The Sheriff

"Move aside. I say, move aside!" My deputy barks at the crowd.

"It's the sheriff," people whisper. "Move, make way."

I usually hate when people whisper like this - like I'm dangerous, like I'm going to harm anyone for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Today, however, I appreciate their efficiency in parting the crowd for me. My stomach churns horribly enough already, and I don't need civilians making this investigation harder by getting in the way.

When dragons attack, they leave scorched carcasses at most. It's impossible to know who died until we do the survey. Whoever's missing, we assume that's who ran afoul with a winged beast.

Dragon attacks in the outline villages are more common than anywhere else in the entire country of Aerya. The populations are smaller, and they're so much further away from the capital. The King recalled the troops, when the war was over. I've been officially retired from the military ever since. The King might have turned his back on his furthest subjects. But I never would.

Dragon attacks, and their victims, are not new to me.

But this...

This isn't normal.

"The dragons are getting worse again." Someone mutters as I kneel down in front of the severed head and the stench of spilled blood and guts infiltrates my nose.

"Should we tell them it's definitely not a dragon?" my deputy gingerly steps around the splatter. She peers around the overturned barrels, and her freckled face contorts in disgust. "Dragons don't leave messes like this."

"Yes." I nod. "But not yet. We still don't know what it is, and we don't want to cause a panic."

"But if they think it's a dragon," my deputy reasons. "They won't change anything about the way they protect themselves."

"We don't know what differences to tell them." I say. "So -"

"Yes we do." she argues. "We set them a curfew."

"How do you -" I stand up.

"Think about it." She says animatedly. "This is the third victim like this we've found. We never hear the attack, we only see the horrible aftermath. And they're only ever on the morning after a full moon."

Her grey eyes darken like a storm when she speaks, reminding me so much of her mother.

Diana was the best comrade I ever had. I was there when Cassia was born, and I have been Uncle Remus to Cassia ever since. I stood with Diana the day Cassia graduated her military training. I cradled Cassia when the news came back from the battle field that Diana had fallen without even remains to bury.

Cassia chose to stay in the Outlands with me when I retired. I could be accused of favouritism for appointing her as my deputy, but who would I trust more than the closest thing I could ever have to my own child?

She doesn't wait for my approval anymore before she shouts: "Everyone please settle down!" and like a wizard's spell, their chatter cascades into silence.

"Why are the dragons targeting us?" Bertha, the local baker, asks, tightening her white-knuckled grip on her two young daughters.

"We don't think it is dragons -" Cassia replies, and her silencing spell is instantly broken. The panicked crowd's questions trample each other, until my young deputy regains the control: "Shut it!"

"If it's not dragons," Graham the blacksmith says. "Then what is it?"

"We..." Cassia cringes. "Don't know yet. But -" the crowd's begins to build up again.

"What we know," I say above the crowd, and the panic simmers, "Is that we've all seen true dragon attacks. Haven't we?"

The crowd collectively nods and murmurs in agreement.

I point at the mutilated body parts scattered behind me. "A dragon would never be this sloppy. This has to be...something else. Something we are not familiar with."

"So what do we do about it?" Graham asks.

"We take precautions based on what we do know." Cassia says with renewed confidence. "We know that these mystery attacks only happen at night. We also know that they coincide with the full moon."

"Which means we are going to be putting a curfew into effect immediately." I add. "No one comes out of their homes after sundown. If you are in a building that is not your home after sundown, you must stay there until dawn."

"We don't want anyone to panic," Cassia says. "But we do want to take the situation seriously. If things go our way, we won't have to endure this curfew for long."

"So you have a plan to catch this...thing?" Bertha's voice trembles slightly.

"We will not rest until we have stopped this monster." Cassia promises.

"In the meantime," I say. "We would appreciate volunteers to help us ensure this man is buried with dignity."

Jerald, the local farmer, and Harry, the butcher, step forward and help collect the pieces. As the crowd disperses, we find that no one is able to identify him.

"He was probably a vagabond." Jerald suggests as we pile what's left of him into a wagon. "I've heard of folks leftover from the war days wandering around looking for a purpose. I've let some stay in my barn just to get some shelter for a night."

"Did this one stay with you?" Cassia asks.

"I've never seen him before." The old farmer shakes his head. "I wonder if he came by the farm while I was already asleep. Oh dear...I wonder if I could have saved him!"

"Don't do that to yourself." Harry claps Jerald on the back. "Everyone's got to sleep, you didn't mutilate this poor bastard."

"What gets me..." Cassia frowns as the last of the vagabond's body was gently loaded into the wagon. "Is how come none of us heard him scream? This an unholy mess, surely he screamed in agony, we all should have heard him. It's in the middle of town square for heavens sake!"

"Unless the monster that got him knew how to silence a victim." Harry says. "If it went straight for his throat, which obviously it did sever at one point, then he didn't scream much did he?"

Cassia's grey eyes widen in horror. "That sounds like what we're dealing with probably isn't just any monster...it's intelligent."

"So are dragons." I nod at the spike adorned walls surrounding the village.

They were built as a necessary protection for civilians, and fitted with giant crossbows designed to take down dragons. I had to give credit to the reptilian beasts, because they were smart enough to realize what fate would meet them if they attacked here.

After a few victories on our part with the giant crossbows they gradually began to leave our villages alone - typically only going after foolish poachers for human prey.

A sudden sickening swoop threatens to empty my stomach at the thought that this other...something...might be even smarter and more ferocious.

Cassia eyes me scratching at my scars, and I pretend to just be fixing my tunic sleeve.

"Harry, Jerry," I ask, before either of them can notice either. "Would it be outrageous to ask you both to stay awake tonight? It is the last full moon of the month. Cassia and I will be on alert of course, but if things go our way..."

"You want armed backup." Harry concluded.

"It wouldn't hurt." Cassia nods.

"Meet us in the Sheriff's office by sundown." I say. "We will patrol the streets tonight, just the four of us. If it attacks tonight, hopefully we can outnumber it."

I notice Cassia's stormy grey eyes are still squarely on me as the two men leave to prepare for tonight. The hairs on the back of my neck lift like a spooked guard dog.

It was few months ago when that same sensation plagued me. I'd been patrolling the village perimeter, when something called out in the dark.

Not called - howled. But it was like no wolf I'd ever seen or heard before. I barely heard the bushes behind me rustle before a sharp thing impaled my arm and dragged me down.

I couldn't even scream as the blood that gushed through my skin coated my arm in a hot, thick layer. With pure soldier's instinct I flung my free arm overhead and plunged my sword into the moist jowls of my attacker. Its canines raked along my sword arm as it yelped and recoiled. I lost the grip of my sword, but the beast, thankfully, lost its grip on me.

I rolled over, and as I clambered away, I got a good look at it. My sword was still imbedded in its mouth, and was now drenched in its blood.

It was a wolf - the size of a bear! Its black fur was mangy and matted, and its eyes...its eyes were blazing yellow. On a dark night, they were the only source of natural light - if anything about this beast could be called natural.

It had hands instead of paws; hairy, elongated fingers with the sharpest claws I could've imagined. My heart beat crazily long after this wolfish beast finally thudded pathetically to the ground. I could see the pointed tip of my blade protruding from the back of its skull; I'd struck its brain in my desperate thrust.

I soon began to hear my own ragged panting as I tried to make sense of this brief but strange encounter.

"What are you?" I'd finally managed to ask when my voice at last resurfaced.

Rather than reply, the mangy corpse crumbled into dust. I barely so much as blinked, and all trace of it was gone. Everything but my blood soaked sword that lay on the ground. And, of course, the profusely bleeding puncture wounds on my arms.

I cradled them into my chest and staggered back into the village. Cassia had a million questions as she dragged me to Sarah, the town healer's house.

I couldn't describe the wolfish creature well enough. I was never much of a storyteller, and in my state of shock, I don't think either woman took my word as coherent thought.

Later, when I'd come to my senses, Cassia tried her questions again. I described what I saw...and I seemed to make just as much sense to her as when I was bleeding out.

"If it wasn't really a wolf..." she'd asked. "What was it?"

"I don't know." I shook my head slowly back and forth. "I don't know."

Now, as we perform the burial of this poor vagabond, and we inform the village of our plan to catch his killer, I keep thinking of that wolfish beast.

"You think it's that...thing." Cassia whispers to me as we make our way back to the Sheriff's station. "That wolf thing that attacked you."

"It adds up." I agree. "The attacks being at night, the amount of bloodshed, the mutilation. Except, for one thing -"

"It's dead?"

"Correct." I sigh and settle down at my desk. I reach into a drawer and pull out my flask of ale. I don't normally drink when I'm still working, but even I need to take the edge off tonight.

"Maybe there's a vengeful mate."

I shrug. That could be it. It would make much more sense than anything else I could fathom.

"Maybe you should get a little shut eye before things get interesting tonight." Cassia suggests. "You don't look like you slept last night."

"On the contrary," I correct. "I didn't even dream. I might as well have been dead to the world."

The young ginger snorts derisively and steals a slurp from my flask. "Sure."

We sit in relative peace for a while, but I can't help but itch at the scars on my arms though.

"Have those not healed yet?" Cassia asks, finally breaking the silence. "It's been three months, and they seem to bother you more than ever."

"It's just a flare up." I insist. "It's just every few weeks, it's not a concern."

"Just go have a check up with Sarah. Maybe she can give you a soothing ointment or something."

"You know you're beginning to sound like your mother."

"Last I checked that was a good thing."

"Who told you that?"

"You did."

"Ohhh...right."

Cassia snickers and peers out the window. "The sun's dimming. We'd better make sure everyone gets indoors."

"You sound like you're the sheriff." I tease as I stretch and follow her out the door.

"You've gotta retire someday..." she replies in a funny sing-song voice as Harry and Jerry stride up the street towards us.

Both men help us usher civilians indoors. It's an easier task than anticipated - everyone's too scared to argue. Slamming window shudders echo into the street. Soon the night music consists of sixteen boots on the ground and the song of crickets.

"At least it's a clear night," Harry muses.

I nod in agreement, but my head suddenly begins to feel like Graham's anvil. I can't even appreciate the cricket song. "Is it just me...or is the moon a little too bright?"

"Can't say I've ever heard of such a thing." Jerry snorts.

A sharp twinge folds me in half before I can respond.

"Remy?"

"Remus!"

"Sheriff! What's wrong?"

My gasp is ragged as I try to straighten up, but the agony keeps me on all fours. All I can see is the muddy road, and double of my hands as my vision blurs.

"What was in your flask? Are you sure it was just ale?" Cassia's voice is echoey, despite that she's right in my ear.

I can't even think about her words, because my fingers...are...growing. Not just in length - they're growing hair.

I snap my head up at my deputy, and she jumps back from me.

"Cassia?" I gasp in horror.

My deputy, the girl I have viewed as my own child all her life, looks at me with reproach. My heart races like a horse, and it's not just from my physical agony.

"What's wrong with him?" Jerry shares a similar expression with Harry. "Why are his eyes yellow?"

It's all my strength to force myself up. My companions stagger backwards, and aim their weapons...at me! Harry's freshly sharpened knife glistens as his hand shakes. Jerry holds his pitchfork like a spear.

"Cassia..." I don't recognize my own voice. It sounds monstrous.

My deputy clearly agrees as she knocks an arrow into her bow. I can't tell if she's afraid of me...or of having to kill me.

"Please..." My spine contorts backward, and I scream. I cry. I howl. "Please!"

My own plea is the last thing I hear before losing consciousness.

Why am I in the street? I think when I inhale the scent of dirt. My body is achy and sore as my limbs regain consciousness. I groan, and lick my lips.

Did I bite my lip? I wonder as the metallic tang offends my tongue.

"He's alive!" Someone shouts far too excitedly for me.

Did I look dead? Why is that a shock...what happened? Why am I here? Why aren't I in my own bed?

"What happened?" I slur when Sarah's face floats in front of me.

"Easy Sheriff," the healer says as she examines my face. "It wasn't exactly a victory last night. You're lucky to be alive, it seems to have missed you completely."

"What..." It takes all my focus to speak coherently. "What missed me?"

"The mystery beast." Sarah frowns, as if this is obvious. "It's why you were out last night, you all tried to stop it."

"But we never found it," I say, trying to remember the night before. "I had...pains...I couldn't continue...where's Cassia?"

Sarah's face contorts - like she's trying to find the right words. I've seen her do this before - she served in the Outland War too.

"Sarah!" I grip her shoulders and she flinches like I slapped her. "Where's Cassia? And Jerry, and Harry? What happened?"

She can't form the words, but shakes her head and looks away from me. I follow her gaze, and nearly vomit.

The mud street is soaked in red. The scene from yesterday, with the unfortunate vagabond, is multiplied by three. I couldn't guess whose spilled organs belonged to who. Only a few feet away from me is a severed, muscular hand still clutching a butcher knife.

"Harry?" I stagger upward and survey more of the scene. The butcher's upper half is upended against his own storefront. I can't see where his legs are.

I spot Jerry's pitchfork that has been splintered in half. There's a masculine shaped husk splayed out at the end of the street, and caked in its own blood. I don't need to see it up close. I know it's him.

I inhale sharply, because how...how could they be dead? I just saw them they were...afraid of me.

They said my eyes were yellow. Panic sets in as the night before is relived in my mind.

"We've already removed some of the arrows from your body." Sarah says, and gestures to the pile of bloodied arrows nearby. "It's not like Cassia to miss. She must have been trying to save your life."

"No..." I shake my head slowly back and forth, as the look of terror and knocked arrow she'd aimed at me haunts my memory. "She wasn't. Where is she?"

Sarah nods, directing me to turn around. Cassia's body is the most intact of all of them - except for her ripped out throat. Her skin is pale and cold. The storm in her eyes is too calm - it's over. Forever.

I drop to my knees like a free marionette. I howl in anguish until my voice is gone. I become numb to Sarah's reassuring grip on my shoulders, and her undeserved words of comfort.

In my exhaustion I think:

Send me to the dragons. The dragons will protect you from me.