To understand the Muzhenghaaki’s fateful meeting with the master werewolf hunter, we must backtrack a number of years to the time of the Korumitsan Rebellion in central Russia. Pursued by secret police, a lead insurgent named Giorghiu Belewhep sought refuge in a cave high in the Ural Mountains. He entered the cave, exhausted from his mountain climb, with no food or water. Too weak to build a fire, he prepared to die.
While Giorghiu rested his head upon a rock, a strange light began to appear. The light flickered, growing stronger and stronger. As the spectacle grew, he felt a sense of peace, his tiredness vanishing. Suddenly, the light coalesced into the shape of a woman, and deep in the core of his being, he understood the nature of this glowing form – it was an apparition of the Goddess of Stotemastartia!
We do not know what transpired that day between Goddess and Giorghiu, but we do know that his Kalashnikov and armaments never left the mountain cave. His next appearance was in his own homeland, and to the surprise of everyone, he was a changed man, acquiring a reputation as one devoted to humanity’s service.
Eventually, Giorghiu married the fair Elanovska and they had a son named Yelevan. Times were hard, due to intermittent wars and rebellions. In need of a trade, Giorghiu turned to the profession of his father, grandfather and many generations back – the art of werewolf hunting.
From his elders, he learned the secrets of this time-honored skill, spoken only in whispers and in poor hovels. The Belewhep clan, he found, had a most peculiar method of exterminating their prey: they fashioned a sharpened stake, the point of the weapon dipped in tincture of belladonna, and they hurled it into the heart of the beast.
Stake-hurling was a dangerous task; encouraging the prey to leap with the left hand, and striking with the right. If one thrusted too soon or too late then one would know no more, and yet if the stake found its mark, the creature would expire and would no longer be a menace to the peasantry.
In time, frightened villagers came to the Belewhep residence, dumping ghoors of gold on the floor, calling Giorghiu away to new adventures. Upon returning home, Elanovska always welcomed him with meat and potatoes on the table.
As Yelevan grew into boyhood, Giorghiu noticed his son’s eccentric behavior. In particular, the boy had an aversion to meat and a fondness for stake-throwing.
Young Yelevan’s accuracy with the stake did not go unnoticed. In his teens, he was taken by Giorghiu on numerous adventures, and the father was amazed at his son’s innate recognition of the True Face of an impostor. Soon, more ghoors of gold were piled on the Belewhep floor, resulting in more meat and potatoes on the table – and vegetables for the growing boy.
Yelevan was an idealist and dreamer, inheriting Giorghiu’s love for humanity. Many times he heard his father’s story of the apparition in the mountain cave, and many times he imagined the sight of that heavenly being and her smiling face.
In his travels as a teenager, what frightened Yelevan most was neither the glowing red eyes of werewolves, nor the faces of the snarling creatures, but the appearance of smoke-belching chemical factories in the nearby city of Shegirkenirk. The smell of factory smog was more detestable to him than the foul breath of the beast on his face. The sight of toxic waste, spilling onto the land and waters, poisoning men, women and children, was an aberration far worse than his worst nightmare.
Gazing on the city’s rising smokestacks, he feared the industry that built radios, tools and all sorts of appliances for foreign export. Once a year, his school-sponsored tour of assembly lines brought him face to face with the spectacle of men behaving as though they were machines, and in the steel mills, he witnessed the fires of deepest Hell. At the end of day, he saw the worn out workers trudging home to the blackened, smog-filled towns they lived in, lulled into a false sense of prosperity.
As a young man, Yelevan marched for many causes, including the cause to ban nuclear weapons. Giorghiu and Elanovska were shocked and surprised at their son’s bold activism. They begged him to marry a maiden, settle down, and raise a family, but Yelevan was unstoppable, his activist energy equal to his zeal as a professional werewolf hunter, always eager to serve humanity.
The time came when Giorghiu and Elanovska reached their advanced years, Giorghiu’s vision dimmed, his stake-throwing no longer on the mark. Yelevan became the sole bread-winner of the family, caring for his parents in their old age. When Elanovska died, Giorghiu died a month later. In the final moment, the last words of the father were, “Always remember the vision of the Goddess!” As Giorghiu was laid to rest, Yelevan wondered what that vision was.
After the passing of his parents, Yelevan felt very much alone. He tried various devices to avoid the memory of his mother and father, but none was very successful. He attended youth dances and the maidens were willing, but Yelevan was so distracted that he could not fall in love. More and more, he read and pondered the pages of the holy Book of Ghirke, chronicle of apparitions of the Goddess of Stotemastartia. Perhaps he could come closer to his father’s vision, so he thought, by reading the annals of the book; the meaning of his father’s apparition had become an immense riddle in his mind.
In a footnote of the holy book, he discovered the story of the Muzhenghaakis and their pact with the White Werewolf. He read the story with curiosity, but felt no connection with it at the time, and so, he read on.
Yelevan visited the temple of the Goddess, built in the eastern sector of Shegirkenirk, its domes towering above the rooftops of homes and shops. There, he gazed upon the smiling statue, hoping to find some relief from the dilemna in his mind. He went away as perplexed as ever.
Yelevan became interested in environmental movements – in distant lands, that is – there were no such movements in his homeland. Eagerly, he scanned the National Newspaper, reading about the plight of the whale here, an oil spill there. Through limited information sources, he learned about endangered species in many lands, of shrinking rainforests, and of the expanding ozone holes. Of course, the news media never reported problems arising in his own land – it always extolled the wonderful production, the motivated workers, the happy housewives dancing their well-orchestrated folk dances. When Yelevan looked up from his paper, again and again, he was confronted with the reality of smoke-belching power plants in the factory city of Shegirkenirk, the toxic spills, the wearied workers, and inevitably, their soot-covered towns.
One day, he read a small article about a group of students called “earth-walkers,” living in the faraway land of Whang Whock. It seems, the students walked from village to village, teaching the villagers respect for the planet and the plight of environment, holding demonstrations at toxic spill sites. This caught his attention! Where were the earth-walkers in his land? Where were people who cared for and respected the lakes and streams? When one becomes an adult, one marries and takes up farming, or working in the factories and harbors, or working for the merchant class. There was no apprehension over the worsening condition of the planet – no concern for environment at all.
From time to time, opportunities arose in Yelevan’s career, returning him to the practice of his unique skills. Answering occasional want-ads for a werewolf hunter, he traveled far from the city, out into the back-country where rustic people lived. There, he found more than a few peasants with news of fearful creatures roaming about, and among those people, he had a reputation. He answered their complaints in his dedicated manner, although many of them proved to be negligible, the result of hysteria and sleepless nights.
One wintry, moonlit night, Yelevan was trudging across snow with his bag of stakes, searching for wolf tracks. As he neared a cluster of trees, he heard a faint voice from a nearby field crying, “Help me! Help me!” Wary of entrapments sometimes set by the beasts, he cautiously moved out into the open, toward the source of the cries. In the middle of the field, he found a hole, perhaps an uncovered well, the voice in it pleading for help. Yelevan asked the voice how it got there, and it replied, “Me fall! Me fall in well! Well damp and cold! Me make trap! Make trap to catch wolf-man in well! Me fall in well instead!”
Yelevan inquired if the voice had a name and it replied, “Me name Chibu! Please help me! Chibu forever in service!”
Yelevan needed a rope to pull the stranded man out – what should he do? Before he could act, he heard a grunt and a snarl from the east! Knowing full well the sound of that snarl, he crouched in stake-throwing position, a number-five firmly grasped in his hand – but destiny intervened.
Yelevan never hurled the stake on that moonlit night. In the next instant, a white halo appeared, suddenly materializing into a womanly shape. Like his father, Yelevan innately knew the identity of the glowing being that stood before him – it was an apparition of the Goddess! Immediately, her left hand shot out, dissolving the creature in the east, and with her right hand, she endowed Yelevan with a golden rope. Then, she, too, vanished.
We do not know what transpired between Goddess and Yelevan on that wintry night, but it took three attempts to pull Chibu out of the well, finally retrieving him, damp and chilled to the bone, on the third try. Yelevan wrapped his overcoat around him. Chibu was thankful and told his story: he was an albino-harelip, growing up in a nearby town. He had been despised by villagers and forced to beg across the countryside. As years went by, he had tried supplementing his meager funds by capturing an occasional wolf-beast for bounty. This is how Yelevan had found him, accidentally falling into a well-trap of his own making.
Yelevan assured Chibu he need not beg anymore. He handed him the golden rope to carry, then led him across the snow toward his home, but when he glanced back, the rope had disappeared!
Yelevan’s success had its downside. As years went by, his beast-eradication program eventually produced fewer and fewer clients, and thus, lack of work. Due to his thorough attack on the species, werewolves had become an endangered lot. To make matters worse, a brash, younger generation had grown up, scoffing at the idea of man-eating creatures prowling about the countryside.
Summers and winters slipped away on Benden Street. Day in and day out, they sat by the fire, eating pickled yak meat, watching State television, playing chess and blackjack. Visitors often found Yelevan among his spears and trophies, waiting for the knock on the door and the fearful patron that never appeared. The midnight frightened call had become more of an echo of the past than a reality, and Chibu was sad there were no brighter days for his master.
One evening in early spring, as Chibu reclined by the fire, a faint burp came the attention of Yelevan. He inquired of his friend.
“Was that a burp I heard, Chibu?”
“Yak meat sting me tummy,” Chibu replied.
“Do you know,” Yelevan asked, “the meaning of the burp of the harelip?”
“Me not know!”
“Do you know the sign?”
“Me not know! Not know!
“It is the Sign of Syringhor, meaning terror in the earth will soon be unleashed!”
“Chibu know no sign! No sign!” he pleaded. “Only me warm by fire.”
“Then keep warm, warm by the fire, my friend.”
“Me not like-ee cold outside.”
“Yes, we’ve had years of plodding in the cold.”
“Feet of Chibu grew sore, walking roads.”
“I remember those cold roads, searching for that which every man fears, you carrying your bag of stakes...”
“…Me dragging bag of stakes.”
“…Walk no more, my friend.”
“…Now number four stake, now number five stake.”
“There are no more beasts to slay, no more game on which to practice the werewolf-hunter’s time-honored skills.”
Nostalgia gripped Yelevan. Feeling like a retired athlete in the sunset of his years, he looked upon the mantle where his trophies stood. There was one ornament that caught his eye, a crown of gold, the crown the people of Shegirkenirk gave to Chibu and himself, after they did away with a pack of killer beasts so long ago.
Chibu saw Yelevan holding the crown. “The crown! The crown! Me king-ee! Me king-ee!”
“Yes, Chibu, they made you king for a day, and what sweet pleasures they gave to you and me, in those idyllic years, so long ago. Not even our fearless leader, Selgirk the First, who dwells in the National Palace, could ever know such pleasures.”
“They came for Chibu and made me king-ee!”
“Yes, Chibu. The vermilion-skinned wine-maidens came for you and sat you on a golden throne. Then, they sang songs with us in the moonlight until we were stupid drunk and could sing no more.”
“Me sing-ee. Me sing-ee too. Chibu had one maiden, two maidens, three maidens, four.”
“Those were the days of old, when frightened citizens were knocking at the door, and ghoors of gold were pouring out of their pockets, onto the floor.”
“Chibu count-ee. Much gold on floor. Pouring out of pockets.”
“Yes, Chibu, it was a tradition I will never forget. Always gold, ghoors of gold, falling out of pockets of the frightened folk, tumbling on the floor.”
“Always frightened faces. Always coins on floor.”
“Yes, Chibu. See the number five-stake? Do you remember the time I hurled it at the hairy beast, springing at me, claws brandishing, and the stake went straight for the beast’s heart?”
“Chibu saw stake-ee go into heart!”
“…And then, did you see what happened to the beast? It was transformed into its former self, the body of Andrei, the bread-maker, who died on the spot.”
“Poor Andrei.”
And Yelevan remembered the sad, imploring eyes of dying Andrei, a look that Yelevan always remembered with a tinge of conscience, even though he was steadfast in his vow to protect humanity.
“…And the number four-stake! Do you remember the time I merely held it before the eyes of another hairy beast, who immediately transformed into the body of Sofia, the dress-maker, who took poison rather than be impaled by my deadly weapon?”
And he also remembered the poignant expression of dying Sofia as she held out her hands to Yelevan, as if to say, “Don’t you understand? Don’t you understand me?”
“Yes, master Yelevan,” Chibu replied. “Me know story. There was Andrei, the bread-maker, and Sofia, the dress-maker, and the Chubbutz brothers, used car dealers by trade, and so many more.”
“Yes, Chibu. And with all of them, all of them, I was the only one who recognized their True Face. Their True Face, Chibu! I am the only man alive who was able to penetrate their clever disguises and see the True Face of the beast hiding inside! More than once…”
“…Me faithful Chibu. Me carry bag-ee of stakes.”
“…More than once, faithful servant, I have seen the True Face! I have known deep down in my heart, who and what lurks inside the skin of the hand of the man who shakes my hand, whose eyes penetrate mine...”
Suddenly, they heard a loud banging at the door. Could it be the tax collector? Newspaper boy?
Yelevan sent Chibu to investigate and a moment later, he returned with exhausted Chungrum and Yvgevny, who had accidentally found the house on Benden Street in their wandering about the city. The Muzhenghaaki pair babbled incoherently. Yelevan tried untangling their words, but they became more hysterical than ever, even screaming. Eventually, he was able to pacify the travelers with cups of tea, seating them on the couch by the fire and assuring them of their safety in his presence.
“There is a hell-sent beast,” Chungrum blurted, “and in the Plain of Aurigainia it lurks. All of us, it will consume in hours...all of us…in a few hours. You are our last and only hope…you are...”
“I see. I see,” Yelevan replied. “You’ve made a pact with a beast, and now, by agreement, it’s time to pay your due.”
“Save us! Save us…you must…or we perish!”
“Why should I save you? Is not your pact with the beast a fair agreement?”
Yvgevny broke into tears.
“Please, please, young man,” Yelevan implored him. “Please don’t go there. For now, regardless of the hour, consider yourself under my care and protection.”
“You must come, for the hour is late…and you must come,” Chungrum whimpered. “Besides, we have gold! Ghoors and ghoors of gold.”
Yelevan was surprised. “Ah, a price!” he said. “I didn’t think you were ready to negotiate a price, but while you mention it, how many ghoors?”
“Four hundred and fifty,” Chungrum said.
“Four hundred and fifty? That is not nearly enough! My price starts at six hundred and goes up from there.”
“We had six hundred when the journey started, but we were betrayed! Betrayed!”
“I see. You’ve had some drama along the way. And you say you’ve come this far, fifty kilometers, on foot?”
“Our feet are frozen, sir. Please, for our sake, do what we ask.”
“First, in a time-honored tradition, you must show me the ghoors of gold.”
Chungrum and Yvgevny dumped the coins on the floor, at Yelevan’s feet. He then ordered Chibu to collect the ghoors and count them up. While Chibu counted, he lectured his new friends on the oath he had sworn. “By the nose of the Goddess,” he declared, “I am pledged to seek out and destroy the fear-beast wherever it lurks, and I will let not one blood-creature roam the fields, forests and even snowy plains of this earth!”
“Me count-ee,” Chibu called out. “Me count-ee. Four hundred and fifty on the floor. Gold on the floor.”
Concluding his speech, Yelevan bowed before them and asked them to consider himself and his companion in their service, even though their payment did not meet his expectations. Filthy and sweaty, they embraced him with fervent words of thanks, but Yelevan made them sit down again. Then, he ordered Chibu to get his bag of stakes, making sure there was plenty of number four and number five-woods in the leather.
"The hour!” Chungrum cried, anxiously. “Look at the hour-hand on the clock! We only have two hours to doom-time!”
Yelevan smiled. He had a strategy. “I have a fine new motor vehicle with snow-treads,” he proudly exclaimed, “and we will rush across the Plain of Aurigainia, reaching Muzhenghaak just in time for the killer-beast to arrive. At the final moment, you will know your journey has not been in vain.”
To cheer them up, he taught them the werewolf-hunter’s song and sang it with them:
“Oh, we’re off to slay a werewolf!
How happy its demise!
I’m telling you now, the scourge of the earth
Is just a pack of lies!”
They left the house on Benden Street in Yelevan’s vehicle, driving out of town, crossing ice and snow with ease.
Ten kilometers passed by while Yelevan and crew sang more songs.
He told of his other exploits, as he had many times before. He told of seeing the True Face in creatures, those devious beings who disguised themselves as people, in out-of-the-way walks of life.
Twenty kilometers passed by. Yelevan kept up his entertainment, telling them the story of the celebration and orgy in Shegirkenirk, after the demise of the Chubbutz brothers.
Thirty kilometers passed by. The Muzhenghaakis fell asleep in their exhaustion, regardless of the bumpy ride. Chibu dialed the car radio, but all they could get was the national broadcast and Selgirk the First, his rant punctuated by the Army Brass Band playing off-key.
Forty kilometers passed by. Then, Chibu picked up a weak signal on the radio, and to their surprise, it was the Mayor of Muzhenghaak with an infomercial on the advantages of guaranteed, gilded horse carriages. Anticipation mounted as they neared their destination!
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