by Jason Graff
The boyar, we learned, had left ahead of our kumpania. For many days and weeks after these departures, it was silent in that land. There, close with my Fifika and her true father, I stayed among the black, forbidding landscape of the eastern Carpathians.
We made home of a cavern, up above the heaviest of the fog, from which we could look down on what had been the entire campsite as well as the back of the boyar’s castle. Even from that vantage point, the structure looked impressive. From time to time, I did experience some sadness in thinking of the simpler times when both Fifika and I had journeyed there to study. Sometimes the words of that failed poem I had attempted would come back to me and I would sit, muttering verse to myself in near silence.
While my relations with Fifika were never less than certain, the light in which Aberama viewed me proved considerably dimmer. Once he had pledged himself to Fifika, it seemed we had formed a kind of pack of our own, there amidst the dusky black days and nights of the Carpathians. Aberama, though, for all his wolf-like loyalty, could not easily set aside his human nature. His character was perpetually bothered by old wounds and hurtful memories of his days of mistreatment in the kumpania. One among them, it seemed, caused more pain than the others.
“Your father is the kind of blackguard who attacks without warning,” he growled at me on our first occasion of being alone.
“I’m sure he meant no real harm,” I said. “His love for my Mama propelled the blow.”
Fifika had set off very early in the morning, a habit she kept up for much of our time there. Looking back, it was clear for whom she was searching, but in those days, she would not reveal her purpose. Given that I felt as though I was under her watch, I did not ask. I did my best to try and forge a sort of peace with her father, even if he showed no interest in doing the same with me.
“Love,” he sniffed. “He told you all about that encounter. Yes? The big man covering himself in flattery.”
“I’ve heard the story from him and others.”
“You’ve heard a story, boy. Know that.”
I took comfort in the sound of twigs snapping, thinking it announced Fifika’s return, but it was only the fire between us dying out. I hadn’t been tending it, which was my task, as it would have meant going across the cavern and closer to Aberama to gather the wood that lay drying at the entrance. There next came a puff of smoke that made me close my eyes. When I opened them, he stood very near me, fists clenched, a fearsome sneer fixed on his face.
“You’re not one of us,” he said, lips curling about his clenched teeth. “And never shall you be. I can see best to that, my little honored son of an elder.”
Aberama spit rather than spoke those words to me as if the memories of those days still left a bitter taste. I shrank from this, backing up until I felt the numb chill of rock at my back. My still-boyish heart trembled in my chest. I so wished for my Fifika’s return.
Even with her there, I barely slept on the nights when the moon was but a curved wick, and my new family abandoned their usual species until dawn. I would often stay awake, anxious for their return, anxious at least for Fifika to return. Often before setting off, Aberama would make a great show of sniffing at me, his black lips fixed in a wolfish smile. I often worried that should their hunt go wanting, he would substitute me as prey.
Her return just as dawn was stirring always proved doubly joyous as, not only did it hold the promise of another day at her side but also, she usually brought morsels along for me to eat. They would have to be cooked, but I always had a fire ready for that. Aberama further sought to unsettle me by staring at me while I ate and licking his lips. I always offered to share with him. My kindness was repaid with an imitation of his wolf growl that was made fearsome from the effort he put into it.
“Go on. We’ve eaten,” Fifika would say, more to him than me. “We’ve stuffed ourselves more than enough. You, too, need to keep up your strength.”
“His strength,” Aberama laughed. “For what? Carrying twigs into this damp hovel?”
“He’s proven more adept at making a fire than you or I, Father. We all have our tasks to perform in this home, if we are to survive.”
“More’s the pity for us that his job is staying warm and safe while we risk ourselves in this barren, accursed land.”
“We are safe here.”
“And miserable,” Aberama said, his jaw snapping.
“You needn’t stay. You can run off like you always have.”
“Easy girl,” he said with a leap that landed him very near Fifika, air rushing from his nose. “You are but a cub.”
“Am I?” she asked and did not shrink an inch from him.
He settled back down before the fire. Drawing his arms around himself, he stared into the flame with dead eyes. I could almost sense him at war with his wolf nature.
On such days, the animal flesh she had delivered to me tasted bitter. But I ate heartily, nonetheless, to please Fifika. Often, I caught her eye as I finished eating and patted at my belly to show my appreciation. She’d give me one of her warm, gentle smiles that showed the pleasure she took in caring for me. I bask in their glow to this very day. No matter how difficult the road becomes, I know her beautiful face is near to offer its own kind of sustenance.
Back in those days, though, her smiles too soon began to become as rare as our food supply. After the boyar’s departure, the animals that populated the mountainsides under his protection began to migrate as well. In time, even the rats became something of a delicacy. Traveling with the kumpania all those years had steeled us for leaner times, but one never quite gets used to the pain of hunger roiling one’s belly.
My situation was even more perilous. I could feel Aberama’s eyes on me, measuring me for every meal he had missed. Fifika still showed her strength whenever she sensed this, standing between us defiantly. I often thought of Mama and Papa and of the safety that I had taken for granted in their care. Safety, I realized is another thing one must abandon if he yearns to live truly free. The three of us could do as we pleased, the price for which seemed to be the amount that needed to be done in order to survive. We were refugees from our former life, learning to live a new existence.
I began to keep track of the moon phases as best I could for I feared the next could be my last. Despite her courage, which proved to be enough for all of us, Fifika would be no match for her father should he decide that he’d had enough of hunger. His stomach had begun to growl the growl of the beast even when he was a man. I did my best to keep us warm, getting up often in the middle of the night to keep the fire going. Once or twice, I even tried to curl up with Fifika. Despite my hunger, the urges I felt when I was around her never diminished. Sadly, neither had her resistance to my attempts which were normally rewarded with a slap or pinch which were hard to take even as playful warnings.
One night, he caught me trying to sneak in beside his daughter. He let out a low growl that, due to the coming moon, had nearly as much wolf as man in it. Baring his teeth and licking his lips, I felt like a cut of venison under the weight of his glare.
As the sun began to set on that day, the hunt for wood that would keep us warm until dawn was my excuse for leaving before the fleck of moon showed itself. I planned on staying away, on hiding down by the boyar’s castle, inside of it even, if I could find an opening. Aberama would not find me there.
I had not traveled alone along those paths since being separated from the kumpania on the night of its departure. I soon was lost in the fog and dim waning light of late afternoon. With the moon not yet in sight, I pressed on, taking comfort in the words of the boyar that all mountain paths led to his home.
The sky burned a brilliant orange as the sun began to set, having spent its day burning away the fog, and my shadow grew huge down the path in front of me. The piles of rock and cliff edges were so tall around that part of the path that I could not see what was around me. Finally, with the diving winter sun melting into the west, I came to a clearing. There sat a large r
ock that looked like it might offer a better view of the enchanted kingdom. At the top of it sat what I thought was a bush of snow-white thistles that glowed softly orange in the last light of the day.
I climbed it, my legs feeling weak and soft. Knowing that the moon would soon appear, I began to doubt the wisdom of my plan. If I did not make it to the castle soon, I risked being caught by Aberama. When I finally made it to the top, the bush turned to me, revealing a face of wrinkled flesh, the face of a very old woman.
“Have you made it so far, child?” she asked. Her blue eyes were cloudy. “Has she sent you to find me?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Young Fifika. She has found me on many a night but never quite so early,” she said, reaching out to caress my face. “Come closer, child. I mean you no harm. I am a protector of cubs, as is she.”
“Who are you?” I asked, my body atremble.
“Where is Fifika? Is she waiting for the moon to come to me? I would rather her wait to see me then rather than as I am now.”
“Why has she searched for you?” I asked, looking across the valley to the safety of the castle where I knew I should run. “Who are you?”
“Are you waiting for the moon? Or are you running from it?” she asked, then brought her face very close to mine, sniffing me and staring me in the eyes.
“I am very hungry…” I said, “and scared. We are all very hungry.”
“Is that where you wish to go?” she said, nodding towards the castle. “You wish to eat at the table of the master of these lands?”
“I am part of an unusual and unhappy family,” I said, stuttering a bit with fear as the last of the sun began to recede. “My own hunger is not my greatest worry.”
“Ah, you have risen up the list of prey, have you?” she asked. “You fear that you look the right size to fill another’s belly. And you think that in the castle you might find refuge?”
“Yes, I only wish to wait out the night there.”
“You are a smart boy. No wonder Fifika cares for you so.”
“Who are you that you know Fifika? That you know her mind?”
“I am her grandmother of grandmothers, child. I am Charani, whose place she will one day assume,” she said, and, letting me take her hand, she climbed down from her perch. “She will be the new Wolf Mother here. She is young in flesh but old in spirit, as old as the mysteries which haunt this land.”
I followed her off the rock, even though she was no doubt hungry, too, and could change at any time. We walked to the castle side by side. I cringed at every gurgle of my stomach, anxious to seem strong, to prove myself to at least one member of Fifika’s family. In an instant, the moon sliver revealed itself, and the woman who had been at my side became a wolf. The change happened suddenly, with no sound save the click of her now-mighty jaw. Her fur was so white, the moonlight seemed to almost make it glow. She was easy to keep watch of as we moved into darkness, which was thickening, quickly.
Just as we neared the castle looming ahead of us, its bricks glowing green where they caught the light, I heard a growl somewhere close to me. Then, something moved from the shadows, knocking me to the ground. Aberama, now too a wolf, large and gray, had my arm in his mouth. The full weight of his gray body pressed against me, robbing me of my air. I did not want to scream but couldn’t keep from crying out.
Though she did not move fast, Charani did move with certainty, leaping atop Aberama. She dug her yellowed teeth into his skull. He yelped and released my arm. I squirmed away, grabbing at rocks. Aberama managed to shake her off. She yelped as she hit the ground. Snarling, Aberama gave me a glance and licked his chops. Charani growled behind him. He turned and leaped at her. Now, he was the one on top, sinking his sharper, more fearsome teeth into her skull.
She howled and yelped. It echoed off the hillsides and broke the night with its pain. Charani collapsed in the dirt. With a growl and a terrible gnashing of flesh, he tore into her throat. Her white fur was flecked with blood. Her body twitched. Aberama let go then, and after sniffing her, crept up on me.
I wanted to cry out for Fifika, but fear stilled my tongue. Somehow, I did manage to climb to my feet and run, but Aberama was close behind me. Unable to see where I was going, I tripped and fell onto a shelf of sharp rocks. Aberama slowed his pace as if relishing my fear. He sniffed at me, something like a smile on his wolf face. Then from behind him, there came a blur of white.
Bloodied and near death, Charani managed to find the energy for another charge. She landed on top of him, her bloody neck making a sickeningly wet sound as she moved. She tore off his ear, then falling beneath him, took hold of his throat with her jaws. Soon, they were no more than a mess of blood and fur. It was not clear who had the upper hand, and though I made it back up to my knees, I could move no further. Then, there came from Aberama a sound I had never heard before from him, a pitiful cry. She had part of his throat deep inside her mouth. Charani opened her jaws, and he slumped away. His mouth hung open, his tongue hanging slack. With a gurgle and sigh, I heard him breathe his last.
After only a few steps, Charani collapsed. The panting breaths from her were drawn out and shallow. Her coat was soaked with blood. I fell to my knees next to her and petted her on her snout. Her chest moved rapidly as she struggled for air. With a small cry, she turned over to reveal her teats to me.
She motioned with her head for me to come closer. I did. With an ache apparent in her eyes, she kept urging me nearer and nearer until I took her meaning and nursed from her. The first taste of wolf milk brought a surge of power that swam through my bloodstream. Once I had finished, I raced up the path in the dark, certain of my way, for the smell of Fifika was on the wind. My only thought was to find her. I had not even the chance to celebrate the change in me.
My search did not take long. Fifika had perched high on a ridge a short way up the trail. She leapt down as I approached. Being each in our beast states saved me the trouble of trying to explain what had happened. By the way she sniffed me and then walked ahead up the path back towards the cave, I knew she had seen her father killed and her ancient ancestor die to feed me. I tried to keep up with her, but even my new body proved insufficient for that task. Gamboling again about those mountain paths, I felt a small cub racing to stay close to the tail ahead of me.
C
hapter Ten
Winter soon announced itself as a tragedy to come. With the first blast of truly bitter wind came our boyar. Behind him were two vardos of Westerners firing their guns, hunting the great count of those lands as though he was a common hare.
The chase disappeared from our view when they made the bend that led to the road that went up to the castle’s gates. I would love to say we rushed to our boyar’s aid, but he never was the kind of man that appeared to require help. It wasn’t until we heard the cry of Christian curses in English that we stirred from our spot. Fifika became sadly fond of saying that when English is spoken, something terrible usually follows.
We raced down the path that brought us to the back of the castle. We arrived at the gate just in time to see the dusk light revealing a garlic-garlanded madman driving a crude wooden stake into our count’s chest. He was surrounded by men whose peculiar dress marked them out as the kind of explorers who came east to take what was not theirs.
We slunk back up the path to what had been our home. Inside the cave, we endured the worst winter on record in that part of the world. The air was bitter. The snow came heavy and often. It was as if the skies of that formerly enchanted land were weeping for the loss of its master. Having to huddle close for warmth did cause my heart to beat faster, and having to survive brought us together in a way that a more comfortable sort of existence might not have. Many nights she lay next to me as I recited that poem I had written for her back when we were still students together. She never said whether she thought it good. Letting me recite it to her, night after night, was enough to show her favor shone down clearly upon me.
One day, I left the
cave to gather firewood. My Fifika, weakened as she was by hunger, lay resting near the fire. I took only a few steps when I heard the mountains moan and rumble behind me. A great black wave of rock was cascading down the mountainside. After the sky had spent the winter in mourning, now it seemed it was the land’s turn to pout and toss for the loss of the boyar. Finding a strength and swiftness that would have surprised me even in my wolf body, I raced into the cave and scooped Fifika up in my arms. She was frail, making it easy for me to run down the path. It seemed at any moment, the rocks and dust would bury us, but they did not know the way as well as Fifika had taught me.
Once we reached the safety of the valley floor, we kept moving east. I felt on almost even footing with Fifika from there on, having proven myself in saving her from the avalanche. Lingering within her there was a sadness now that kept her quiet and at some distance from me. It was as if something of her was left behind in those lands, something was taken from her when Dracula was murdered. We crossed the other side of the Carpathians and found ourselves in a land that, in those woeful days and in that part of the world, has recorded many such periods in its history when violence was far more plentiful than food.
We kept to the mountains and hillsides as we traveled. The valleys below echoed with gun fire and war cries. In such times, it seems as though reason too often becomes the first refugee. In time, we learned to scout out grounds near hunters’ cabins, which dotted the forests in which we traveled. These modest structures, made largely from logs piled atop each other, were often situated on grounds where prey was plentiful and close by. This tactic, while effective at helping to conserve our energy and keeping our bellies full, necessitated a more vigilant kind of caution. Being so constantly on the move made it difficult to track the moon’s phases, so we always had to act as if our wolf selves could reveal themselves on any night.