All I could do was lie. I told Aldan I had forgiven him, but when he rose and came toward me for a hug, I told him to stay back. I wasn’t sure if I would ever understand his behavior. His remorse appeared real, but I had seen how fast his moods changed.
The walk that afternoon demanded twice my usual energy. It became clearer that Aldan regretted his violence. Without a complaint, he followed my command to stay at least twenty strides behind me as we marched on. Every minute or so, I peered over my shoulder to make sure he hadn’t crept closer. It was exhausting.
As time passed, a sense of safety returned to me. Of course, the forest was dangerous; any feeling of security was an illusion. But as I strode on, I became more able to release the tension in my body and to think with reason.
He had no control over himself. It’s the way he was born. That wild darkness is not his true nature; it’s the same darkness in everyone. He’s just less able to tame it.
With thought after thought, I soothed my shocked senses until I dared to close the gap between myself and Aldan.
He, too, seemed to relax a little. Soon he was asking his usual whiny questions, referring to his irrelevant routine. I used what energy I had to give my usual repetitive reassurances.
More than ever, I admired Markus Bennan; he’d had the patience and inner strength to raise Aldan, largely by himself. I regretted that my last interaction with him had been unpleasant. My stomach twisted, and I shook my head, remembering how I’d failed to defend Aldan from the children bullying him in the village.
If Markus could see how I was treating his son now, would he be proud of me? Or ashamed?
The same way Aldan clung to a routine that no longer existed, my mind still warned me to fear the Wolf, to know my place, to never presume too much—all as if I had no intention of destroying the Wolf. I was stuck half and half in two opposing lives. Without my mother, my friends, and my neighbors to guide me, I had to look for answers from the one person I had never trusted.
Myself.
25
The walk cleared one of my nostrils. As we sat down in the evening, a sour stench drifted up from my filthy, torn tunic. We hadn’t passed any springs or streams today, and the last time we had, I hadn’t thought to wash myself or my clothes. I’d been so focused on forging ahead. Trying to ignore the smell, I wrinkled my tender nose and moaned at the pain.
Aldan ate, and I watched him eat. A deep snarl rumbled through my stomach. With growing concern, I squeezed the last drops from my water pouch onto my parched tongue. I swilled the liquid around my mouth, desperate to get the most out of it.
Still somewhat tense, I fought with myself to release the anger I held toward Aldan. But because part of me was terrified of him, the anger wouldn’t leave. I might need it to defend myself. I knew Aldan sensed my discomfort, but what could I do? Hopefully, with time, I would learn to feel safe around him again.
To distract myself from the tension, I focused on the forest’s beauty. The colorful vines, shrooms, and mosses—which covered the dark trunks and dotted the ground—appeared luminous during the day. But as the dark coat of night slipped over the forest, they lost their glow and disappeared into the blackness along with everything else. Now, in the early evening with little light to reflect, the colors of the flora were bold in a solid, flat way. I loved their confident appearance.
A yowling cry broke through the silent trees. I sprang to my feet and listened out. Aldan jolted and dropped his food in the leaves and dirt. He immediately began sifting through the earth to retrieve it.
The cry reached me again. An animal’s cry. It sounded familiar—and afraid.
Without another thought, I grabbed my sword and shield.
“Stay here,” I barked at Aldan.
I pelted toward the sound, dodging trees, bursting through bushes, and leaping over logs. As the cry became louder, other noises caught my attention. Snapping, growling, barking. I slowed down until I was treading silently.
Creeping through the trees, I ascended a gentle slope until I reached an edge overlooking a pass. Trees perched on the overhang with me, their exposed roots desperately clinging to the corner to keep them from toppling over. The drop was no deeper than my height.
In the pass was the source of the yowling. The bushcat that had been following me for the last couple of days hid inside the hollowed end of a log. Hissing and screeching, it pressed itself as far back into the hole as it could go.
Two wolflings blocked its escape. One had golden fur with black stripes running down its spine toward its two large tails. The other was dark gray with silver stripes. They took it in turns trying to claw far enough inside the hollow to reach the bushcat. When they grew impatient, they shoved their heads into the log, snarling and snapping.
I looked down at my side. No … My stomach plummeted. In my haste, I had forgotten to bring my satchel with me. There was no way I’d be able to go back and retrieve the paralyzer from it without the wolfling’s hearing me. I was lucky I hadn’t given away my presence so far. Anyway, by the time I returned, the bushcat would likely be dead.
Don’t hesitate like I did before.
I jumped from the edge and slashed at the golden wolfling. It must have heard me; it twisted away, dodging the brunt of my blow. The blade missed its body, but left a deep red gash on its hind leg.
A whistle-like yelp pierced my eardrums. The injured wolfling limped away and hid behind a mound while the dark gray one lunged at me. I smacked it away with my shield, almost tumbling over from the impact, then spun to face it again.
The wolfling dipped its head to bare its teeth and snarl, fixing me in place with fierce amber eyes. The fur on its back raised, and its two dark tails flapped menacingly in the air. I crouched to match the wolfling’s intimidating stance. Showing my own gritted teeth, I bashed my sword against the shield in the hope of scaring the wolfling away.
It didn’t work. The beast pounced again. I leapt to one side but accidentally went too far; we both dodged each other’s attack, then found ourselves in another standoff. All we had achieved was swapping places. After a few more evasions, I was panting and feeling the full strain of having walked for days on end.
I needed to try something else.
I turned and ran through the pass. As I’d hoped, the gray wolfling chased me. I hurried around to the tree-covered slope and darted between the trunks for cover. More agile than I, the wolfling followed with ease.
With a loud snap, a cold burst of air brushed against my ankle where the wolfling had barely missed sinking its teeth into my flesh. I slashed behind myself without looking and felt a thud. Swinging behind another tree, I looked at the wolfling and realized I’d hit the beast in the face with the flat of my sword.
The wolfling briskly shook its head and searched for me again. While the beast was dazed, I had positioned myself in front of two trees on the edge of the slope. The trees had grown so close together the two trunks formed a v-shape at the bottom.
When the wolfling spotted me, I took a deep breath and hoped my hasty plan would work.
I lowered my sword and shield, exposing my front to the wolfling. It took the bait. As it sped toward me, I rooted myself to the spot. My heart had never beat so hard and fast.
Not yet, not yet … Then the wolfling leapt. NOW. I sidestepped, spun, and grabbed the nearest trunk to swing around to the other side of the two trees. For a second my feet teetered on the edge of the drop, earth crumbling beneath them, but I fought for balance.
My plan worked. The wolfling’s head jammed between the trunks and got stuck. Snapping and growling, the wolfling thrashed its head about in an attempt to reach me.
I wasted no time.
With all the strength I could find, I brought my sword down on the wolfling’s neck. Not wanting to see, I slammed my eyes shut at the last second. There was a wet thud, and the crunching of bone. Warm drops of blood hit my face.
Easing one eyelid open, I gagged at the sight. The sword had become wedged pa
rtway through the wolfling’s neck. The beast slumped, its back end twitching and kicking on one side of the trees, and its head half hanging off on the other. I instantly felt sorry for the beast and wanted only to end its suffering.
I lifted the sword, trying not to gag again at the gloop sound it made or the sticky resistance of pulling the blade out. I slashed down and severed the wolfling’s head from its body. The head rolled over the edge and fell into the pass below with a heavy thump.
For a moment, I stayed where I was, unable to think or move. I avoided looking at what I had done. My head pounded and my sight blurred, making my surroundings seem unreal.
I waited for the confusion to clear before hobbling back down between the pass.
It was quiet. Silent, even.
I bent down to peer into the log. Still inside, the bushcat watched me warily and pressed itself back even harder against the wall of the hollow.
“Why don’t you come out now?” I said.
The bushcat gave a short, half-hearted hiss, its eyes stretching wide. But it was a deep growl that gave me a start.
How had I forgotten the other wolfling?
Just in time to bring up my shield, I rose and twisted toward the golden beast. It bounded into me, knocking me to the ground. Not wanting to scare the bushcat, I had put my sword down when I bent to peer inside the log. Now my weapon was out of reach.
I flailed my shield about wildly, striking at the wolfling’s head and front legs in a desperate attempt to get it off of me. But the wolfling had me pinned down. Its sharp claws pierced my tunic, digging into my ribs. Over and over, it jutted its head around the shield to bite at my face and neck, but I kept the shield moving.
My arms flared, aching more and more. Then with a sharp pull, my right arm locked up. I couldn’t keep thrashing the shield about with my injured arm alone.
Pressing my eyes shut, I accepted my fate.
REEOOW! A loud shriek and a hiss—and the piercing claws lifted off of me.
I opened my eyes, pushed up to my feet.
Clinging to the wolfling’s hind leg was the bushcat. It had leapt out of the hollowed log and sunk its own little sharp claws into the beast’s flesh. Now it was biting at the wolfling’s leg with wild ferocity.
I seized the moment and jumped for my sword. The bushcat pushed off from the leg as the wolfling twisted to snap at the creature. The distraction was enough, though. I screamed through the agony of using my strained arm as I shoved my blade through the wolfling’s side. At the same time, we collapsed to the ground—the wolfling dead, and I exhausted.
My eyes slipped shut. My chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. I lay panting, sweating, and aching all over for who knew how long. Overheated, I cast my sword and shield aside and spread out my limbs. I enjoyed the darkness of looking at the insides of my eyelids.
A soft, inquisitive meow came from somewhere by my feet, but I ignored it. Little paws padded over the earth, coming closer. I refused to open my eyes. I’d saved the bushcat’s life. What more did it want?
There was a rustling near my ears. A sour smell tickled the insides of my nostrils, and then something wet and scratchy ran over my cheek. With a groan, I opened my eyes. The bushcat’s round face was but a finger’s breadth from my own. A pink tongue hung stupidly from the middle of its mouth, ready to lick my cheek again.
I rattled my head, and the bushcat strolled away. My eyelids drifted back down.
More soft steps. Another nosy meow.
I felt a warmth, and gentle pressure, on my left armpit and the side of my breast. With another groan, I yet again opened my eyes and lifted my head. The bushcat was curled up between my arm and chest. I watched the animal in astonishment, tempted to shoo it away once more.
The bushcat purred. A low, soothing rumble vibrated through my upper body, making me sleepy. I managed to lift a hand to touch the animal’s fur. Soft and smooth, despite its tangled, fuzzy appearance.
Comforted by the purring, I shut my eyes another time and stayed exactly where I was.
26
At some point later on, a man’s whining voice woke me. The darkness had deepened. The chill in the air had sharpened. Squinting through the scarce light, I stared at the bushcat in tired confusion. It raised its head and looked at me indignantly, just as unhappy as I was to have been woken up. The bushcat curled back up into a tighter ball.
The whining came again. Aldan! How foolish of me. I’d allowed myself to doze off, leaving him alone in the forest.
“Senla,” came his voice, “where are you? Are we playing a game? Are we … I don’t want to play any more games no more! I’m sorry I was bad. Bad Aldan. Shouldn’t hurt people.” He was sniveling and moaning in distress after each sentence.
Although I couldn’t see him, his voice reached me clearly. He was nearby. I’d learned to recognize the sound of his walk: the leaves and dirt rustling loudly as Aldan dragged his feet along the ground. Many times I’d reminded him to lift his feet while walking, afraid the noise would attract attention.
“Aldan, I’m over here. Follow my voice.”
I kept calling his name until he came fumbling into the pass. Without even a glance at the dead wolfling nearby—or at the other wolfling’s severed head—Aldan hurried over to me. “Silly Senla. What’re you doing on the ground?”
The bushcat jumped off of me and went to hide in the log again. Instead of pressing itself as far into the hollow as possible, it peaked out of the end to watch Aldan.
“I can’t move,” I said. My muscles and bones had stiffened again while I rested. Even the thought of getting up made me weary. A sad tingle entered my chest. I felt more hopeless than ever; if killing two wolflings had taken all my might—and the help of a bushcat—how could I even dream of slaying the Wolf?
Perhaps this would have to be enough. Two dead wolflings: one for Mother, one for Reni.
It was too tempting, the thought of giving up, so I shook my head and focused on what needed doing now.
“Aldan, can you get our things and bring everything here? When I can … get up, I’ll build us a fire. We’ll sleep here in this pass. It’s sheltered. It should hide the fire’s light and keep in the warmth.”
I would need to drag the dead wolflings far away first, in case other beasts were drawn to the meat. How I would manage this, in my present state, I had no idea.
Aldan bridled at my request. After drawing himself up, he stared down at me vacantly with a hollowness behind his eyes. It didn’t look as though he were thinking; it looked like his thoughts were happening to him, whispering dark notions in his troubled mind.
He stepped closer to me.
I tried to move, but I truly could not. Whether frozen by fear or conquered by exhaustion, I lay helpless on the ground as the eerie, empty look in Aldan’s eyes was replaced with murderous determination.
“Aldan, no,” I said firmly. “No!” But he was no longer himself. He crouched and threw forward his open hands with the clear intention of strangling me.
I screamed.
Inhuman hands flew at Aldan and lifted him off his feet. My scream fell away, replaced by an enormous sigh.
“Illus …” I whispered.
Enraged, Aldan flailed about in the air, trying to punch and kick at the Tenniac holding him. If the circumstances had been different, the sight might have made me laugh; all I felt now, though, was a mixture of intense gratitude and relief. Illus had found me. And she had saved me—again.
Holding Aldan without any apparent effort, Illus gazed at me lying on the ground. I could only imagine how I looked, covered in cuts and bruises, my clothes filthy, stinking, and torn.
Illus tilted her head, causing her mane of skin-tails to sway. With a derisive sniff, amusement in her slitted yellow eyes, she said, “I was wrong about you. It is clear you are no skilled fighter.”
Master of the Forest
27
Right from the start, you presumed too much …
The myster
ious auburn beast slunk about in my sleep again, filling my nightmares with flashes of red-orange. Repeatedly I saw the creature slip out of my house; each time, it moved too fast for me to tell what it was. Then despair over Mother’s death flooded me, and I drowned inside the dreadful dream.
In a horrible half-sleep, I tossed and turned until morning light refused to let me rest any longer. I pushed up to a sit. Moaning at the pain, I stretched my arms and curved my back to relieve the stiffness. For a while, I had little sense of where I was or why I was here. Slowly my senses awakened.
A rich, mellow smell hit me, providing me with some much-needed alertness. My mouth watered. Turning my head, I followed the sound of sizzling and saw Illus and Aldan sat by a small woodfire in the pass. A little pan balanced on hot rocks in the flames; inside it, meat sizzled and spat. Illus tore up leaves and crushed other things in her clawed hands, throwing the flavorings into the mix. When she stirred the meat and herbs around with a wooden spoon, the delicious aroma made my skin shiver with hunger.
My stomach, however, twisted with nausea.
Meat. I had never eaten it. Even the thought repulsed me. So why did I want to pounce for the pan, grab the searing flesh, and ram it in my saliva-filled mouth? Hunger is distorting my judgment. It’s wrong to kill just to eat. Why should another animal die to feed me, when I can live from the plants? I’m no more important than any other living being.
What even was the meat?
I peered around the pass. When I realized what was missing, my stomach gave another sorry turn.
“What is that?” I asked Illus, scowling at the food in the pan.
She answered without looking at me. “The wolflings you slew. I took the best cuts. Then, with the aid of your big friend”—she nodded toward Aldan—“I buried the wolflings under rocks and dirt, a small distance from here.” Pointing simultaneously with two hands from the same arm, she gestured to the pan. I couldn’t help but stare at the joint where her arm split off into two forearms. Illus’s yellow eyes darted toward me. “Eat. It will give you strength.”
Fear the Wolf Page 12