TODAY, OUR TEAM MEMBER, AUTHOR RICHARD 'DOC' CORREA, IS SHARING HIS CHILLING SHORT STORY, 'MOONLIT CRUSADE' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
- 12 minutes ago
- 9 min read
I was going to talk about using asterisks (changing scenes, changing time periods, or changing both) and italics as a part of an author’s writing style but honestly, I just couldn’t put it together. I pushed it around a bit and nothing. Then it occurred to me the story I sent to Eva gives me a chance to chat about something more interesting, how good editing can enhance, even change, the author’s style of writing.
This story was initially published in Campfire Tales by GBBPub originally titled Long Ago. Because we had a tight deadline, and I was submitting four stories for this release, though I wasn’t excited about the title and only did a basic self editing job I sent it in and moved on to the next.
Recently I was able to send the story to my good friend and fellow Wolf Pack member, Rhonda Tipton, so she can give it a solid editorial review. We agreed to changing the title to Moonlit Crusade. And when she sent it back to me Rhonda had done her usual excellent job of correcting and tweaking it.
So enjoy the story and if your curiosity is tickled read the story as it was published in Campfire Tales, I would love the feedback about the differences from readers. And with that I present to you Moonlit Crusade.
Moonlit Crusade
By
R. A. “Doc” Correa
Provence, the end of March 1292
Sir Ade looks up the hill from atop his mount; aware the campfire is still there. He spies the flickering flames through the foliage, its thin spire of smoke rising above the trees. When one of the men-at-arms commented on the smoke from a campfire the knight thought if they left the old Roman road, they would just be following a will-o’-the-wisp. It seemed years of war had sharpened the man’s eyes.
Sir Ade looks over his three companions. Their clothing and chainmail show the ravages of time one would expect from months on the road. His own mantle bears the same weathering he sees on the garments of his companions. The red of its Cross Patée has faded to an indistinct blur reminiscent of dried blood, the white of the mantle merely a dingy gray.
The exhaustion displayed on the faces of the men at arms accompanying him lies also within himself. The prospect of a warm fire, the possibility of cooked food and perhaps company, overcomes the armor of deep caution he and his companions have survived by since their flight from Acre last year. Throwing caution to the wind, the four veterans of the Crusade make their way toward the inviting fire on the side of the nearby hill.
As the party passes through the last row of trees into a small clearing, they see a man sitting on a stump next to the fire. The man is dressed in rough buckskin trousers and tunic. He wears deerskin boots; a ragged cloth cloak hangs over his shoulders, and his hands are encased in worn buckskin gloves. There is a crude but effective shield, studded boiled leather armor coat, and a matching leather helm on the ground next to the stump. A longbow and a full quiver of arrows lie carefully balanced on top of the armor. The man rotates a haunch of venison on a makeshift spit over the well tended coals of the fire.
Sir Ade greets the stranger, calling out, “Hail, good sir. My comrades and I ask if we may enter your camp and join you by your fire.”
“Sir knight, you—and your companions—would do well to continue on your way,” replies the stranger.
Sir Ade looks over his shoulder at the setting sun, then answers, “Kind sir, the sun is setting. It will soon be too dark to travel. We travelled far, spending many a frosty night without comforts, on this journey. All we ask of you is to let us warm ourselves by your fire.”
“Any other night I would enjoy the company and even share my catch with you.” He points to the juicy meat he is cooking. “But tonight the moon rises late. With the rising of the moon, the forest becomes very dangerous,” says the stranger, feeding the voracious fire another long dead oaken limb.
The knight replies, “Sir, we are returning from a Crusade. These men and I fought at the siege of Acre as the rearguard of our Templar brothers. We fought off the Saracens, only stopping the battle when we boarded the last boat out. My comrades and I are more than a match for any danger mayhap coming our way.”
The stranger by the fire inspects Sir Ade and his companions with the amused air of a man sizing up a clearly lesser opponent. After several moments, he nods, telling them, “Perhaps you are right. Come and sit by the fire, by all means. There is a cave just beyond the fallen oak tree there. You can quarter your horse safely inside it. Mine is already there. There is plenty of water and fodder for the both of them. Once you’ve tended your animal, please roll the boulder back in front of the entrance to protect them from wolves that may come in the night. All of you may help yourselves to the venison. There are potatoes baking among the ashes just there at the edge of the fire. Oh yes—there are also a couple of bottles of wine in the cave as well. Bring them out. They’ll go well with the fresh meat.”
A foot soldier takes the horse to the cave, where Sir Ade personally cares for his faithful mount. Once he has fed it, he, and his comrades labor to move the boulder back in place. When it is snug in place, Sir Ade asks himself, It took the four of us to move this thing! How did he move it by himself?
When they return to the clearing, the crusaders start to remove their armor, prompting the stranger to warn them, “You should keep your armor on. When the moon rises, you will need it.”
Sir Ade says, “Shouldn’t you be wearing yours as well?” He points to the stranger’s old fashioned leather gear lying nearby.
“When the moon rises, it will only be in my way,” states the stranger, an odd smile playing across sharp features.
Sir Ade and his companions opt to remove most of their armor but leave their gambisons on.
The five men eat and drink together, finishing the two bottles of wine swiftly. The stranger produces three more from somewhere. As the crusaders become more relaxed, they tell tales of their adventures in the holy land. The stranger listens intently, offering only the occasional half smile or nod.
The sun has set; the stories get darker. After a couple of hours of tall tales about Saracen hordes and mystic yarns of Djinn magic, the stranger cuts in smoothly with, “I’ll tell you a story from my family’s past. From when the Romans claimed these lands.” His guests nod, leaning in eagerly to listen.
“Over a thousand years ago, my family lived nearer to the sea. There were many Roman villas nearby. They owned our land and all the crops we grew. They would take nearly everything. Some of the people in our village became thieves, merely to stay alive.
“At first they stole only food, but after time they began to burglarize the villas for precious objects—things they could sell or trade for necessities otherwise beyond their reach.” He pauses to look over his shoulder, his chin lifting as if he sought a rich scent perhaps carried upon the errant breezes. “One night, one of them met a werewolf. Though he killed it, the creature bit him. He of course became a werewolf himself, killing his best friend when the next full moon rose. He blamed the Romans for his being cursed; from then on, whenever the full moon was about to rise, he’d be sure to remain near one of their villas, hoping only the invading Romans would be the victims of the wolf.” Firelight shimmered across eyes gone strangely liquid and dark.
“As time passed, he travelled far, as far as Egypt. There, they revered him as a blessed son of Anubis. On the nights of the full moon, the priests would sacrifice virgins to Anubis by locking the girls in his chambers before the moon rose.” He shook his head, mixed emotions making his expression writhe in the flickering firelight. “But always, no matter how far he roamed, he would return here to Provence.” With that, the stranger begins to remove his tall leather boots.
Sir Ade asks, “Is that the whole story?”
“No, sir knight, it is not. Perhaps this story ends tonight, nonetheless.” The stranger hangs the tattered cloak on a tree limb, an oddly ritualistic action. Following up, he removes the deerskin gloves from where he hung them on his belt before eating roasted meat, hooking them to the tie of his cloak. Starting to remove his tunic, the stranger continues, “It is rumored the cursed man has once again returned and is roaming this very forest.”
The curious men at arms have been watching the stranger disrobe, glancing quizzically at Sir Ade. The knight notices the eastern sky is becoming paler; the rising of the full moon is near at hand. He asks the stranger, “Sir, I understand you wanting to be comfortable when you sleep, but with the bitter chill of this night, is it wise to fully undress?”
“The chill of the night will not affect me, sir knight. It has not affected me since I was a young man. Besides, I doubt I shall sleep this night,” replies the stranger. He turns from hanging the tunic along with the other items. Facing the knight, he says, “Sir knight, in truth, I too fought in a Crusade.”
“Did you accompany King Louis IX?” asks Sir Ade.
The stranger turns to look at the eastern sky, pensive and almost sad. The first sliver of the moon appears above the horizon. “No, sir knight. I fought to liberate Jerusalem from the Saracens,” answers the stranger.
The-men-at-arms look to the Templar knight, lost and somewhat in shock at such a strange claim. Sir Ade says, his voice quivering with disbelief, “Sir, that was over a hundred and fifty years ago! Clearly, you are lying. Why would you claim such a thing?”
The stranger doubles over in pain, staggering a bit—abruptly unable to speak for a moment. He looks to the horizon at the visible sliver of full moon coming into its own. He unties his crude rope belt, releasing the clasps of his buckskin pants even as he rises back up to stand. Dropping his pants, he tells his unexpected guests, “I do not lie, mes amis.”
As the moon rises further into the sky, the crusaders watch, dismayed and confused. Another wave of pain brings the stranger to his knees. In moments, the stranger has become a blurry, misshapen shadow before their eyes. From within the shadow, his voice rings out, “I am François Pierre Barteau! I am cursed, I…am…loup…garou… I…am…werew…Ah-hooo!”
The men-at-arms scramble for their weapons, taken by surprise when a massive European gray wolf leaps out of the blurry shadow onto Sir Ade, pinning him to the ground. Its jaws clamped onto the Knight Templar’s throat, snapping it like one of the fragile twigs awaiting nearby for the pleasure of the starving fire.
The firelight flickered its promises far from the old Roman road. Where no one could hear the sound of violent death or the cries of seasoned soldiers looking a monster in its slavering maw. The forest swallowed every drop of the dark offering falling upon its roots. A patient tree held the accoutrements of civilization and an ancient Crusader, letting the breezes play gently through its silent limbs.
Far enough into the forest, no one could hear the cries of violence and dying men. And if someone could even hear the bone-aching, lonesome howl of a great and powerful wolf, would they yet believe?
**********
AUTHOR BIO
R. A. "Doc" Correa is an author known for his science fiction novels, short stories, and poetry. He grew up in Los Angeles during the 1950s and 1960s, later serving in the U.S. Army, Army Reserve, and Rhode Island Army National Guard for over two decades. After retiring from the military in 1993, he pursued a career in computer science and worked as a test engineer and test manager.
Correa's literary works include his debut novel, Rapier, a sci-fi adventure set in the late 24th century after the genetics war. He is also working on a sequel, Razor, and a prequel to the series, The Young Kathy Masters Chronicles. His stories often explore themes of adventure, survival, and human resilience. His fascinating short stories are published in the What If? anthology series and Campfire Tales by Golden Box Books.
He currently resides in Fountain, Colorado with his family.
R. A. "Doc" Correa's inspiration for his novels stems from his diverse life experiences. His military background, in particular, has influenced the themes of survival, resilience, and adventure in his works. Additionally, his passion for science fiction and his creative imagination drive his narratives, as seen in his debut novel Rapier and its upcoming sequel.
R. A. "Doc" Correa has mentioned that his literary influences include classic science fiction authors who shaped the genre. Writers like Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Robert Heinlein have inspired his storytelling, particularly in their ability to blend imaginative worlds with thought-provoking themes. Additionally, his own life experiences and creative collaborations have played a significant role in shaping his unique voice as an author."
COMING SOON: On Wednesday, 26th August, we are delighted to welcome back our guest author, Donna Morfett, who is sharing chapters 1 and 2 of her novel, 'The Phoenix Retreat'.
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