The Wereling
(2003-2004, Ages 16 and Up)
4/7/17
Time, changes, and rearrangements aside, I can still point out today the exact spot in the Barnes & Noble in Duluth where I found two out of the three of these books. Though I knew only what was on the back covers, and being hesitant to begin until I had the complete trilogy, I decided to take a chance and order the missing novel. The result? I became so absorbed in the insanely fast pace and adrenaline-fueled suspense of the story that soon after I started, I actually stayed up until 3 am just to finish the second book. Much as I love to read, an occurrence like that was extremely rare for me even when I was a teenager. Even so, I still thank heaven that I didn’t have either school or work the next day.
During a vacation with his family, 16-year-old Tom Anderson is attacked by a wild animal while alone in the woods. Miraculously surviving, he wakes up in the home and care of the Folan family. Though grateful, Tom keeps requesting to go home to his parents, but the Folans keep giving reasons why this is not possible . . . as though they don’t want him to leave. This fear is soon confirmed when Tom discovers that his hosts are actually werewolves who have now turned him into one of their own in order to be a mate for their daughter, Kate. Fortunately for Tom, Kate will do anything to preserve her humanity and his and vows to help him escape her blood-lusting family and seek out a mysterious medicine man said to be capable of curing newly-turned werewolves. During their quest, they learn of a plot initiated by the evil albino ‘wolf, Papa Takapa, which would pave the way for werewolves to become the world’s new dominant species. Now with almost every other ‘wolf in the U.S. hot on their trail, Tom must learn to trust Kate while coping with his new other half in order to stay alive long enough to stop Takapa and be cured.
Stories like this tend to be hit-or-miss for me because, let’s face it, in fiction these days, legendary creatures in the modern world are a dime a dozen. But Cole makes his werewolves particularly interesting by a seemingly unrelated element: science. Part of what made the original Dracula so fascinating is that bodily filth and disease—devastatingly rampant in the 19th century—were the metaphorical basis for the vampire and the process by which one succumbs to vampirism. Likewise, in a time and universe in which science is most often preferred over myth, lycanthropy, or werewolfism, is also treated much more like a sickness than a supernatural power.
In many western mythologies, wolves often represent greed, destructiveness, and, of course, lust. According to Cole’s mythos, it is only by mating with a male werewolf that a pureblood female will ever become a wolf herself, otherwise she will remain human indefinitely. I found this idea especially unique, and not only as a refreshing plot device. Kate, a teen now of breeding age, is deathly afraid that, should her own inner ‘wolf ever awaken, she will become a mindless killer, just like her mother (more on her later). But the dread goes deeper than that. It would be like being invaded twofold: infection and rape—a heinous experience that she might possibly find herself enjoying, but would afterword make her feel forever unclean and irredeemable.
“Kate laughs feverishly as her bones begin to shift. Muscles tear and ripple. Teeth twist into spikes. Silken hair sprouts from every sweating pore. [. . .]
Her heart beats sure and strong. [. . .]
[. . .]
Soon she is bounding over rich-smelling earth. At last she feels alive. Feels she belongs. She catches the sharp smell of a frightened animal close by. She slips through undergrowth toward it. A deer, startled, bursts from its hiding place and starts to bolt. She matches it for pace, watches it swerve and dance with fear.
Finally she tires of the chase and slams the animal to the ground. Her claws tear into the deer’s flank; her jaws close around its throat, sharp teeth piercing the downy neck. Blood floods over her lips. It’s everywhere, sweet and sticky; she is bathed in it. Exultant, she raises her head and howls her thanks to the moon. . . .
The scream tore out of Kate as her eyes snapped open.
She jolted upright in her bed, trembling, gasping for air. She pressed her hands to her face, fingers searching the smooth clammy skin as hot tears poured over them. Then she gagged. The dream had never been so vivid; the blood had never seemed so real.
The moon was just a soft glow through her flimsy curtains, but Kate feared even the intrusion. She pushed sweat-drenched hair from her eyes and turned on her bedside light. Looking around at the familiar objects in the room, she reassured herself she was normal. For now . . .
But the images of the dream wouldn’t fade this time. The moon. The blood.
The exultant wolf.
That’s going to be me, she thought, still trembling. That’s what I’m going to become.
Kate dreaded the day she would think those thoughts not with fear and guilt and shame—but with pleasure . . .” (Wounded, Pg. 2-4)
As for Tom, however, the beast inside him is now all too real. But he soon learns that he is no ordinary werewolf: he is a wereling, a special type who is able to balance his humanity with his wolf instincts no matter which form he takes. This is both a rare blessing and yet an even more terrible curse for Tom. While he can take advantage of his newly sharpened senses while human and retain his human thoughts and memories as a wolf, this leaves him unable to escape the constant pain of knowing the horror of the creature he has become—and what that creature might be capable of should he ever lose control of it:
“Suddenly there was a loud cry to their left. [. . . They saw] a young woman in a head scarf, staring around frantically, her hand to her mouth.
‘My baby,” she gasped. ‘I went to get some change, and now . . .’ She started shouting: ‘Bobby! Bobby, honey, where are you?’
[. . .] Tom saw a half-eaten crustless sandwich in the child’s stroller. Concentrating, he could smell the peanut-butter-and grape-jelly filling. He turned in a slow circle, trying to see if he could scent it anywhere.
[. . .]
‘I can smell him,’ Tom breathed. ‘Wait here.’
‘Don’t leave me!’ Kate panicked.
‘Just a few seconds,’ Tom promised her. Then he jogged across the concourse, sniffing the air. It was like he could home in on the scent of the little boy, and it was mingling now with the overwhelming stench of . . .
Tom hurried to the men’s room, and there was Bobby, grinning as his sandy brown hair was buffeted in the blast from a hot-air dryer.
‘I needed to go pee,’ the pudgy little boy announced.
‘When you gotta go, you gotta go,’ Tom agreed. He picked him up and carried him back across the concourse. He smelled like soap and candy, safe and clean. The way Joe used to smell. Tom had resented having a baby brother so much at the start, but . . .
He froze.
The smell of the plump little boy in his arms was making him salivate.
‘Here,’ Tom muttered, dumping Bobby in his mother’s arms without another word.
‘Thanks,’ the woman called gratefully, but Tom was already walking away. The crowd began to disperse.
Kate appeared, carrying his backpack as well as her own. ‘What am I, the bellhop now?’
Tom slumped down on another bench, sank his face into his hands. ‘I . . . I thought maybe I could find something good in all this mess,’ he whispered. ‘That I could help.’
‘You did help,’ Kate said softly, joining him. ‘You were right about the boy and you sniffed him out.’
Tom snorted. ‘I wanted to eat him.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Kate said quietly. ‘You drew on the wolf in you without letting it out. I’ve never seen that before.’ She smiled at him. ‘Hey, wereling. Perfect synthesis of man and wolf . . .’
‘There’s nothing perfect about me,’ Tom snapped. ‘What if next time that hunger hits me, I can’t control it? Can’t stop myself?’
Kate was silent for a long moment. ‘Come on,’ she said at last. ‘It’s almost five. We should get ready to board.’” (Pg. 96-98)
And besides the personal ramifications of becoming werewolves, Tom and Kate also have to deal with enemies who couldn’t be more demonic even in ‘wolf form. Now, I’ve witnessed plenty of brutal antagonists in a multitude of stories, but Kate’s mother, Marcie, is a real sadist in her own right. “[Like] a junkie needing her fix”, as Kate once puts it, Marcie sees almost every other creature as prey and loves nothing more than to rip any live piece of flesh into bloody shreds:
“‘But I need to go out and kill,’ said Marcie, like this was the most reasonable thing in the world.
[. . .]
[. . .] ‘Marcie, the boy must be close to turning,’ Hal said reasonably. ‘We need to be here for him when—’
‘Hal, baby, be here for me right now, okay? Please. I need to go out.’ Marcie was quieter now. Her slow, sly voice was somehow scarier than the yelling. ‘I’m not strong and stoic like you. I can’t live off cold, dead, stuff my whole life.’
‘You go feeding too much. Stray too far.’
[. . .]
‘What part of this aren’t you getting, Hal?’ Marcie sighed. She cupped his face. With each whispered word a different nail gouged the skin on his cheek: ‘I’m—going—outside—tonight.’” (Pg. 54-55)
And then there is Takapa, who more than lives up to his Navajo namesake, “Eater of Men.” Underneath his sickly, corpse-like appearance lies a savagery that he flaunts and relishes with a psychosis as delicious as it is chilling—pun intended.
“There was a rushing, eerie cracking sound, like ghosts bundling up a pile of dry sticks.
‘Boo.’
Kate opened her eyes.
She decided maybe she preferred the ‘wolf.
A naked man stood before her, early fifties, maybe, stick thin and covered in eczema. He looked half starved; his ribs stuck out like blades through flaky skin, his stomach was sunken, his hips protruded like bone handles.
[. . .]
[. . .] A silver double helix dangled from the fleshy lobe of his right ear, while his left ear looked like it had been chewed clean off. His skin was pockmarked with the scars of old acne, and his eyes were a watery pink, the color of raw flesh.
[. . .]
Abruptly he got up, walked over to one of the crates on the nearby rack, and pried off the lid. He scooped out a mass of crimson slush ice and pushed it greedily into his mouth like it was Ben & Jerry’s or something. ‘Mmm.’ He shut his eyes and sighed dreamily. ‘Love it when you get a clot.’
He held some under Kate’s nose. ‘Slush pop? It’s blood, liver, and chili sauce, my own recipe.’” (Pg. 195-197)
Between the awesome characters, both good and evil, and the intense plot twists, I found myself holding my breath more than once while trembling with excitement. During the numerous times a main character was captured, tortured, or in a fight, I kept asking myself, “How the H are they going to get out of this mess?”
Like I said before, taking a well-known and well-respected trope—or in this case, mythical creature—and setting it in the modern era can very easily take the magic and mystery out of the entire experience, not to mention the creature itself, if not done well—like a certain novel/film franchise involving teen vampires. But assuming it was done correctly and with care, I think this story would make an excellent film series in the supernatural thriller genre. A splendid concoction of the technological and the nightmarish, The Wereling is sure to linger and prowl within the mind long after the final page has been turned.
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The Wereling: Wounded by Stephen Cole (published by Razorbill/The Penguin Group).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
During a vacation with his family, 16-year-old Tom Anderson is attacked by a wild animal while alone in the woods. Miraculously surviving, he wakes up in the home and care of the Folan family. Though grateful, Tom keeps requesting to go home to his parents, but the Folans keep giving reasons why this is not possible . . . as though they don’t want him to leave. This fear is soon confirmed when Tom discovers that his hosts are actually werewolves who have now turned him into one of their own in order to be a mate for their daughter, Kate. Fortunately for Tom, Kate will do anything to preserve her humanity and his and vows to help him escape her blood-lusting family and seek out a mysterious medicine man said to be capable of curing newly-turned werewolves. During their quest, they learn of a plot initiated by the evil albino ‘wolf, Papa Takapa, which would pave the way for werewolves to become the world’s new dominant species. Now with almost every other ‘wolf in the U.S. hot on their trail, Tom must learn to trust Kate while coping with his new other half in order to stay alive long enough to stop Takapa and be cured.
Stories like this tend to be hit-or-miss for me because, let’s face it, in fiction these days, legendary creatures in the modern world are a dime a dozen. But Cole makes his werewolves particularly interesting by a seemingly unrelated element: science. Part of what made the original Dracula so fascinating is that bodily filth and disease—devastatingly rampant in the 19th century—were the metaphorical basis for the vampire and the process by which one succumbs to vampirism. Likewise, in a time and universe in which science is most often preferred over myth, lycanthropy, or werewolfism, is also treated much more like a sickness than a supernatural power.
In many western mythologies, wolves often represent greed, destructiveness, and, of course, lust. According to Cole’s mythos, it is only by mating with a male werewolf that a pureblood female will ever become a wolf herself, otherwise she will remain human indefinitely. I found this idea especially unique, and not only as a refreshing plot device. Kate, a teen now of breeding age, is deathly afraid that, should her own inner ‘wolf ever awaken, she will become a mindless killer, just like her mother (more on her later). But the dread goes deeper than that. It would be like being invaded twofold: infection and rape—a heinous experience that she might possibly find herself enjoying, but would afterword make her feel forever unclean and irredeemable.
“Kate laughs feverishly as her bones begin to shift. Muscles tear and ripple. Teeth twist into spikes. Silken hair sprouts from every sweating pore. [. . .]
Her heart beats sure and strong. [. . .]
[. . .]
Soon she is bounding over rich-smelling earth. At last she feels alive. Feels she belongs. She catches the sharp smell of a frightened animal close by. She slips through undergrowth toward it. A deer, startled, bursts from its hiding place and starts to bolt. She matches it for pace, watches it swerve and dance with fear.
Finally she tires of the chase and slams the animal to the ground. Her claws tear into the deer’s flank; her jaws close around its throat, sharp teeth piercing the downy neck. Blood floods over her lips. It’s everywhere, sweet and sticky; she is bathed in it. Exultant, she raises her head and howls her thanks to the moon. . . .
The scream tore out of Kate as her eyes snapped open.
She jolted upright in her bed, trembling, gasping for air. She pressed her hands to her face, fingers searching the smooth clammy skin as hot tears poured over them. Then she gagged. The dream had never been so vivid; the blood had never seemed so real.
The moon was just a soft glow through her flimsy curtains, but Kate feared even the intrusion. She pushed sweat-drenched hair from her eyes and turned on her bedside light. Looking around at the familiar objects in the room, she reassured herself she was normal. For now . . .
But the images of the dream wouldn’t fade this time. The moon. The blood.
The exultant wolf.
That’s going to be me, she thought, still trembling. That’s what I’m going to become.
Kate dreaded the day she would think those thoughts not with fear and guilt and shame—but with pleasure . . .” (Wounded, Pg. 2-4)
As for Tom, however, the beast inside him is now all too real. But he soon learns that he is no ordinary werewolf: he is a wereling, a special type who is able to balance his humanity with his wolf instincts no matter which form he takes. This is both a rare blessing and yet an even more terrible curse for Tom. While he can take advantage of his newly sharpened senses while human and retain his human thoughts and memories as a wolf, this leaves him unable to escape the constant pain of knowing the horror of the creature he has become—and what that creature might be capable of should he ever lose control of it:
“Suddenly there was a loud cry to their left. [. . . They saw] a young woman in a head scarf, staring around frantically, her hand to her mouth.
‘My baby,” she gasped. ‘I went to get some change, and now . . .’ She started shouting: ‘Bobby! Bobby, honey, where are you?’
[. . .] Tom saw a half-eaten crustless sandwich in the child’s stroller. Concentrating, he could smell the peanut-butter-and grape-jelly filling. He turned in a slow circle, trying to see if he could scent it anywhere.
[. . .]
‘I can smell him,’ Tom breathed. ‘Wait here.’
‘Don’t leave me!’ Kate panicked.
‘Just a few seconds,’ Tom promised her. Then he jogged across the concourse, sniffing the air. It was like he could home in on the scent of the little boy, and it was mingling now with the overwhelming stench of . . .
Tom hurried to the men’s room, and there was Bobby, grinning as his sandy brown hair was buffeted in the blast from a hot-air dryer.
‘I needed to go pee,’ the pudgy little boy announced.
‘When you gotta go, you gotta go,’ Tom agreed. He picked him up and carried him back across the concourse. He smelled like soap and candy, safe and clean. The way Joe used to smell. Tom had resented having a baby brother so much at the start, but . . .
He froze.
The smell of the plump little boy in his arms was making him salivate.
‘Here,’ Tom muttered, dumping Bobby in his mother’s arms without another word.
‘Thanks,’ the woman called gratefully, but Tom was already walking away. The crowd began to disperse.
Kate appeared, carrying his backpack as well as her own. ‘What am I, the bellhop now?’
Tom slumped down on another bench, sank his face into his hands. ‘I . . . I thought maybe I could find something good in all this mess,’ he whispered. ‘That I could help.’
‘You did help,’ Kate said softly, joining him. ‘You were right about the boy and you sniffed him out.’
Tom snorted. ‘I wanted to eat him.’
‘But you didn’t,’ Kate said quietly. ‘You drew on the wolf in you without letting it out. I’ve never seen that before.’ She smiled at him. ‘Hey, wereling. Perfect synthesis of man and wolf . . .’
‘There’s nothing perfect about me,’ Tom snapped. ‘What if next time that hunger hits me, I can’t control it? Can’t stop myself?’
Kate was silent for a long moment. ‘Come on,’ she said at last. ‘It’s almost five. We should get ready to board.’” (Pg. 96-98)
And besides the personal ramifications of becoming werewolves, Tom and Kate also have to deal with enemies who couldn’t be more demonic even in ‘wolf form. Now, I’ve witnessed plenty of brutal antagonists in a multitude of stories, but Kate’s mother, Marcie, is a real sadist in her own right. “[Like] a junkie needing her fix”, as Kate once puts it, Marcie sees almost every other creature as prey and loves nothing more than to rip any live piece of flesh into bloody shreds:
“‘But I need to go out and kill,’ said Marcie, like this was the most reasonable thing in the world.
[. . .]
[. . .] ‘Marcie, the boy must be close to turning,’ Hal said reasonably. ‘We need to be here for him when—’
‘Hal, baby, be here for me right now, okay? Please. I need to go out.’ Marcie was quieter now. Her slow, sly voice was somehow scarier than the yelling. ‘I’m not strong and stoic like you. I can’t live off cold, dead, stuff my whole life.’
‘You go feeding too much. Stray too far.’
[. . .]
‘What part of this aren’t you getting, Hal?’ Marcie sighed. She cupped his face. With each whispered word a different nail gouged the skin on his cheek: ‘I’m—going—outside—tonight.’” (Pg. 54-55)
And then there is Takapa, who more than lives up to his Navajo namesake, “Eater of Men.” Underneath his sickly, corpse-like appearance lies a savagery that he flaunts and relishes with a psychosis as delicious as it is chilling—pun intended.
“There was a rushing, eerie cracking sound, like ghosts bundling up a pile of dry sticks.
‘Boo.’
Kate opened her eyes.
She decided maybe she preferred the ‘wolf.
A naked man stood before her, early fifties, maybe, stick thin and covered in eczema. He looked half starved; his ribs stuck out like blades through flaky skin, his stomach was sunken, his hips protruded like bone handles.
[. . .]
[. . .] A silver double helix dangled from the fleshy lobe of his right ear, while his left ear looked like it had been chewed clean off. His skin was pockmarked with the scars of old acne, and his eyes were a watery pink, the color of raw flesh.
[. . .]
Abruptly he got up, walked over to one of the crates on the nearby rack, and pried off the lid. He scooped out a mass of crimson slush ice and pushed it greedily into his mouth like it was Ben & Jerry’s or something. ‘Mmm.’ He shut his eyes and sighed dreamily. ‘Love it when you get a clot.’
He held some under Kate’s nose. ‘Slush pop? It’s blood, liver, and chili sauce, my own recipe.’” (Pg. 195-197)
Between the awesome characters, both good and evil, and the intense plot twists, I found myself holding my breath more than once while trembling with excitement. During the numerous times a main character was captured, tortured, or in a fight, I kept asking myself, “How the H are they going to get out of this mess?”
Like I said before, taking a well-known and well-respected trope—or in this case, mythical creature—and setting it in the modern era can very easily take the magic and mystery out of the entire experience, not to mention the creature itself, if not done well—like a certain novel/film franchise involving teen vampires. But assuming it was done correctly and with care, I think this story would make an excellent film series in the supernatural thriller genre. A splendid concoction of the technological and the nightmarish, The Wereling is sure to linger and prowl within the mind long after the final page has been turned.
CREDITS:
All images, audio, and links belong to their respective owners; no copyright infringement is intended.
All book excerpts are from The Wereling: Wounded by Stephen Cole (published by Razorbill/The Penguin Group).
MAIN THEME:
“The Call” – Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
EPISODE SONGS:
“Monsters in My Head” - Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
“Monsters in My Head” - Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
“Invisible Dreams” - Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
“Techno Monster” - Briand Morrison and Roxann Berglund
Download the full 15-minute episode here!
The Wereling on Wikipedia
Stephen Cole on Wikipedia
Stephen Cole's Official Website
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The Wereling on Wikipedia
Stephen Cole on Wikipedia
Stephen Cole's Official Website
The Wereling on Stephen ole's Website
The Wereling's Facebook Page
The Wereling on Goodreads
Buy The Wereling on Amazon
Buy The Wereling at Barnes & Noble
Buy The Wereling on EBay
^^ Back to Books, Graphic Novels, and Other Works of Literature