The Wolves of Caledonia
flash fiction, supernatural, historical
Published on:
July 19, 7:14amWord Count:
666Work Description
For a Roman sentry, there's more to fear than fear itself.
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Lavinius climbs onto the rampart to begin his watch. He focuses his gaze over the wall and into the fog-covered moors. All he hears are his breath and the crackle of torches, all he can see is the dark outline of the terrain, made even darker by tonight’s lack of moonlight.
Despite seeing nothing unusual, he is uneasy. He has heard unspeakable stories about the natives of the north. More beasts than men, sacrificing humans to their false gods, possessing black magic which they used to commit unholy acts. Although he has never seen these barbarians, he is vigilant and wary.
As he is tonight. He constantly scans the horizon and does not let his mind wander to more appealing thoughts. A wintry breeze stings his face and legs, unprotected against the recurring strikes of bitter Boreas. When the wind dissipates, the air falls silent and the clouds grow deathly motionless. This grave atmosphere makes Lavinius recall his uneasiness. It might be his mind playing tricks in the quiet dark, but he cannot help feeling a sense of foreboding.
The fog advances toward the wall like the tide. But the mist is too dark and moving too quickly, given the lack of wind. It is a shadow. It crawls up the fortifications, enveloping then moving past Lavinius and into the camp. His heart smashes itself against his chest wall, like a madman trying to escape his cell. His evaporated sweat exacerbates the cold of his body, and the nervous energy coursing throughout him orders him to race into the fort to follow the inky smoke blanketing the ground.
“We should wake the base commander,” Lavinius tells the other guards who have instinctively rushed into the center of the camp.
The shadow then materializes into a physical form, manifesting itself as dozens of large, black wolves, baring their fangs and growling viciously. The other guards dispatch Lavinius to the commander’s tent while they attack. Lavinius returns minutes later with the camp armed and following the commander, noticing the mauled corpses of his colleagues. He does not see any wolf carcasses.
These wolves are larger than any the men have seen, more resistant to the spear and blade. Only after too many losses do the soldiers realize these monsters can only be slain by removing their heads. There seems to be one wolf for every ten men, an evenly matched battle.
After half his comrades have been killed, Lavinius finds himself on the ground, pinned in a corner, a wolf bearing down upon him, bloodlust in its soulless black eyes. He bashes its face with his shield, briefly stunning it. It claws his calf, drawing blood with a snarl. Lavinius jabs his javelin toward its head, hoping to catch its eye. He flings his dying torch at the foul beast to burn his pelt. He dares not risk exposing his arm by using his sword. The wolf lunges toward him, propelled by its powerful hind legs.
Lavinius invokes Mars to save the camp, though he expects death. Just then, a javelin flies into the wolf’s neck from behind, causing the creature to reel backwards with a sickening yelp. Lavinius thanks the gods aloud and his savior, the commander, swiftly lops off the fiend’s head.
Lavinius knows one must never underestimate the courage of a Roman soldier. The fell beasts are beaten back one by one, with grievous losses, but the camp is rid of the lupine marauders.
The remnants of the defenders build two fires, one for fallen comrades, one for the accursed wolves. The light of the funeral pyre illuminates the dying darkness. The second blaze begins to consume the carcasses that are slowly fed to it as Aurora begins her journey across the sky. Before any wolves can be fully burned, they metamorphose into stalwart bearded men with faces painted blue with woad. The stench that fills the air and stings the nostrils transforms from that of singed fur to seared flesh.
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This was a pretty good first draft. Here are some of the things I think need to be addressed in a second one:
A moment of pedantry:
All he hears are his breath and the crackle of torches
All he hears IS!
It might be his mind playing tricks in the quiet dark, but he cannot help feeling a sense of foreboding.
This is a bit weird, and might be addressed by having Lavinius trying to convince himself that it is only his mind playing tricks on him. As it stands it seems to waffle around the matter from a more no-POV standpoint.
More beasts than men, sacrificing humans to their false gods, possessing black magic which they used to commit unholy acts
This is a bit of a sentence fragment, and "used" instead of "use" implies they've stopped their unholy acts.
As he is tonight.
Another sentence fragment. It's also a little redundant. You just said he was vigilant and wary a minute ago, so you probably don't need to say it again.
He constantly scans the horizon and does not let his mind wander to more appealing thoughts. A wintry breeze stings his face and legs, unprotected against the recurring strikes of bitter Boreas. When the wind dissipates, the air falls silent and the clouds grow deathly motionless. This grave atmosphere makes Lavinius recall his uneasiness.
A little contradictory. We go from Lavinius not letting his mind wander to him recalling his uneasiness, which implies he has, in fact, let his mind wander. "to more appealing thoughts" is probably unecessary, as well.
The fog advances toward the wall like the tide. But the mist is too dark and moving too quickly, given the lack of wind. It is a shadow. It crawls up the fortifications, enveloping then moving past Lavinius and into the camp.
I'm not sure what "It is a shadow" means. Is he seeing just one werewolf move up? The previous sentence sort of gave me the impression that all the mist was moving at once. If it's just one shadow, how can it envelop him? If it's all the mist, how can it be a shadow?
His heart smashes itself against his chest wall, like a madman trying to escape his cell.
This is lovely imagery. Very evocative! I'm not sure "wall" is needed, though.
“We should wake the base commander,” Lavinius tells the other guards who have instinctively rushed into the center of the camp.
.......
The other guards dispatch Lavinius to the commander’s tent while they attack.
Is Lavinius a messenger boy or the kind of guy who gives orders? It should probably be one or the other.
There seems to be one wolf for every ten men, an evenly matched battle.
Might be better phrased as "Even though there is only one wolf for every ten men, the battle is evenly matched."
After half his comrades have been killed, Lavinius finds himself on the ground, pinned in a corner, a wolf bearing down upon him, bloodlust in its soulless black eyes. He bashes its face with his shield, briefly stunning it. It claws his calf, drawing blood with a snarl. Lavinius jabs his javelin toward its head, hoping to catch its eye. He flings his dying torch at the foul beast to burn his pelt. He dares not risk exposing his arm by using his sword. The wolf lunges toward him, propelled by its powerful hind legs.
Some problems in here: "After half his comrades have been killed" is really abrupt and random. The second sentence made me think that the wolf had already pinned him to the ground. That may just be bad reading on my part, but it could probably be made clearer. Maybe he should still be standing until the wolf pounces? How close is the wolf to him anyway? It's close enough to claw at his calf (which is on the back of the leg) but still far enough away to lunge towards him? If Lavinius is using his javelin and holding a torch in any case, I don't think he could use his sword even if he wanted to. Throwing a torch probably exposes your arm more than using a sword.
This is sort of a pivotal part of the story, too, so it should definitely be worked over until it shines.
Lavinius knows one must never underestimate the courage of a Roman soldier.
Well, good for Lavinius. Kind of weird phraseology. Isn't there a better way to say it? Like he "sets out to prove" it instead of just knowing it?
I agree with Brian, the transformation was very brusque and kind of lacked any real shine because of it.
A good first draft! With some polish it'll be even better.
Well, what can I say here? I light the basic concept: Roman soldiers getting massacred by sprit wolves. The main issue I had here was simply the fact that the style you chose to write in didn’t sound right, the fact that your talking about Romans and using a present tense kind of threw me off a little bit. The writing also didn’t leave much for poetic imagery, symbolism or metaphor; basically, the style of writing was far to frank and matter of fact to work well for a story. I also felt that the story was a little to rushed and choppy.
Despite seeing nothing unusual, he is uneasy. He has heard unspeakable stories about the natives of the north. More beasts than men, sacrificing humans to their false gods, possessing black magic which they used to commit unholy acts. Although he has never seen these barbarians, he is vigilant and wary.
Being that I took Latin in High School, I've come to know quite a bit about the Romans. Historically speaking, the people of the north-which I’m assuming are the Celts or the Druids- did not partake in Human sacrifice as far as I can recall and if they did, once the Romans annexed said nation, that would more then likely have stopped. The Romans also would not refer any local deities as “false gods.” In fact, the Romans accepted openly all manner of deities and religions (as long as you showed respect for the Roman ones.) It was often common for The Romans to take a local deity who resembled in function or form a Roman one and rename that deity and the deity’s temple or shrine after it’s Roman equal.
I’m focusing on and being anal about t that mainly because I’m a stickler for historical accuracy.
I've taken four years of Latin in high school and have continued at college. It's largely what inspired me to write this, intended as a light "genre" story that I hope was somewhat entertaining. Caledonia refers to Scotland, which the Romans never held. In any case, strict historical accuracy was not the intent of the story. The setting of this story was more to give it some character and set it apart from other stories about werewolves.
I wrote this story almost two years ago, and it had to be this short for the format it was written for (the high school newspaper for the Halloween issue). Upon reading it, yes I feel that it does seem a bit "rushed" and the descriptive details are somewhat sparse. For any future drafts that I may write I would expand it and try for a more engaging, descriptive writing style. I had actually originally written this in past tense, partly because it takes place in the past, partly because it's just the standard way I write prose. I changed it to present to add more of a sense of suspense. I don't know if I'll ever write another draft, I basically put it on here to showcase some of my shortest prose, as opposed the novel chapters I've posted here.
You realize that this is six hundred and sixty six words. I'm not superstitious, but the novelty of this is hard not to enjoy. The work here is good. The story is epic. The transmutation at the end lacks a bit, and could be more poignant. I also found it challenging to identify with the characters in the piece. In keeping to an epic style you manage the story well, but it misses some of the more homeric stylings. The weapons could use descriptors - personifications of traits carried by the men themselves. The battle could use language that in the fight mirrors the nature of the combatants.
This is the most engaging phrasing in the piece. Everything else carries a bit of a matter of fact narration to it. The invoking of mars, the main character being pinned in the corner, the lot.
I mean not to offend, but I'll take a stab (pardon the pun) at rewriting a paragraph without changing the plot.
Yours:
Mine.
Thanks for indulging the masturbation here, but the story is good (its just too technical), I wanted to try my hand for a sec. It's good stuff, but it needs the flavor, not just the ingredients. I'm putting this as a comment for many reasons, not the least of which is: I'd hate to use up one of your two critiques since this has only been in the queue for a hour or so.
I like your work so far. I can see the mythological influences and the classical elements. The classics lost a bit in translation and encoding. Many classical works were read aloud and acted so the visceral qualia could be achieved in a different way. You don't have that luxury and I think you should consider adding it in metered doses. Thanks for writing stuff like this. I thought the classics were dead.
Warmest,
B