Amarok

by Angela J. Townsend

  21

  Emma kicked loose from the man’s grasp and fell hard to her knees. He growled, inches from her face, his breath heavy with the rusty scent of blood. She scuttled backward and got to her feet just as he reached for her again, snatching her pant leg. She jerked away, struck him with the butt of the gun and he rolled, lifeless, onto his back. His eyes fixed in a death stare, gawking up at the sky. Emma glared at him, worn out, drained, not an ounce of emotion left—except anger. She ripped the totem from his hand and hurried inside.

  Shoving the door closed, she leaned her shoulder into it to force his body out of the way and flipped the deadbolt. Emma sagged against the doorframe and examined the intricately carved item in her hand. It appeared to be ivory, yellowed with age, in the shape of a wolf. She glanced at Amarok. Her mouth flew open, the object falling from her grasp, forgotten.

  A teenage boy lay curled under the blanket near the fire, his back to her and his lean body riddled with cuts and scrapes. His long, black hair fanned across the floor behind him.

  What had he done with Amarok? Emma held the rifle in front of her and crept closer. “Who are you?”

  The boy didn’t answer. Whoever he was, he was badly injured. He lay unresponsive and she knelt next to him, but not too close, in case it was a trick. His wounds—his wounds were the exact same injuries Amarok had suffered. Looking at the bandages, she recognized her own handiwork. What was going on? None of this made any sense.

  “Who are you?” Emma whispered.

  He turned his head slowly, as if even slight movement pained him, and peered at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Amarok.”

  Emma blinked in stunned silence and the boy inhaled a raspy breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “I am Amarok. The name you gave me…”

  The boy’s eyes closed and he lay very still. Her mind raced. How could he know the name she’d given the wolf? Could it be a coincidence? Or was it really Amarok? Emma shook her head. No, it wasn’t possible. The world swam around her. She was tired. She was hungry. She needed a shower. Shit, she was losing her mind. Her throat locked up. Emma struggled for air, closing her eyes to calm her frayed nerves. Finally, her muscles relaxed, and she inhaled one soothing breath after another. She stumbled to a chair, and sat down heavily as she spied a discarded wolf pelt lying next to the boy. There was no question. Somehow this teenager was the wolf she had grown to care so much about, and now he lay in the throes of death. If magic had created him, then somehow, maybe magic could save him.

  She got onto her knees and cradled his head in her lap. “Tell me how I can help you.”

  His eyes remained closed. She studied his face. He wasn’t much older than she was, although his skin was a sickly gray. The boy’s lips parted. “Put the totem around your neck. It will buy me a little time.”

  Emma stretched out her fingers and snatched the totem from the floor. She slipped it around her neck and the boy’s ashen color warmed to an acorn brown.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “There is nothing else you can do. My wounds are too great. But would you do me one favor?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  A spasm of pain appeared to rack his body and he grabbed at his ribs. “I want to know your name. I want to carry it on my lips when I pass to the spirit world.”

  Emma swallowed a lump in her throat. She could barely speak. “Emma,” she whispered.

  The boy flashed a weak smile. “Such a pretty name. Almost as pretty as your heart.”

  His breath rattled in his throat. Easing his head from her lap, Emma hurried to the sink for water. She dribbled the cool liquid between his swollen lips.

  “Thank you,” he said, weakly.

  “It’s the least I can do. You saved my life.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean for the water. For letting me be your protector. Now, when I hear the drums call, I can go knowing my life had a purpose. It will be a good death.”

  Emma choked back tears. “No, please, don’t talk like that. You already look better.”

  “Don’t be sad, Emma. I’ve lived many years, but now my wounds are too deep. It is my time.”

  “There has to be something I can do. I can go for help.”

  “No. There is only one way to save me, and it’s impossible.”

  “What is it? Please tell me.”

  His eyes escaped her gaze and he grew quiet.

  “Please!” Emma begged. “Tell me.”

  “I won’t risk your life for mine. I’ve lived longer than any man should. My family is gone and it’s time for me to join them.”

  “Tell me! Please, I have to know.”

  “Long ago,” he said. “My family settled on land cursed by an ice-age shaman named Milak, an evil creature with an unyielding lust for destruction. He killed my folks and turned me into a wolf, a slave for the Ryan family. Weasel Tail was the last of them.”

  Emma cringed. “What a perfect name for that creep.”

  “There must be two totems recovered in order to save me. The first you wear around your neck. The second is hidden somewhere in the cursed land.” Amarok coughed, clutched his sides and then continued. “Milak still haunts the valley and will transform anyone who dares to trespass. That is why I cannot risk your life.”

  “How much time do you have left?”

  “One day, maybe two. The totem you wear will afford me more time.”

  “Where exactly is the other totem? Do you know?”

  “Yes. It’s somewhere on the grounds overlooking my parents’ homestead.”

  “What does the other totem look like?”

  “It’s a twin to the one you wear, made from the tusk of a woolly mammoth. One controls my form; the other my life essence.”

  Emma fingered the totem, her distress so great that the item’s tremendous age failed to rouse her interest. She got to her feet. “How far is it?”

  Amarok pressed his lips together. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Please! Tell me!”

  “I am supposed to protect you,” he said, his smile weak. “I cannot ask this of you, the danger is too great. I couldn’t bear the thought of you being enslaved by that creature. It is a hell beyond your imagining, a hell that no man, woman, or beast deserves.” He took another gasping breath. “And there are wicked animals that guard that place, always on the lookout to do Milak’s bidding.”

  “Look, I’m going to search for it either way. So you better tell me before we run out of time.”

  Amarok looked away.

  “I have no one, except you.” Emma’s voice cracked. “My family is gone, too, and you’re all I have left, so let me at least try. Please.”

  He frowned, opened his mouth to speak, and hesitated.

  “Just tell me. If you don’t, I’m going to start walking and hope I somehow find it. Either way, I’m going.”

  “All right,” Amarok said. “I’ll tell you, but you have to listen close. This isn’t going to be easy. The quickest way is by kayak. There’s a river a quarter of a mile from here. You’ll see a trail. Follow the water downstream until you see an old cabin come into view. It’s the only one near here that can be seen from the river. Promise me, Emma, that you won’t take off that totem.”

  “I promise. I know that it gives you life as long as I wear it.”

  “No, that’s not the only reason. If you wear it when you cross into the cursed land, Milak will not know you are there. He’ll sense its presence and think it’s Weasel Tail… unless he sees you. Take great care to stay out of his sight.” He lifted his head, taking all his strength. “Please Emma, come back. Even if you don’t save me, I want to see you again before I go… I don’t want to die alone.”

  His eyes glistened with an intensity that made Emma’s pulse race. His face was carved with high cheekbones and smooth skin and she found her eyes drawn to his full lips. Unconsciously, she touched her fingers to her mouth, wondering what his would feel like.
She thought of how protected he’d made her feel when he stood in wolf form, defending her. She couldn’t help but wonder how much nicer it would feel to have him offer that same protection with his human arms wrapped around her.

  He touched her face and Emma closed her eyes.

  “What you told me about…about your mother. It wasn’t your fault,” he whispered. His fingers traced her chin and she tilted her head into his touch until she felt her cheek cupped in his hand. She opened her eyes in surprise, fighting back tears. She’d told no one how she felt—except the wolf. Now she knew for certain that all of it was true. He was Amarok. He struggled to raise his upper body, reaching out to hold her, but his eyes filled with agony. Breaking the moment, Emma helped him lie back down on the floor.

  “Let me get you a pillow and a warmer blanket. I’m going to leave some water where you can reach it.” Emma gathered the items and placed the pillow under his head. She put the water near his hand and pulled the blankets up under his chin. She stroked his arm, and the feel of the smooth muscles made her heart leap.

  He gazed at her in such a way that she felt a tightening in her chest, painful and thrilling at the same time. The way he looked at her with those piercing eyes pinned her to her spot. His eyes fluttered, and then closed. He let out a great sigh and slid into a fitful sleep.

  22

  Amarok lay in the silence, savoring the sound of Emma’s name. Such a lovely name—it suited her. Her kindness had been a light, piercing the darkness of his weary soul, and her beautiful face shone like a dream in the stark reality of his existence. Would he ever see her again? His hand went to his cheek where she’d left a tender kiss before leaving. He imagined he could still feel the warmth of her touch and it thawed the frozen core that his heart had become. Her gentle caress had been the first touch he’d received in nearly a century that hadn’t been harsh and brutal, and it was like a balm for wounds that ran deeper than his skin.

  He only wished he could have opened his eyes and told her goodbye, but he was so tired. It didn’t matter. She was still his girl; how could he have let her go? How could he have been so foolish as to let her risk her life? His life was over. She could never reach the cabin in time to save him. Even if she did find his totem, it would all be in vain. He’d be dead by the time she located it. He struggled to open his eyes, to make his body move, but his will was no match for the damage Suka had done, and the strength eluded him.

  Amarok shivered. He was so terribly cold. The wool blanket and the roaring fire failed to chase away the bone-deep chill gripping him. Was death cold? He hoped not. He was so tired of being cold. It was tempting to let go, no longer to feel the bite of wintry freeze or the pain of his aberration of a life. But then Emma’s image floated before his eyes, and he fought to live. His spirit would stay in his body for a while longer. He’d hold on for her.

  He clenched his fist before his eyes, reveling in the hairless flesh. He’d mourned his human body over the years, missed it like a mother would a lost child. Even on the edge of death, with all the pain, it was rewarding to have it again, to feel with his fingers, to curl his toes, to lie on his side and feel the floor beneath him pressing into his skin. He ran his tongue over his teeth and smiled when it encountered human-sized canines. Amarok touched his face and wondered at the differences he’d felt in Emma’s. He longed to smell her hair with a human nose, to hold her in his arms, to taste her lips… maybe in the next life, he’d get his chance.

  His blood pulsed faintly, growing weaker. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the drums overriding his heartbeat, the ancient death chant of his ancestors.

  23

  Emma carried the gun and a backpack, heavy with supplies. Her mind filled with doubt. Everything that had happened seemed too incredible to believe. A boy turned into a wolf? An evil shaman from the ice age? It all sounded crazy. How could any of this be real? But then it came to her, like light from a dark cloud—inside, somehow, she knew it was all too real. She’d seen it with her own eyes, cleaned his wounds with her own hands, and listened with her own ears to the strange tale.

  Emma quickly followed the roar of rushing water north, down a mushy trail snaking around boulders and mossy trees. The path ended at a stony bank along a wide river. She studied the agitated water. The angry growl of the waves and the speed at which the river rushed made her stomach burn. She thought of her mother, lungs bursting with water, and her heart plummeted. Her throat felt dry, so she knelt on a smooth rock and drank from the frothy liquid. Emma savored the cold, coppery taste, swallowing down the horrible images of her dead mother.

  A short way downstream, she spotted a kayak on the shore next to a crude wooden dock. Emma dragged the little boat as she climbed onto the structure, testing it first to make sure it wouldn’t give way and plunge her into the icy river. The boards creaked and groaned under her weight, and with every step the water glugged and splashed onto her boots.

  Emma set the double-bladed paddle on the dock. She wrapped the rope tied to the bow around her hand, slid the boat into the turbulent water, and attempted to get into the unsteady craft. The boat zipped from underneath her, and she jumped to the safety of the dock. She reeled the vessel in closer, pulling on the rope until the kayak rested against the pier. Emma found her footing and carefully climbed into the kayak. She clung to the dock with one hand, afraid of capsizing as she reached for the wooden paddle. Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed off with the paddle and guided the kayak into the swift water.

  The current snagged her and she shot down the river at a frightening speed. Chunks of pack ice barreled past. She frantically alternated between steering and pushing them away from the sides of the fragile craft. The bitter wind sliced at her throat. She zipped the heavy parka higher, covering her mouth, and awkwardly pulled the ties on the waterproof skirt lining the opening of the kayak around her waist. The first wet flake of snow landed on her nose. “Perfect—just what I need!”

  Emma laughed. She’d really done it this time. She’d gotten herself neck-deep in another mess. Trouble followed her like a predator after bleeding prey. But what did she have to lose by trying? Even if none of it were true—even if she’d lost her mind—man or wolf, Amarok was worth the struggle.

  The river narrowed and she began to pick up even more speed, traveling faster and faster down the powerful current. Emma paddled hard, trying to gain control. The vessel keeled to one side, shooting into the middle fork of the waterway. Snow tumbled on the winds in thick smothering globs, muffling the sound of the rushing water and creating an eerie rumbling. Emma squinted, fighting to see as she barely missed a large rock, half-submerged in the foamy water. She paddled even harder, praying she’d regain control before her strength gave out. Finally, the river widened again and the waters slowed, giving her a rest from the breakneck speed.

  Emma glanced at the dark trees, shrouded in snow like sheeted specters. Mountain men with guns and hideous monsters threatened her from every shadow. A bird screeched near her left ear and she almost sprang from the boat. Emma glanced upward as a huge owl slashed through the air, angled sideways, and landed somewhere in the tall trees ahead.

  The bird’s piercing eyes bored into hers as the kayak slid through the waves. Was it the same one that had been following Amarok? Could the thing be a spy for the shaman? The owl burst from the trees and swooped over her head. Emma shrieked and ducked. The owl wheeled, its big wings fanning the air, landing on the tip of the kayak. She studied the bird, a great snowy owl. She’d read about them in science class. Weren’t they only out at night? Or was it during the day? The thing hopped closer and Emma gazed at its powder-white plumage, at the curious dark mark on its wing. The owl focused on Emma, letting out an alarming series of high-pitched shrieks. Something about its unsettling cries disturbed her, the way it seemed to see right into her soul, clacking its black beak like a bad omen.

  Emma waved her paddle at it and the bird took flight, disappearing into brush along the bank. She kept her eyes on
the spot, waiting for the owl to reappear, when something crashed out of the trees. Her chest tightened—timber wolves. Three snarling carnivores raced down the bank.

  The boat slammed to a stop, entangled in the sunken branches of a log. The wolves leapt into the frigid waters, and Emma’s heart seemed to leap from her chest as they approached. The lead wolf reached her first; it struggled to crawl into the boat, massive jaws snapping. Emma smashed at its head with the paddle. The beast gave a yelp of pain and sank into the icy depths, and then surfaced near the bank. The other wolves thrashed in the water, the freezing temperatures stealing their speed.

  Emma shoved the paddle down hard and pushed against the log, freeing the boat. A second wolf climbed onto the bow of the kayak, pushing it dangerously low in the water. The creature lost its footing, yelped, and slipped off.

  She paddled into the current, continuing the perilous trek downriver, every nerve on high alert. Another fork in the river appeared dead ahead. Making a quick decision, she paddled to the right and instantly regretted it. The arctic water roiled beneath the vessel. More snags and log jams clogged the route. Treacherous rocks scraped along her hull.

  The boat picked up speed and a deafening roar thundered in her ears. She nearly fainted as she spotted the massive drop-off. Tucking the paddle under one arm, Emma gripped the sides of the boat, holding on with all her strength. The kayak flew over the ledge and went airborne for one terrifying moment before it slammed back into the water. Jagged rocks protruded like knives in every direction. Emma screamed as the kayak flipped, dumping her out of the boat and into the river.