Wolfskin

by W. R. Gingell

  So I walked with Gilbert, talking agreeably; and found myself agreeing to go to the last summer dance of the season with him. My acquiescence brought a glow to his eyes that made me slightly uneasy. I wondered for the first time if perhaps I could have mistaken the feelings that Gilbert had for me. I remembered the sensation of eager warmth I’d had when we first met, and found myself worried and slightly claustrophobic.

  I was frowning thoughtfully as I entered the house again, just in time to hear Bastian’s voice in conversation with Mother’s.

  “Bastian!” I flung the door shut with a careless joy that made it slam loudly, and dashed for the hearth. “You’re awake!”

  He was smiling up at Mother when my eyes fell on them, and it came to me with relief that they quite liked one another, even if they seemed to do so with a touch of wariness. Bastian turned his smile on me, and I thought it grew wider, his hazel eyes softer than I was used to seeing them.

  “Little witch!” he hailed me, rising on one elbow. “Your mother and I have been getting acquainted.”

  Mother kissed my forehead briefly as I knelt beside her chair. “Have some lunch with us, Rosie. Bastian and I have been talking about his unfortunate . . . situation.”

  I eyed her warily, but she didn’t look cross: I hoped that Bastian had not told her I kissed him, especially since it had done no good.

  “Don’t look so worried, Rose,” Mother said, laughing. “I was merely telling him that this sorceress seems to have tricked his body into thinking that he is ill. I can find nothing wrong with him bodily.”

  I let a soft breath escape carefully. Oh. That situation. “What do you mean?”

  Interest sparked in Mother’s eyes. “I talked with Akiva. There’s no curse. No spell.”

  I frowningly considered Bastian, who said with some exasperation: “I’m not prone to imagination, madam! My legs lack the strength to stand.”

  “Not imagination, exactly,” said Mother. “It’s more of a suggestion, I believe.”

  I flicked my eyes over him once again. Mother and Akiva were right: there was no curse attached to him. Around his mind were cobwebby somethings that could have been thoughts but were more likely to be what Mother had called them: suggestions.

  They were filmy and didn’t look like they would last much longer, so I said to Mother: “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Mother looked mildly amused, but took her cue anyway. “I’ll be out with the washing if you need me,” she said, and left us alone.

  We sat for some moments in companionable silence until Bastian, playing idly with my fingers, found the puckering scar that his own teeth had caused.

  He ran his thumb along it, frowning. “I apologize for that, little witch.”

  I shrugged, resisting an odd, shy impulse to pull my hand away. “It’s only a scratch; it will fade.”

  “I believe I snarled at you.”

  “I thought you hated me for a moment,” I told him candidly. There had been such an anger to his voice that night, caught in Cassandra’s magic.

  Bastian’s eyes flicked up at me, and I thought he looked stricken. “I did, for the barest second. I hated you for making me protect you.”

  “You knew I wouldn’t get back in time with Mara,” I said, in cold realization. “I could have freed you!”

  “Not in time,” Bastian said tiredly. “Let’s not go over it, little witch. Forgive me.”

  I threw my arms around his neck. “There’s nothing to forgive, silly. I thought you were dead.”

  “You flatter me, my love,” Bastian said, sitting up in order to put one arm around me.

  I couldn’t help grinning because Mother was right: when he wasn’t thinking about it, Bastian was perfectly healthy. “Would it make you sorry?”

  “Of course!” I said, pushing my luck by rising to my feet. “I wouldn’t have anyone to quarrel with, and that would be a shame.”

  Bastian rose with me, all unthinking. It wasn’t until we had walked the length of the room that he stopped, thunderstruck.

  “You little minx! You’ve bewitched me!”

  “You’re just grumpy because Mother was right,” I said.

  “The vindictive old cow!” Bastian said in amazement. “I could have thought myself into a decline!”

  “It’s just as well you have me to look after you, then, isn’t it?” I told him pertly; and, having deprived him of both breath and speech, I skipped out into the garden to gleefully inform Mother that she had been right.

  Bastian stayed with us only a few more days after that, until Akiva summoned me back to the forest. Mother seemed quietly pleased to have him there. Gwendolen was cross, but her anger was directed more at me. She took me aside indignantly after dinner one night to inform me that Bastian was very good-looking, and why had I not told her? I eyed her in some amazement, and replied truthfully that I hadn’t noticed. Looks were not a thing I thought about when I was with Bastian.

  But Gwendolen’s crossness was not directed merely at me: she and Thomas had quarrelled, I gathered, from Gwendolen’s somewhat incoherent mutterings. Thomas continued to visit just as usual, and seemed not to notice Gwendolen turning the cold shoulder, which infuriated her all the more. To add to her fury, Bastian was inclined to tease her in an elder-brotherly way that she wasn’t at all used to in a male.

  All in all it was a relief to step back into the cool silence of the forest, late one afternoon. Summer was cooling off to autumn, and in two days the last summer dance would be held; to which, I remembered somewhat uneasily, I was accompanying Gilbert. I found that I didn’t want to think about it, so I let the thought flit out of my mind like an autumn leaf and concentrated on enjoying the forest. Bastian had melted away into the forest upon my return, leaving me to find my way to Akiva alone, and before long my heart was light and free. It felt good to be home.

  When I entered the cottage a few minutes later, Akiva greeted me with sharp relief.

  “Ah, there you are! How goes David?”

  “The same,” I told her, revelling in the scent of the cottage. I could smell peaches in the air, where the waving branches of the peach-tree desk wafted their scent through the room. Mixed with it was the dry, herby aroma of Akiva’s supplies.

  “And the wolf?”

  “Better. He’s in the forest.”

  Akiva gave her characteristic grunt. “Hm. Cassandra is unhappy. He should stick to the wardship.”

  “I’ll tell him. Akiva, are you leaving?”

  She looked at me sharply, then nodded. “My business in deep forest brought something disturbing to light. I need you to care for the wardship while I investigate.”

  I bit back what I knew to be a vain plea to be included in the investigation, and nodded.

  “Will you be gone long?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, and I saw that she was weary. “I need to speak with Mara, and I need an invitation to deeper forest.”

  “What does Mara know?”

  “More than she has been sharing,” Akiva said. “The disturbance in the forest is running even deeper than deep forest, and she knows it. Someone has been altering deeper forest to suit their needs.”

  I tried and failed to think of anyone powerful enough to alter deeper forest. Even Cassandra couldn’t do that, surely.

  “Is that why the forest has been all wrong?”

  “Yes. It could have coped with disappearing wardens, but not with alterations to deeper forest as well.”

  “Can you change it back?” I asked anxiously. I was not keen to see more sections of forest blackening and dying.

  Akiva gave a bitter laugh. “You flatter me, child. No, I can’t change it back, I can only find out who is responsible. To reverse damages to deeper forest requires a full council of wardens, and at the last count we were six short.”

  She was jerking tight the strings of a little rucksack as she spoke, on the point of departure. I knew I had only a few moments before she left, so I spoke quickly.
<
br />   “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Keep the wardship safe,” she said, hoisting the sack to her shoulder. “Keep Bastian close. And stay away from Cassandra.”

  The house was quiet and still after she left. I looked around me listlessly and found to my surprise that Akiva had let the cottage go all to pieces while she was busy. None of her cooking utensils were washed, nor were any of the clothes, and dust lay thick on the windowsills. Ingredients were put down every which where instead of neatly on the workbench, and the kettle that sat on the hob was ringed in gradually lower circles of crusted tea, showing a progression of re-boiling without cleaning. I sucked in my cheeks as I considered the probable potency of the brew before deciding that discretion was the better part of valour. I threw it out.

  The salamander, in its usual haunt below the tea-kettle, looked sulky and emitted only a slight glow. It did so love attention; and Akiva, by the looks of things, had been giving attention to nothing but her own, secretive business.

  I pottered about the house, tidying and straightening everything that didn’t need to be washed. I would have to draw water for washing the dishes later, and the clothes would have to wait until tomorrow to be taken to the stream for washing. After a little while the salamander crawled out of the fireplace and climbed up my leg to curl about my shoulder in the familiar way it used to.

  I thought it looked reproachfully at me, and I said excusingly: “I didn’t go away on purpose, you know. Akiva sent me away.”

  The salamander clicked twice and seemed satisfied, because it tucked its head down under my chin, and went to sleep.

  The next day was bright and sunny, and I went down to the stream with my basketful of washing to get an early start on the day. Instead, I found myself sitting by the stream, daydreaming in the warm sunlight with the pile of dirty clothes beside me on the hot rock. One of Akiva’s petticoats dangled from my fingers, fabric rippling on the current. Beside me were my old boots, polished to take away the dust and forgotten while I ruminated. It had occurred to me, you see, that it would be a marvellous idea to try and match Gilbert with Gwendolen. By the time I left Mother and Gwen, Gwendolen had proceeded to the stage of whipping around the house like a miniature whirlwind, tidying and angrily declaring her perfect indifference for Thomas every few moments. I thought that if she weren’t to have Thomas she could have Gilbert, and make him not interested in me anymore.

  I was so deeply immersed in my scheming that when Bastian strolled from the forest and said affably: “Rose, my lovely!” I started and nearly lost Akiva’s petticoat.

  He grinned his peculiarly wolfish grin down at me, and said: “Daydreaming, Rose? About me, I hope.”

  I grinned back up at him and resumed washing the petticoat. “No: Gilbert.”

  “Pleasant daydreams, then,” jeered Bastian, his affability vanishing. “Asked you to marry him, has he?”

  “No, of course not!” I said impatiently, offended at his tone and stung because his jibe hit a little closer to home than I was comfortable with. “I was thinking it would be a good thing if he and Gwen got married.”

  Bastian looked at me narrowly for a moment and then gave a short laugh. “It won’t work,” he said, settling himself down on the other side of the pile of dirty washing and beginning on another of Akiva’s petticoats with surprising proficiency.

  “Why not?” I demanded.

  “Because no man who looks twice at you is likely to be fobbed off with Gwendolen,” Bastian said lazily. “But by all means try it. In fact, tell me when you mean to, because I want to see his face.”

  “But Gwendolen is much prettier than me,” I argued. I began to think that it was all one big Bastian-joke, because of course anyone would rather marry Gwen than me.

  “I believe the time has come to explain to you just how delicious you are,” said Bastian, with the hunting smile that showed the tips of his teeth.

  It was an unsettling smile, and I found his face too close for comfort, so I put one wet hand over it and pushed him away. “No.”

  Bastian’s voice, muffled and softly amused, said: “Little witch, take away your hand.”

  “No. You’re being silly.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll have to do something drastic,” he warned.

  “Like what?” I asked speculatively, and felt the curve of a smile on the palm of my hand.

  “Kiss you, of course.”

  I dropped my hand in surprise, looking doubtfully at him for signs of the blackness. All I could see was gold.

  “That won’t help break the curse,” I said. “I have to kiss you, not the other way around.”

  It would probably be unfair to say that Bastian howled with laughter. But when, after a moment of incredulous silence, he began to laugh, it was no gentle chuckle. I eyed him sourly, unsure if I were being laughed at or if Bastian were merely being silly, and threw a wet pillowcase at his head.

  “Bufflehead!”

  His laughter didn’t abate, and I went on with my washing in cross silence, ignoring him. When at last Bastian’s hilarity did die away, the silence was pleasant enough that I didn’t notice until a few moments later that he had picked up one of the shoes I had been polishing earlier. They were my only shoes, perhaps a little small for me now, and I had polished them until they shone, much to my own bemusement.

  “I’m going to the last summer dance,” I said, annoyed to feel a slight flush in my cheeks. I wasn’t sure quite why I had put my shoes out after so many years barefoot: I thought that it had something to do with my sudden conviction that Gilbert liked me better than I had thought. It had occurred to me that I wanted not to embarrass him. I found that thought unsettling also.

  Bastian looked up with a narrowed gaze, the laughter quite gone from his eyes. “With whom?”

  “With Gilbert,” I said defiantly, refusing to meet his eyes. There was a sharp snap! and when I turned my head, startled, Bastian was still holding my shoe, its lace broken.

  He tossed it to me carelessly and said: “I suppose I might have known.”

  I turned back to my washing, annoyed to find that I was still blushing.

  “Akiva has gone again,” I said, hoping to change the subject. There was a bare ripple of movement beside me, and then Bastian had gone, leaving me to stare after him in perplexed indignation. I had wanted, I thought resentfully, to invite him to the dance. Now I would be left alone with Gilbert, not to mention Gwendolen and her coy glances.

  I finished the washing in a decidedly worse mood than I had begun it, and pegged the wet garments to the clothes line with some asperity. We had been good friends only yesterday, Bastian and I. I felt aggrieved at his irritability, as aggrieved as I was bemused. I could talk to him as I couldn’t talk to Akiva, or even Mother; and I had become used to his teasing. I didn’t like the feeling that we were at outs.

  I returned to the cottage moodily, striding through deep forest without delay or detour. It wasn’t until I got back that I realised I had left my shoes, broken and alone, by the stream. I left them there.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I scowled at my reflection in the mirror. I had been pacing in my shift for some time now, trying to decide what to wear, and I was thoroughly sick of the business already.

  I didn’t want to go to the dance, I thought sulkily. All of my dresses were too short and my hair wouldn’t behave, slipping free from any confines I tried to impose upon it, light and whispy. I understood for the first time why Gwendolen would be in and out of clothes a dozen times before she was finally dressed to her satisfaction.

  My bed was a mess of bedclothes and old skirts, my small closet woefully empty, before I found the package Mother had given me some years ago when Gwendolen had a new dress.

  I opened it now with nervous fingers, discovering a creamy mass of off white material beneath the crackling folds of brown paper. When I shook it out there was less to it than I had supposed at first, which made me slightly uneasy. It was a light summer dress with an odd
, low waist that would sit at my hips. I tried it on, hardly daring to believe that it would fit; but fit it did, the girdle snug about my hips and the smooth bodice comfortably loose and light. None of Gwendolen’s tight-corseted dresses, this!

  I wondered if Mother had seen the dryads dance, for surely this was a dryad dress. Tiny flowers chased each other over the long, sheer sleeves and about the kirtle, and the skirt, almost scandalous with its gauzy petticoat, was light and cool against my bare legs. I felt a sudden stab of excitement that tickled in my stomach very like nervousness, and left the room without daring to look in the mirror.

  Akiva’s hood was still a convenient shade of summer green that went well with my new dress, and it seemed to me that it was more leafy than usual in the twilight, with the flowers of my dress nestling amongst the leaves. I skipped lightly through the shadowy forest with a fizzing excitement quickly building in me. I had a brief wish that Bastian could see me in my new dress but I quashed it, determined not to think of Bastian and his moods. I would enjoy myself.

  I arrived at home with sparkling eyes, and time to spare. Gwendolen opened the door to me, dressed all in green muslin, and stood with her mouth in a scandalized ‘o’ of surprise.

  “Rose!”

  “What?” I demanded, on the offensive. I was feeling new and slightly unsteady in my dryad dress. “I’m not late.”

  “Oh, never mind,” Gwendolen said, making a face. “You’re as ugly as usual. Happy?”

  I grinned reluctantly. “Thanks, Gwen. Is Thomas here?”

  Immediately Gwen stiffened. “Yes, the cheek of him! I told him I wouldn’t go to the dance with him, and what do you think he said?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “He said he wasn’t going with me, if you please! He said he was going with Mother and David!”

  “Why don’t you make up with him, Gwen?”