With a nod towards the barn he continued, “And call them lesser beings, but these humble creatures live close to the earth. They understand what men do not, see what men cannot, and hear what they cannot. The world at large is something alive as they are alive. These simple ones know this truth in the marrow of their bones. By their simplicity the Old Ways endure in them.”
“These ways …” she began.
“I know no number, no date. No one lives who remembers. The Old Ways were innocent. These simple ones have maintained that innocence, so the Ways are preserved in them.
“Us too?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Not the same.”
“But still we understand?”
“Our power is to herd the innocent ones, taking only for food. More, we drive the corrupters from all secrecy, from all dangerous knowledge.
“People?”
He nodded. “Our power is not deserved, it is for service.”
“I see,” Evie whispered thoughtfully, though it was still confusing to her. She stared off toward the barns.
“It is against my laws to kill openly while the others watch,” he said referring to Abel’s kill. “You are not wrong to pity these simple creatures. They do nothing to invite evil, yet they suffer it themselves.”
“Why does Abel hate so strongly?”
“The answer is not easy. Very little of the man he was survives in my brother. Understand that he is in part correct with his hatred of the humans; they are inferior; many are severely bent and cause much harm to this world. In their pomp if they possessed the wisdom of the creatures they call dumb beasts, their capacity for evil would be frightfully multiplied. Adolf Hitler would be a meddler and a bully in comparison. The hydrogen bomb would be a firecracker.”
A small whine with no clear words resounded in Evie’s throat.
“Do you smell death?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Death and fear. It’s all around.”
“Go in if you must.”
“No.” She looked at him. “I’ll stay with you.”
“Breathe shallow and try not to focus on it, though it is difficult. Every creature from those barns and every smaller one outside, right down to the mole rustling beneath the grass, smell death also. They know it well and detest it, both this one nearby, and the other one also. But your struggle is different than theirs, because of your education.”
With a tip of her head Evie asked what he meant.
“Because men will say the world is advancing, with their help, marching on into glory. Some search for reason in death, dance about it as if to put it off, or ignore it completely until it catches them. Some deal death gladly to any and all, even for sport. But a tiny chipmunk gathering acorns in these remote woods understands life and death better than they. The world is not advancing as some believe, it is wilting. Even we wolves are weaker than of old. Collectively we are all dying slowly. It is only right that you would despise it when you see and smell it close. Some call it Rest and some The End. There is no proper name but Wrong. These animals know this better than humans and lament.”
The topic felt too heavy. The memory of Emmy was still too close. She asked nothing more of death for the time.
“What will he do?” she asked after a long silence. The scent of Abel hanging in the damp air had drifted into her nose.
“For now he will rest,” her grandfather answered. “He may leave, or he may stay.”
“What did he mean about seeking your joy?”
“In part he spoke of instinct, and in part he spoke as a brother deeply bonded to me.”
“He read your thoughts?”
“No. We are not burdened with such a curse. We are bonded, and even apart we sense much, understand much. The excitement your arrival brought to the whole pack reached him as a sweet fragrance and a feeling of promise. Longing for it, he chased it with all his strength.”
“He came to visit.”
“To visit and share; to see you, who in appearance reminds us elders of the older days and stirs our spirits. Instead he found disarray.”
“So he’s angry.”
“Indeed. But I trust he sensed the battle miles away. His faculties are tremendous. To my knowledge, my brother has not taken human form for over a century. He abhors the man in him and refuses it any honor. In time the might of the wolf has compounded within him. He is a force to be reckoned with, as you now see, akin the greater wolves of old.”
“But he still cares for us?”
“Very much. More than a man, he cares as a wolf.”
With only the expression of her eyes and face Evie asked, and how does a wolf care?
“I forget, you’ve been ill informed,” he said thoughtfully. “Forgive me, I am weary and slow tonight. What have you been taught of common wolves?”
“Nothing really.”
“Then you are a blank slate. Abel will make little sense to you without deeper knowledge of the wolf. Understand first that wolves are among the most social animals alive, and that we are like them in most respects. Changes in moods profoundly affect them, as with us. They experience excitement and pain, peace and fear, and because their lives are defined by love and devotion to one another, nothing grieves them more bitterly than loss. Of all joys in life their greatest pleasure is to share in the exuberance of the young, to play and run and instruct, and give of themselves for the benefit of those young. Their daily lives revolve around caring for and protecting them, even sacrificing their own needs and pains when necessary.”
“Like people,” Evie said.
“Yes, like the good ones. However, as you know, the common wolves lack the ability to communicate with humans. For that misunderstanding they have suffered violence at the hands of humans like few other species on earth. Few men see beyond their teeth to attribute them with any worth, seeing only murderous savages. It is my contention that when you look at Abel, you, with your human reasoning, see little more than savagery.”
“Sometimes,” Evie answered softly.
“I understand, dear one. Rage and contempt pour from him, but know that it is for good reason; he understands much. Wolves kill for necessity. It is an injustice that they require flesh, for both the victim and the hungry, but it is not like man’s evil. The greedy, murderous desire to conquer and control belongs to men above all sharp-toothed beasts. For ages men have projected the evils they are guilty of onto the wolf. Those are my brother’s beliefs. Although he practices viciousness, in his mind he is far less wicked than men. He is not gentle by any stretch, but nor is he pure evil.”
Evie said nothing. After a moment the white wolf gave a deep sigh.
“This is a gloomy night,” he said. “I am weary, and to speak of my brother is difficult. You are good to keep me company. Keep it a while longer, if you will. Then we will retire to the comfort of the house.”
~8~
“What troubles you?” the white wolf asked after a long silence.
“I don’t dare say,” Evie replied, averting her eyes.
“Abel’s story is not pleasant.”
“I know, Papa. I’m afraid but can’t help wondering.”
“Your guess is correct. He was not always the vessel of rage you’ve seen,” he proceeded slowly. “Once he had fervent love for both humans and wolves. Loss, as I told you, affects all conscious creatures deeply. It was loss that turned him to the prison of bitterness in which he resides.”
“Who?” Evie asked.
“Someone very dear, very gentle, and very good.”
“A girl?”
“Yes. In our time things were different. As odd as it may strike you, children your age were already preparing for marriages. So was Abel’s intent. He was in his eighteenth year, and Rebecca was in her sixteenth. From earliest childhood they were fond friends in our little village, and when nearing appropriate ages, they were pledged to be wed. But as—”
“Did she die, Papa?”
“She did. But in Abel’s view she didn’t j
ust die, she was a victim of the weakness of mankind. She was not murdered by men, as you might guess. The sad truth is that she simply wilted under the fever of the wolf spirit. For all her kind gentleness he adored her. Human weakness, he now calls it, stole her away in the spring of her life. His wrath was stirred, and reckless vengeance became his only goal. Our father did all he could to control him, but even then Abel was strong. Grief only multiplied his strength, and he was soon beyond control.”
Sniffing deeply, Evie smelled the old Snow faintly from the eastern woods along the drive. No words came to her mind.
“He sleeps,” her grandfather said. “He cannot hear us.”
“So he went wild?”
“Very much so. And our poor father hunted him for many months, trying to recall him to the comfort and stability of the pack. Responsibilities were then passed to me as Father followed at Abel’s heels, crisscrossing the state of Maine for months on end. Eventually Abel made a mistake. He was shot, and in rescuing him from those armed and terrified men, Father was shot also. Multiple bullets pierced him before killing all associated witnesses.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Evie whimpered. “You can stop.”
“No,” said the old Snow. “It is our history. You should know it. Father eventually succumbed to his wounds. By the time he was found he was too weakened from blood loss to travel. Abel also was badly injured, but not so greatly that he was beyond recovery. Some family followed Abel’s howls for help, but not in time to treat Father’s wounds. Though he was old, he was still a strong wolf then. Still the damage done was too great for him to endure.”
“I’m sorry, Papa,” Evie whispered.
“So am I, dear one.”
“It must have been so hard.”
“Of course. And of course Abel was all the more furious. The final blow came months after that bitter day. Our mother, after so many long years with my father, was inconsolable in her own grief. She refused her food and spurned all attempts from family to comfort her. As Abel spurned the man, Mother spurned the wolf. Succumbing to deep despair, with no visible ailments she died in her bed of a broken heart, as both humans and animals are known often to do.”
Evie whined, as near to crying as a wolf can get.
“In time I assembled the bulk of the pack,” her grandfather continued. “We agreed to come west to our newest lands to begin again; those old lands were haunted. Abel obviously stayed behind, living beyond control and reason. Little has changed since. We see one another only on occasion. He still craves family connections, as wolves and men do, but the wolf in him absolutely refuses to be tamed. He will never lower himself to assuming human form again, yet he cannot let go of his past and the places he came of age. He owns nothing, but as an animal he claims it all as his own territory. He circles wide and far, from New Hampshire to Canada, but always returns to those Maine lands. That little village where his life began will always be his home, until the day his restless wanderings finally cease.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Evie whimpered softly.
“Don’t be,” said the white wolf. “It is your story as much as it is mine. You were overdue to know and learn from it. But now let’s end this sad night and rest before the difficulties of tomorrow.”
The two stood slowly together, moving heavily with stiffness and grief, and began walking to the house.
***
In bed, warm and dry and comfortable, Evie tried to force everything from her mind. Lying on her side she stared into the gloom beyond the window. The rain was light and steady, soothing her with its soft tapping on the roof.
After what felt like a long time of quietly listening to the rain, Evie was startled by the faint call of a wolf howl. Rising to her feet, she stepped to the window and peered out into the gray night. Once more she heard the call, and it was not mournful, as she herself felt; she recognized it as the request for company. Straining her eyes, she searched the far tree line for movements. Then, on the far side of the field, she saw the dark shape and eyeshine of the caller emerging from the trees. Though exhausted and heavyhearted, Evie understood the clear intent, and could not resist the invitation.
On tiptoes she descended the stairway. Creeping so as not to wake the sleeping children sprawled out on couches and in chairs, waiting till morning for their parents, she reached the front door, quietly opened it, and slipped outside. Tossing her robe over the railing, she sprang from the porch, transformed and landed silently on four springy feet, then walked around the back corner of the house.
Across the field she saw clearer with wolf eyes the one who had invited her staring back at her now. Who it was, she couldn’t tell. Even her wolf nose caught no definite identifying scent. But their intent was clear. Shining eyes stared back at her, beckoning without words for the comfort of companionship.
Evie started across the dewy field, soaking wet within a few bounds, leaping the western fences more carefully than with dry footing. As she drew near the waiting wolf, the visitor turned, almost rearing up playfully as a horse, and then darted into the black of the hazy woods. “Wait,” Evie called through a small sound without breaking her pace, but the visitor made no response, no sign of slowing.
Continuing on, captivated by curiosity, she reached the foggy woods herself. Darting and ducking under branches and weaving between tree trunks, she chased with all her speed in the slick conditions, occasionally calling out but never receiving an answer. Here and there she caught glimpses of the wolf through the fog and gloom and heavy foliage, but never was she granted a clear view beyond a fluffy tail disappearing behind a tree, the outline of a long-stretched frame, and the constant sense of living movement remaining just out of her speedy reach.
The passage of time and distance traveled soon became a gray confusion in Evie’s mind. The family land was great, she knew with certainty. But it went only so far. Sooner or later, if she was not cautious, she would stray from the safety of familiar homelands. And though she ran all this time with all of her great ability, the visitor leading her on remained elusive, almost toying with her, until at long last they reached a clearing in the dense forest.
Suddenly the night was over. In a blink the morning had arrived. Light streamed into Evie’s eyes, making of the wolf she’d chased a black silhouette. Creeping towards it, the wolf stood still now, calmly facing her, seeming darker and darker as the light behind increased with the rising sun.
And then for a fleeting moment—mere seconds in passing, but seconds that seemed to freeze in slow motion significance—the growing light playing off the trees and wet ground worked in Evie’s favor, briefly revealing the face of the one she’d chased. The sight sent chills all through Evie’s body, her heart not just beating but shaking in her chest.
It was her lost friend. Not a distorted memory or a hazy specter of what she’d once been—she was animate, damp-legged from the run, chest rising and falling with crystal clarity in the dawn light. Unscathed and brimming with vibrancy, the young she-wolf stood staring back at Evie for a long moment with moist, blinking, living eyes—not the cold and flat stare of the dead. Her warm breaths drifted up in the damp coolness in puffs of steam that dispersed quicker than the early mists rising around her. Her tail swished in happy flicks behind her. Her face, which she held high, was light and beautifully-featured, smiling with both an open mouth and her piercing sky-blue gaze.
In fear and trembling Evie crept forth, head low and curious, her own eyes fixed, afraid to blink and lose her, afraid to see that it was not she, afraid that it was she and that at any moment she would dash away again. “Emmy,” she finally whispered.
But as the breath left her mouth the sun crested a distant peak. That instant the full light of dawn became a blinding whiteness, and in a second her friend was enveloped within the glare. Lowering her dilated eyes from the stinging, fast-rising orb, she felt a feeling as with the shrinking sensation when changing from wolf to human—a weakening diminishment that was beyond her control. Her limbs moved hea
vily, stiffly; she inhaled deeply, tight chest expanding, and felt in place of the damp forest floor something soft and flat beneath her outstretched body.
She opened her eyes blinking. She was sprawled across her bed in a most awkward position, the covers tangled about her legs. Her heart was skipping as though she’d been running. The early sun glaring through the last of the retreating storm clouds flooded her room.
“Are you okay,” her mother’s voice asked.
Evie sat up squinting, searching. Her robe hung over the chair by the desk, where she’d left it when she came in with her grandfather. From head to toe she was dry and warm, and rather than being dry and itchy from sleep, her eyes were moist with fresh tears that ran down her cheeks as she arose. Her mother stood in the open doorway.
“It sounded like you were having quite a dream,” she said.
***
In a quiet state of disappointed detachment she took a long shower and then dressed casually in one of her last remaining outfits. In the process she realized that the scar high on her arm had faded to little more than a pink discoloration. It didn’t even itch. It was the one good thing that had come of the night.
With her hair still damp she went downstairs. A quick glance around as she descended showed that the children had all been picked up. Aside from her mother and grandparents watching the TV in the great room, the large house felt empty after the crowds of the prior day. Breakfast, wrapped in foil, was waiting for her on the island counter.
“You’ll be interested to see this,” her grandfather said before Evie could utter a word. Pointing the remote, the refreshed-looking man backed up the recorded newscast as Evie took a seat on the arm of a couch, uncovering her plate and eating on the move.
Ed’s face suddenly appeared on the screen, and faintly Evie reacted with a silent smile. Old Ed was smiling excitedly before a news reporter’s microphone with The Kitchen parking lot as a backdrop. The bigger he smiled, the deeper the lines about his face sunk, and the brighter his eyes became. Below his face scrolled a banner stating the bare facts of an animal attack in the tiny northern town of Ludlow. The station, broadcasting from northern Vermont, had dispatched a crew just after dawn when they caught wind of police and rescue activity during the night, beating the southern New Hampshire station to the punch.
The Call (The Great North Woods Pack Book 2) Page 7