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3rd November 1856

"Howdy, folks," said the man on the horse as he approached us, cradling his rifle. "Where might you be going?" He was wearing what seemed to be a uniform, same as the other two men who'd stayed further down the road. It was deep blue with a gold belt, buttons and epaulets. It was dirty and some of the seams were coming apart, which lead me to think they had parted ways with the army they had served in.

"California," Archibald, my traveling companion, answered.

"That's a might ways. Going to join the folks looking for gold?"

"No. Just looking to start a new life," he answered.

"Where'd you be from? England?"

"Yes, sir."

I was staying silent. These men, as well as the rustling I was hearing around us, made me uneasy.

The man used his rifle to part the curtain behind us. "What'd you have back there?" he asked, trying to look in.

"Just our personal things," I said, "Books, clothing, food and cutlery."

The man nodded and seemed to think for a moment. "I'm afraid your trip isn't going to go well." He pointed the rifle at Archibald. "I'll be taking possession of your wagon and all its content."

"We don't have anything of value," Archibald said, "we are traveling quite simply."

"I'll be the judge of that. Get off the wagon." He motioned with the rifle.

"No. Listen here . . ." I started, and the man put the rifle in my face.

"Don't antagonize them, Simon," Archibald said, putting a hand on my thigh. "These are only objects, nothing of real value." He then climbed down.

I glared at the ruffian for a moment before also climbing down. three more horsemen came out from the foliage, pointing rifles at us, and we were guided to the side of the road, away from the wagon.

"What have we here?" said the man closest to us, as he reached for Archibald's silver crucifix, which had fallen out from under his shirt when he got off the wagon.

"Don't touch that," I said and pulled the man's hand away.

There was the sound of thunder, the smell of burnt sulfur and a lancing pain in my leg just before I fell to the ground.

"Now, that was a mighty stupid act. I would have been happy to save that bullet. Now the three day walk back to town's going to take you longer. That wound's probably going to get infected before then, and you probably won't make it." He handed his rifle to the man closest to him, who gave him his. "It might be a mercy to use a second bullet and make you avoid all the pain that's going to cause."

"There's no need for that," Archibald said, interposing himself. He took the crucifix off his neck and handed it to him.

"Are you sure? You might not be doing your friend any favor by keeping him alive."

"I'll trust God to look after us."

"Very well. We're riding out, men." They formed themselves around the wagon and led the horses away.

When they were out of sight Archibald bent down to look at my wound. I'd been hurt many ways up to this point, but I'd never been shot before. I didn't like it. I used him to stand up.

"Don't move. I need to bandage you injury before it gets infected." He started to rip up his sleeve, but I stopped him.

"Don't bother, I'm going after our things." He didn't know I wouldn't get an infection, or that I'd be healed within the hour.

"There's no need, they are not important."

"What do you mean they are not important? Those are the only things you have. The only things you were able to bring from your Order. That crucifix is the only sign of your faith you have left."

"The crucifix is not my faith. I will continue to have *that* even without it."

I forced myself to take a breath. "Maybe you are not concerned about your things, but my things are also in there. They are all that I own, that satchel and those two cases are everything I have accumulated over . . . My life." I'd almost let slip how old I was. "I have to go get them." I didn't mention that I wanted to give them a good trouncing for having shot me. "You stay here, I will be back shortly."

"Simon, I implore you to stay. There are six of them, armed, and you are wounded. Your wrath will only lead to your death."

"Trust me, Archibald. All I ask is that you trust me."

He looked at me, befuddled, before nodding slightly. I turned and left him there as he started praying. My name was mentioned in the prayer.

* * * * *

Tracking the robbers wasn't difficult, they didn't even try to hide. They didn't stay on the trail long before going into the woods, following a path hardly wide enough for the wagon to fit. I took off my clothes and folded them neatly. I put them among the foliage on the side of the trail before entering the woods after them.

Their camp turned out to be rather close to the trail, barely deep enough that their small fire was difficult to see through the trees. Our wagon was at the edge of the clearing they'd made, next to a large tent. There was what had to be the remains of two other wagons on the other side of the clearing. All that was left were the metal binding, the wood had been chopped to feed their fire. The only damage to ours was some rips in the canopy. Next to the remains were two small tents as well as bedrolls near the fire.

I sneaked around the clearing, and watched the six of them. Two unhooking the horses, leading them to the corral where they kept their own. Two were going through our possessions, while a fifth tended to the fire and the kettle hanging over it.

The man who had been giving the orders when they accosted us, was sitting at an ornately detailed table in front of the tent. The style of carvings around the edge had been one I'd seen commonly in France. He was flipping the pages of what had to be a ledger; next to it was an ink well.

My plan was to knock them around and scare them into fleeing before getting the horses and wagon back. I watched as they overturned the case holding my books on the ground and one of them quickly flip through them, obviously looking for hidden currency within the pages.

I shifted and barely held in a growl at the lack of reverence they had for the books. I prepared myself to jump in the middle of their camp, but I was stunned into immobility as he casually threw one of the books in the fire. Once I got over the act I couldn't hold back the growl anymore and some of them were already reaching for their rifles as I jumped.

"Wolf!" one of them yelled, and they scattered to the edges away from me.

I looked at them before slowly standing up.

"My God, what is it?" one of them asked.

"Don't just stand there!" their leader ordered, grabbing his rifle. "Shoot that thing." Those already holding their rifles did as ordered. Only two of the four hit, and it only stung now that I was expecting it.

I jumped over the fire and knocked two of them back as they tried to reload. I was hit in the back and roared as I turned. The closest to me turned white and lost control of his bodily functions.

"It's not doing anything!" someone yelled.

"It's a devil!" someone else added.

I swatted someone who ran up to try to clobber me with his rifle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw their leader wrap something around his fist and cross himself.

"Stand back men! I'll deal with it."

I had to admire his courage. I was easily a head taller than him, even slightly hunched over, and much more muscular. Still he came at me while I waited for him. I even let him get the first punch in, smiling and showing my sharp teeth as it came, only noticing the edge of something extending out of his fist just before it hit.

He hit my muzzle and the chain dug in, hurting a lot more than any hit I'd ever received, then what ever he was holding slashed across it, hurting ever more. I howled in pain and slashed at him blindly to force him back, and put a hand to my face. It came away covered in blood, and my muzzle was still stinging. I'd felt this kind of sting before, when another werewolf slashed me with silver.

He came at me again and I blocked the blow with my arm by reflex, but he slashed it as he carried the motion through. The pain forced me to move away, right in the path of the butt of a rifle being swung at me. My head rang for a moment before I felt a hit and slash across my back, making me howl again. Another butt to the head, and another slash, this time in my side.

Emboldened, the other men joined in and I lost count of the blows. The rifles weren't doing any damage, but they were distracting me and letting their leader hit and hurt me. After a particularly painful slash across the chest I just lost it.

I grabbed the closest man and crushed his neck before throwing him at their leader. The next one I broke his arm before hitting him across the face and breaking his neck. I jumped the third one and slashed his chest open. The fourth one had moved to the edge and was trying to put the powder in his rifle. I ripped it out of his hand and impaled him with it. I saw the fifth one run in the woods, but before I could chase him their leader was standing. I rushed him and punched him hard enough to sending him flying back. I straddled him and I was about to slash his throat open when I heard.

"By God!"

I roared as I turned to the intruder and stared at Archibald. He was standing there, horrified, holding his shirt where his crucifix would have been, and looking back at me, my clothes in his arms.

My anger evaporated under that fear and I looked around at the carnage I had wrought. I sighed. This hadn't been part of my plan. I would have been perfectly happy never revealing what I was to him.

"I thought I told you to stay there," I said, opening the unconscious man's hand, to reveal he was holding Archibald's silver crucifix.

"Simon?"

"Yes, it's me," I replied, "What are you doing here?"

It took him a moment to respond. "I heard shots and then a wolf howling. I found your clothes on the side of the road and I was concerned for you."

I took the crucifix out of the man's hand and stood. I headed toward him and he just stood there watching me. He didn't even cross himself -- I wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. "You're taking this rather well. I would have expected you to have fled in panic by now."

He swallowed. "You either have been sent to me by God, in which case I have no need to panic, or you have been sent by Lucifer to lead me to perdition, in which case I can not afford to panic."

I watched him try to compose himself, but I could still smell how much I terrified him. "There's a third option you aren't considering," I offered him his crucifix, "I'm just a man with an affliction. In such a case you are free to panic . . . I'll understand if you do."

For a moment I thought he'd run off, but he closed his eyes. When he opened them there was no trace of the doubts I had seen there before.

"No, I refuse to believe that God did not have a hand in sending you to me, no matter how you look now." He took the bloody crucifix from my hand.

I released the breath I'd been holding. "Then will you look after the wagon while I go wash up?" He nodded and I headed out of the clearing, waiting until he could no longer see me before starting to run to burn off the fear having him see me like this had caused me.

I hadn't bothered giving him the details of my life because I knew I wouldn't be spending long enough with him for him to realize there was something different about me. I figured I'd help him get settled in California and then go my own way, probably back to New York.

I quickly reached the river and jumped in it, gasping as the cold water made my wounds sting. My Sensei would have my head if he'd known how I'd let them get them better of me. Then he would give me a proper beating for becoming over confident and not keeping up with my practices. I shifted back to human and scrubbed the blood off, cataloging the cuts -- yes, it was a good thing he would never see them. When I was as clean as I was going to get I headed back to the clearing.

"You're hurt!" Archibald exclaimed as he saw me; he'd been looking over the bandit leader when I entered the clearing.

"I'll be fine," I said. The cuts I'd received weren't bleeding very much anymore, but the skin around them had the blueish tinge that was typical of wounds caused by silver.

"We need to bandage them before they become infected."

"There's no need, I'll heal in a week or so." That's how long it would take for my system to purge the silver in the wounds.

Archibald looked at me for a moment. "I don't care what kind of creature you might be. Leaving wounds exposed isn't healthy, so you are going to go sit there and I will bandage them, is that clear?" he was pointing at the wagon and his tone wouldn't brook any argument.

I wouldn't have anything to gain from arguing so I did as told. He took one of his clean shirts from a chest and ripped bandages out of it. When he was done seeing to me he took what was left of his shirt and went to the unconscious man.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"He is bleeding from the back of the head. I will bandage it."

"Why?"

"Do you want him to die from bleeding before we can bring him to a doctor?"

"You want to take him with us?"

"Most certainly."

"Why? He would never do the same to us. He was willing to shoot me earlier."

"God would not want me to leave a wounded man to die if I am able to help. Do you truly want me to believe that you are no better than him?"

I had just killed four men in anger, and I had killed countless more before he met me. I wasn't sure I could consider myself better than that bandit, but I stayed silent, and gathered our things instead. When I was done I helped move him to the wagon.

"Now we need to give the dead a proper burial."

I ground my teeth, but said nothing. As far as I was concerned all they deserved was to rot there or be food for the animals. I emptied their pockets before digging shallow graves for them. He then said a few prayers over them before I buried them. By the time I was done the sun had started to set.

Archibald wasn't comfortable about it, but there was no point in moving from the clearing until morning. I added wood to the fire and spend some time going through the bandit's possessions before eating. I put their rifles in the wagon, as well as anything I thought I could sell. I also put a satchel in the wagon containing a stack of papers I couldn't read in the dying light.

"Is what you are the reason you do not believe in God?" Archibald asked me over the stew of dried meat and vegetables.

"No, it has nothing to do with it."

"Why then?"

"Because I don't believe any kind of benevolent god would allow for children to work, and die, in the mines."

For a moment I thought Archibald would try to convince me otherwise, but wisely, he remained silent.

The next morning we got moving as soon as the sky lightened up. Once there was enough light for it, I went through the papers. With a few exceptions they were land claims, twenty three of them. The names on them were of varied origin; French, English, Scots, Italian and some I couldn't place.

Before the end of the day, we arrived at a town where we were able to drop off our injured with the doctor, after I gave him one of the silver dollars I'd collected from the dead, as well as one of the horses. Fortunately he'd remained unconscious for the trip -- I didn't think Archibald would have been too pleased with me punching him back into unconsciousness. I sold the other horses to a rancher outside of the town, who was happy to take them and not ask questions.

The trip became more difficult for me as the day progressed. As much as Archibald had claimed to be fine with what I was, he remained distant until the 8th day when the night grew cold and he snuggled against me for warmth. It took absolutely every bit of my willpower not to force myself on him.

I think he also missed the sex, because it didn't take long for his hands to find their way under my shirt. With that opening we had a wild night, with little sleep.

* * * * *

Fortunately, the rest of the trip did not have another eventful incident. Without saying anything we reached an agreement on my condition, I wouldn't mention it, or what had happened in the clearing and Archibald would act like it never happened and I was normal, other than liking sex a lot.

* * * * *

"Were you born . . . as you are?" Archibald asked, as he stirred the stew over the fire. It had been over a month since the incident with the bandits, long enough that I didn't immediately understand what he was asking. Then I was surprised that he asked at all. I was certain he didn't want to think on it.

"No," I replied.

"How did it happen?"

"I don't know, not really."

"Surely you remember something of how you became so . . . unusual."

I had to force myself to think back, it wasn't a period of my life I enjoying remembering. "I remember being sick, close to dying. I remember a man standing over me. He said some things, but I don't remember what it was, or even if I actually understood him in my sickness. After that I started getting better. Later I found out I was . . . different."

"An Angel saved you."

I shook my head. "I don't even know if the man had anything to do with what happened. Or if he was there at all. I do know that no angels would have come to save the man that I was back then."

"What kind of man were you that you believe so?"

"I was a man of sin, even by my definition of the term." I didn't abide by the bible's definition, but even I had things I didn't think were good to do. Archibald kept looking at me. "I sold my body so I could buy alcohol and opium." I sighed. "I killed a man, to get the same."

"What drove you to such?"

I didn't reply immediately. "My youth wasn't pleasant," I finally said, "not something I care to recount."

He took the stew off the fire and then sat next to me. "Please, you helped me after I had to leave the monastery. Tell me your story so I can try to sooth the pain it is giving you."

I didn't start talking immediately, to be honest, I didn't think that talking about it would do any good to either of us. Still he stayed next to me and waited, so I gave in.

"My parents sold me to the mines when I was so young that I can't remember them. For years I barely saw daylight, or breathed clean air. I least I was one of the fortunate that lived to leave the mine. It happened when I was bought by Gerald, a man of higher standing. I don't know how old I was by then, but he told me I was eight, and that he was going to be my father. He brought me to his home, cleaned and dressed me, and told me that I was to love him.

"I was grateful enough for having been taken out of the mine that it was easy for me to love him, even when he started asking me to demonstrate that love to him."

"He used you sexually?" Archibald asked dismayed.

"Yes. Not that I minded. He had brought me into the light, if pleasuring him was what he required in return I was happy to oblige. I even enjoyed doing so. I lived the privileged life until my fifteenth birthday. As a gift he gave me a purse filled with coins and told me that I was old enough to make my own way now. I was indeed old enough to understand that my age was the problem. He liked his 'son' to be much younger, so showed me the door and probably went to find himself another son.

"The money he gave me might have been enough if I hadn't continued living the way I had with him. Within months I was penniless and on the street, turning to opium for relief and selling myself to afford it. I managed to do that for a few years before I became sick enough to end up at the hospice, and I was there for months, slowly dying, before the man showed up."

I felt strange as Archibald wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. I had never told anyone of my youth, not the few men who know I didn't age, or even other werewolves. I had trouble believing I had told the whole story with a steady voice, shouldn't what had been done to me in those years, and what I had done mean more? I placed my head on Archibald's shoulder and let the comfort he was offering warm some of the ice I had wrapped around that time in my life..

* * * * *

San Francisco wasn't what I had been expecting. It was large, but I had expected that. People had been coming here for years now, especially with gold being found in forty-nine -- that news had reached me while I was in Paris, before I met Archibald. It was the complete chaos that surprised me. There was no order with where buildings had been build. I had expected an orderly city.

Still, we had arrived. I quickly sold the rifles and used the money to get us a room for the week. Neither of us expected it would take longer than that for Archibald to find an order he could join.

While he contacted them, I set about tracking down the rightful owners of the land claims I had. Families had worked hard to get them and I didn't feel right just selling them and keeping the money -- at least not without trying to return them first.

One week became two, and then three. I had only managed to give six of the twenty-three claims to the families they belonged too. None of the others could be tracked down. A few of the lawyers I contacted to find the families suggested I leave the claims with them, so they could keep searching, but after the incident in 46 I'm not sure I'd ever trust a lawyer to keep his word again.

It was the last day of our third week here, I was sitting in the saloon near our boarding house, sipping whiskey, when Archibald threw himself in the chair next to mine, took my glass and downed its content.

"I can not believe that they dare call themselves Men of God."

"The search isn't going too well I take it?"

"They are too busy trying to hit down the other faiths with their bibles to be bothered with values like tolerance. The Catholics are at war with the Protestants, the Anglican can't stand the Presbyterians and in the middle of that the faithful are suffering. I believe I would be better served to form my own order at this point."

"Maybe you should."

Archibald looked at me bewildered for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I have here a bunch of land claims that are basically ours at this point. Just pick one around the city and build your church there."

"No," he said after a moment of silence, "Not in the city. Never again in a city. I have spent time in New York and now here, it has reminded me why I left for the peace of the monastery." He lowered his tone. "And Rome would never approve of a man who feels carnal love for other men to head his own church."

"So you don't tell them," I replied, searching through the satchel. "You build it far from any settlements, you avoid confronting the other churches, and how would Rome ever hear of you?" I pulled out the claim I had been looking for.

"But without Rome's approval, it wouldn't truly be a church."

"This is the Americas, where men come to do things their own way. And isn't it really god's approval you need, rather than Rome's? If you only sought Rome's approval, couldn't you have just let the Pope assign you to a different monastery? Or did you think where ever you went you would face the same difficulties and intolerances?" He became thoughtful after this. I used the time to sign the barkeep we needed two more whiskeys and then put the claim in front of him. "From what I understand, this claim is about as far from San Francisco as it can be, while still being within the borders of California. You could build there. I even know a surveyor who could take us there. He's like us," I whispered just before the glasses arrived.

"You do seem to find men like us easily," he said after the serving maid left, and he picked up the claim.

"I have a nose for it," I replied. I lifted my glass. "What do you say? To beginning anew your way?"

He thought it over for a moment and then took his glass and toasted with me. "My way," he said.

And then a smile lit his face.

* * * * *

I hired a lawyer to sell the other claims. I figured that by the time Archibald and I made it to his land and back, he would be able to get good money for them.

Our guide was Caleb, a surveyor who was originally a trapper from Upper Canada. He was forced to travel west after a misunderstanding between him and the father of the young man he'd taken a fancy to. He made it all the way to New Caledonia, where he thought he'd be able to live in peace, but bounty hunters tracked him down and he had to flee south.

He'd grown to know the California trails well over the twenty years he'd lived here and his help probably saved us a month in getting to the piece of land Archibald now owned.

Caleb helped us survey the land and we headed back to San Francisco, without Archibald. He decided that he'd had enough of the city and opted to stay and wait our return. Caleb built him a shelter and left him most of his furs. Spring was close, but the nights were still cold. He offered to leave him one of his rifles, but Archibald refused. He would live off what God and the land provided him.

I considered staying to see to his survival, but he insisted I go since I had to see about finding people to build his monastery. I was at least able to convince him to take my knife.

Caleb did his best to take my mind off Archibald, but I constantly worried about him. I even found myself, one night, looking to the sky and praying that he would survive. I immediately felt silly for doing so.

The money that the lawyer got for the claims was more than I had expected. I put most of it in the local bank and set about finding men for the task of building the monastery. With Caleb's help, we found twelve strong men of the same persuasion as us. We also found an architect who was happy to be in the presence of men like him, and to work on a religious building.

Before we headed back to Archibald, I mailed out letters to men who were like us I had met in England, Germany, France, as well as other places I had traveled to over the years. I was certain they could use a safe place to live their lives the way they pleased and not risk being persecuted.

When we made it back to Archibald I was relieved to see he was alive. He was almost skeletal, but his smile was radiant when he saw us.

* * * * *

It took three years for the monastery to be finished. It was large enough to house the thirty men or so who were going to be staying. Most were those who had received my letters, but some of the men we hired to build it decided to stay.

I was disappointed that the completion was celebrated with prayer, rather than sex. Archibald made it clear that while he wouldn't stop any of the men living with him from satisfying their needs, he wasn't going to let his monastery become a house of the flesh. I must say that my time there was nonetheless some of the most enjoyable I had in many decades.

Still, the day came, a few weeks after the monastery was finished, that I felt the need to move on. The solitude might work for Archibald, but for me it was time to get back to civilization. I spent my last week there saying my goodbyes to everyone, mostly one on one, finishing with Archibald.

I looked at the stone structure one last time before heading back to San Francisco. I didn't know it then, but it would be fifty years before I'd see the place again.