the chimney. The grandmother looked about nervously before grabbing the red cap next to her. She adjusted her thick glasses before returning to her knitting as a manner of habit, anxiously ignoring the unseen wolf stalking just outside her ramshackle walls.
"Oh sweet Child ... who planted such nonsense in your head?" She shook her head vehemently. Still, the old hart stammered, somehow thrown from ease. "The Devil's Hounds ... would rather eat your heart than take it ..."
The young girl's lips curled, her eye teeth pressing deep into her flushed lips. It was a cruel, knowing smile. Her thin fingers gingerly touched the heart shaped silver locket dangling between her shallow cleavage.
"Oh no Gram ... for one time ... a she wolf was brave enough to take a cowardly knight's heart ...
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Chapter III
Wilde Jagd
Schweinburg, Austria
September 22nd, 1448
Wolrad Wagner ran. He ran as if the devil himself was chasing him. Through countless villages and farms. Through the darkening heart of the Austrian forest he now found himself in. Through the countless years that seemed to drag on without end.
[Recommended music - Silvia Maleficas - The Witching Hour - Peter Grundry]
A hot billow escaped his partially open mouth with each ragged breath. Under his tattered military jerkin, a dark patch of sweat soaked through his under shirt. His upper body steamed in the nippy autumn air as he dashed around spruce and conifer. He tried not to twist his ankle on the broken, semi-rocky ground, but thick pockets of mist had already descended from dusk. It made it hard to see more than a few feet in front of him. The Waning Gibbous hanging in the twilight sky did little to illuminate his mad dash from his pursuers.
The worn soles of his boots splashed unexpectedly in an ankle high stream, and he momentarily lost his footing. He stumbled and caught himself at the last moment on a granite boulder. It forced the former knight to catch his breath. Wolrad looked back through the thick stand of dark evergreens behind him.
An apprentice hunter could follow the swath of carnage he left behind on the trail during his desperate scramble for sanctuary, and the howling, snarling thing that now gave chase had millennia of experience hunting down wayward runaways. Wolrad knew his flight was hopeless, but the alternative held even less promise.
There were things worse than death ...
Wolrad wiped the sweat from his brow then crawled over the forest floor of sticky pine needles and stones to the tiny stream. He cupped his shaking, filthy hands and thrust them into the cold water. He drank hurriedly to stymie his thunderous heart. An infernal howl made his trembling green eyes shoot up to the swirling banks of sinister mist before him.
He took off again, cursing himself for wasting that little lead he fought so hard to gain. The ground sloped downward at least, easing the burn of exhaustion in his wobbly legs. Wolrad looked up and noticed a castle up on a hill. From this distance, the torches up on the central gothic tower and stone walls of the keep looked tiny. Would the owners of this Castle grant him sanctuary, even if just for a night?
With the baying of the wolf behind him, he stumbled down the hill. He bounced off the trunks of barren beech and oak in his desperate flight. Dead leaves twirled down around him as he came to the rocky banks of the Thaya. He tore through a thicket of brambles and what was left of the jerkin ripped free of the undershirt, moments before Wolrad plunged into the icy river.
A jagged rock gashed though the already frayed remains of his breeches, and Wolrad hissed in pain. The shock of the icy water made his bowels move, losing precious ground as he floundered through the frigid water. Wolrad found a tenuous purchase on the opposite bank of the river, and scrambled on his muddy back out of the black, churning water. Blood dripped from the deep gash in his leg.
And here the Wild Hunt came to an end, for the cowardly knight could run no further.
From out of the fog on the far bank a black horse and rider emerged. Woldrad's heart thundered with mind stuttering terror, the nightmare stallion's black hooves beating into the thin soil in what appeared to him slow motion. The dark stead's muscles rippled as its gallop slowed to an antagonizing crawl, the huntsman on its back pulling back the reins to stop just before the river's edge.
[Recommended music - Return of the Dark Lord - Dark Magic Music - Peter Grundry]
Dressed in fine leather boots, a sturdy riveted doublet fit for a Lord, and a dark velvet cape, the huntsman in all black's demonic yellow eyes narrowed at young Wolrad. They swept over the running waters, preventing him from immediately claiming his prize. His raven black goatee framed a sudden scowl before he took his animal horn and blew a signal to end the hunt. A black wolf appeared from out of the fog. Her yellow eyes looked up, questioning her master.
"Find a way to cross this River, then take his Heart."
The hunter of wayward souls turned his steed and galloped back into the deepening Equinox night. Wolrad was not surprised to see the form of the wolf grow hazy as the fog gathered up around her, nor was he taken aback when the fuzzy silhouette assumed the soft curves of a naked woman. What did take him off guard was the besotted look in her bright yellow eyes as she interpreted her Master's nebulous order in a completely different way.
The last thing Wolrad remembered before blood loss and icy shock overtook him were the cries of the nearby castle guards and their line of torches coming down the hill ...
Castle Kollmitz, Austria
September 23rd, 1448
Eliza grew tired of watching the roaring fire nearby, its dancing flames doing little to keep the vaulted ceilings of the Great Hall warm. She instead looked at the bowl of fruit sitting before her on the extravagant long table. Her slitted yellow eyes narrowed at an apple, but more in curiosity than aversion. She sliced it open with the sharp claw of her index finger, sniffing at the seeds. They smelled faintly of death. The wolf in human guise absently wondered why any mortal would willingly ingest poison.
The heavy oak door opened and a portly, well dressed man accompanied by two guards and his personal handmaiden stepped through. A thinly veiled scowl crossed his fat, bearded face.
"You curse us all by coming here, demon." He spat out. "Now begone, before one hundred of the finest swordsmen this side of the Thaya send you back to Hell."
Despite her infernal nature, it was either very brave of her to come alone, or very foolish. With the element of surprise resigned, the Baron's swordsmen would surely arm themselves with silver-edged weapons.
"It is a pleasure to meet you too, Freiherrvon Hofkirchen." She didn't bother to get up from her chair, the subtle insult only infuriating the Baron further. Instead she smoothed out the creases to her forest green silk dress. "You will turn over the runaway to me and my Lord. He belongs to us."
"Like Hell I will." His jowls reddened. "My guards found him on our lands. He is under our sanctuary."
"You can't even protect yourselves." Her stern yellow eyes regarded him coldly. "What makes you think you can protect him?"
The two guards leveled their polearms at her vague threat, but after a moment, the Baron waved them off. He walked over to the painting of his father hanging above the fireplace, considering her curt words.
"Damned Bohemians and their corned powder." He slammed his meaty fist into the sturdy stone of the fireplace. Recent advances in war rendered its protection moot. From further up on the hill, Bohemian rifles could easily bypass this castle's outmoded walls.
"If you agree to turn a soul over to us, my Lord will build you a wall that can defeat their earthly weapons." The Baron considered her proposal. Better the Devil you know ...
"Very well." He begrudgingly agreed, the hushed words filled with instant regret.
"Now." She sprung up from the expensive chair with unnatural grace. "Take me to him." When he seemed hesitant, already re-assessing the deal, she flashed her fangs. "The deal is done, Freiherr. And payment will come due. Your soul or his ..."
The Baron nodded to his handmaiden, who meekly showed Eliza up to one of the keep's rooms, never directly looking into the demon's eyes, lest her soul be damned. As the heavy oak door to the small room swung open, Eliza eyes flashed with satisfaction at the sight of Wolrad sleeping on a simple wooden bed, supported by modest straw.
After all these years ...
She stalked over to him and knelt. Her soft hands felt over his youthful face, gently moving some reddish brown locks out of the way, as if to appraise her prize. When his forehead felt hot with fever, her face furrowed in concern. She diligently checked over him until coming to the gash in his breeches. With a growl she ripped the tattered fabric away, exposing the infected wound there. Her yellow eyes flashed up to the handmaiden.
"Bring me shackles and chains, a wash bucket, towels, sewing thread, a needle, a jar of honey, and clean blankets."
When the young hart did not respond right away, Eliza snarled. It startled the doe, who bounded away to collect the things asked of her. The wolf's claws tenderly brushed the former knight's flushed cheek. Half bloods were so delicate. Not entirely impervious to the ravages of time, injury, or disease. And yet, as she laid her ear gently on his bare chest, listening to his slow heartbeat, she found it ironic that her bloodline's last chance at continuation depended on such frailty.
[Recommended music - The Last of her Kind - The Elixir of Life - Peter Grundry]
Yes, the heart was cowardly, but it could also sense when to fight with advantage.
Yes, the mind ran from battle, but it could also determine a dishonorable order from a virtuous one.
Yes, the soul had run from the Dark Lord, but it could also be enticed back by a Dark Lady.
The handmaiden returned with the things Eliza had requested. The first thing the wolf in the green dress did was shackle the knight's ankle to the wall. Then she cleaned the knight and treated the wound with honey. After that she carefully sewed the gash closed. Finally, she covered him with wool blankets to keep him warm throughout the long, cold night. And she stayed there, kneeling by his side, until he woke the next morning.
When Wolrad eyelids fluttered open, his gaze wandered from the ceiling, to the barren stone walls, to Eliza. He suddenly shot up in bed, realizing his fever induced nightmare was not quite over. The short chain of his shackle prevented him from going very far. He scrambled back against the stone wall, fearing the wolf's sharp fangs and razor claws. When they did not dig their way immediately into his heart he eased a little.
"Why haven't you taken me back yet?" Wolrad asked. When she took his hand in hers, the usually hard look in her yellow eyes softened.
"Because ... I want more than your soul. I want ..." She placed her other hand on his chest. "This."
Wolrad was the last that could give his heart willingly and fully. His half brother was not inclined to any of her forms. And so, what she could not force, she would acquire by wile and dedication.
"My heart can not give itself," He stonewalled, "For my belly is empty." And on the 1st Night Eliza went out and hunted small game.
"My belly can not be filled," He balked, "For the rabbits are raw." And on the 2nd Night Eliza skinned them and gave them to the Baron's cooks to make a fine Hasenpfeffer.
"My gaze can not be yours," He stalled, "For this room is dreary." And on the 3rd Night Eliza sniffed out a single wild red rose.
"My bed can not be shared," He hesitated, "For the rose has nothing to hold it." And on the 4th Night Eliza sought out the Baron's finest potter, and commissioned the most elegant vase.
"My body can not be yours," He wavered, "For I am naked under these blankets." And on the 5th Night Eliza pursued the Baron's best tailor, and convinced him to stitch the finest groomsman's outfit.
"My hand can not be yours," He offered. "For it has no ring on it." And on the 6th Night Eliza hunted down the Baron's greatest blacksmith, who forged matching etched rings of cold iron to bind them together.
"My heart can not be yours." He suggested, "For I might forget you." And on the 7th Night Eliza threatened to eat the Baron's master jeweler unless he crafted an unique silver Heart shaped locket with a Hart emblazoned on it.
And on that final day, Eliza entered Wolrad's simple chambers and knelt by his side, carefully clasping the locket around his neck. The knight was astonished at the things she agreed to do for him. He seemed taken aback, fingertips feeling about the emblazoned hart. He looked at the ring, the wedding outfit hanging beside him on the stone wall, the vase, the rose, and all the empty bowels around him.
"Why did you go through all this?"
"Because," she said, "It's what mates do for each other ..." Wolrad seemed to contemplate this. He thought back to the countless years she spent chasing him, never giving up. She continued, "Now, will you give your heart to me? You and our Descendants. Forever, and Ever?"
Wolrad's green eyes trembled, locked on Eliza's yellow ones. His lower lip trembled.
"Yes."
And with that, Eliza leaned in, planting her silky lips against Wolrad's own. He closed his eyes as the feeling of them moving against each other took his breath away. She broke the kiss just long enough to catch their breath, resting their foreheads tenderly against each other. Eliza stood, claws hooking the neckline of her forest green dress and letting it slide off her porcelain skin. The garment pooled at her hind feet, letting him drink in her nakedness.
Wolrad just sat there, taking in the soft curves of her feminine form; the supple mounds of her breasts, her fleshy hips, her thick thighs. He opened his blankets and she took the invitation without hesitation. The initial touch of their naked forms was electric. They intertwined, fit together in a way that nothing in Heaven or Hell could quite match. Wolrad's rough hand slid down Eliza's back, feeling the inverted slope before ultimately cupping her buttocks. Eliza's quiet growl projected her approval before gently nipping at the sensitive spot right below Wolrad's left ear.
He could feel her body temperature spiking already; Her anticipation must have been extreme.
Their lips met again, and Wolrad's tongue braved a cursory exploration of Eliza's mouth. Eliza's claws cradled the back of his head in excitement, deeping this new primal dance she was unaccustomed to. When his tongue slid around her fangs, Wolrad smiled surreptitiously.
"My, what big teeth you have ..."
Eliza broke the kiss just long enough to shoot him a devious flash of her yellow eyes.
"All the better to mark you with, my Dear ..."
Her fangs sank into the soft flesh of his upper trapezius, just enough for blood to gush up around the puncture wounds. Wolrad hissed out in unexpected pain, his eyes sealing shut. His hands tried to push her away in reflex. It was all in vain, as he could not break her iron grip cradling him, holding him there as she savored his taste. The playful agony and ragged lust Wolrad found himself unable to escape flipped the feral switch that he had suppressed for so long.
His eyelids shot open to expose his own yellow, slitted eyes.
Eliza's unlatched from him just long enough for her lips to frame a half satisfied, half challenging snarl. Light crimson tipped her otherwise white fangs. Wolrad reached for her tempting flesh with eager claws he did not realize he had. Eliza snatched his wrists and pinned his upper body down effortlessly. She took her time toying with him, watching him snap at her with lengthening canines. The amused gleam in her eyes only infuriated Wolrad further. He thrashed against her, legs kicking.
Once she had enough Eliza climbed on top of Wolrad, locking his lower body down with her powerful legs. The soft fat of her ass touched the tops of his thighs. Wolrad felt her moist cleft grind gently against the base of his engorged member. She was ready to claim him now. After all these centuries. Everything that had led up to this moment, in hindsight, seemed inevitable. Wolrad laid there, pinned, at her infernal mercy, panting with need now.
Eliza locked eyes with him before scooting just a little bit forward on him, tilting her hips, and slowly slid back so that Wolrad's tip entered her.
Wolrad arched in instinct, sliding deeper into Eliza. Her folds were like wet velvet; gripping him. He gasped out as he hilted her. Never before had he felt such pleasure. A low growl escaped Eliza's partially opened muzzle lips as she rocked her hips slightly. The lustful gleam in her yellow eyes brightened as she started to ride him, shallow at first, but then deepening as they worked themselves into a primeval rut.
Eliza moaned out as she full on rode him now, savoring the way he leered at her gyrating breasts. But no, those were not for him. Soon they would grow fat with milk as the tiny cries of their future pups reached her perked wolven ears. Her pace quickened, the fat of her ass slapping his thighs hard now. She felt his engorged hot spear start to swell in climax. Her kegels gripped him on instinct as she felt his tip bump into the fleshly opening to her cervix, once, twice, thrice before Wolrad finally erupted inside her.
They both howled out in unison as he filled her eager womb with his virile seed, their Hellish union sending an inborn shiver up the spines of the castle's occupants ...
Böhmische Mauer, Austria
September 30th, 1448
Later that night the two mated wolves in human skin walked up to the Bohemian Wall, dressed in their wedlock attire. They approached Freiherrvon Hofkirchen and his small troupe, claws interlaced and rings touching. The Caltholic Priest made a sign of the cross, which elicited a small smirk from Eliza. Their new wall might protect against gunpowder, but she doubted it would protect their border against the reforms of Utraquist Hussites.
Not that she cared; she had been around long before the first martyrs were nailed up on crosses.
"Are you satisfied with it?" Eliza asked, looking up to the immense fortification.
"It is a fine wall," Freiherrvon Hofkirchen admitted with a begrudging frown. "Give your master my gratitude." Eliza's look hardened.
"Tell him yourself." She pointed a cruel claw at him. "This one gave himself willingly. The payment has come due. You're coming back with us."
"No ... nooo!" the Baron waved his hands, backing up. He was not known for being sharp minded; anyone else would have likely seen this inevitable turn of events.
His small troupe looked at each other, backing away from him. He also was not known for being very quick. And despite their armor, his guards only needed to be faster than him. They fled.
His priest dropped to his knees and prayed for the Baron's soul. He was also not known for being very devout. He would have likely wound up in Hell given enough time anyway.
The two wolves pounced on him, dragging him through the gate back to Hell. On the way through, the Baron gripped the inner wall so hard his fingertips left impressions on the stone there. Some say they still remain there to this very day ...
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The elderly woman shook her head, withered fingers still working the knitting needles fervently. This late at night, the fire in the hearth struggled to keep her breath from being visible. Despite this, the Backfisch just sat on her wobbly stool, not shivering in the slightest.
"What a lewd little tale," Her disapproving look seemed even more distorted in the thick lens of her glasses, "Dreadfully sinful. I have no idea where you could have heard it from ..."
Instead of allowing the young hart to answer right away the Grandmother tied off the stitch to the red cap and snipped it off. She examined the final work before leaning over and presenting the cap. The adopted grandchild took it hesitantly.
"Go on Child ..." The Grandmother said, "Put it on ..."
The young hart looked up at her, unexpected and utter scorn sweeping across her once porcelain facade.
"But Gram ..." She spat out. "I'm not the one with blood on my head ... why don't you tell me how we first met ..."
An unholy howl erupted from just outside, on their very doorstep. The old woman nearly died of fright right then and there, suddenly remembering a curse placed on her very own great great grandmother by a witch.
"Beware the wolf at your family door ..."
~ To be Continued ~