by J. Conrad
“I don’t know who the hell she is,” I said.
“When did she say she is returning?”
“She didn’t. Why would she come back? I don’t have any friends, remember?” I asked, and as soon as I got the words out, Gwyneth rose and slapped me across the cheek with the back of her hand. Still unable to leave the chair, I sat there reeling from the shock. A sharp heat stung my face and tears sprang to my eyes.
“Oh, she needed that, Mother,” Annest said.
“She needed it when she first came in,” said Dafina.
My stepmother ignored them, hovering over me with her hand still raised. “Aren’t you going to ask to be excused?”
I inhaled, clenching my teeth to keep from sobbing. I had never been struck in the face and it left me spinning.
“Elin?” Gwyneth asked, her tone sharpening. “Would you like to be excused?”
I supposed if I didn’t ask, she wouldn’t let me leave. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “May I be excused?”
“Aren’t you forgetting a word?”
I bit my bottom lip. I tried to lift myself up again, but I still seemed to be stuck like glue. The blood pounded in my ears and I took a deep breath. There was no need to embarrass myself further. I needed to make myself calmly ask the question. “May I please be excused?”
Gwyneth smiled, her straight, white teeth lighting up her face. “No.”
As I pushed against the table, unable to remove my rump from the chair, my stepmother and her daughters had a good laugh.
Chapter 6
That night, I lay under my blankets in the dark, and I did something I hadn’t done in a long time. I cried. Since Mother was lost, I had done a pretty good job of staying strong, because I had to be. But I didn’t feel strong now. It wasn’t until hours after the chair incident that Gwyneth had finally released me. My legs were weak, I was lightheaded from not eating, and my stomach hurt. I felt drained.
As much as it would have made me happy to believe this situation was entirely Gwyneth’s fault, I knew it wasn’t true. She wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Father. He had let this woman in—this sorceress, this witch, or whatever she was, and he hadn’t factored me into the equation. The evidence was stacking up against him, and on top of everything else it wasn’t looking good. While it would take a lot more to convince me he wasn’t my real father, after learning what he had divulged behind my back, I was starting to suspect he didn’t love me. At the very least, he didn’t care for me or respect me, that was certain.
I wiped my eyes, another shudder escaping me as I cried soundlessly in the fetal position. Grandmother—I mean Eiriana—had said she would try to come back soon to help. And she seemed to know things. But, first assuming she was my grandmother, would she really come back? And if she did, what could she do against that woman? Gwyneth was something terrifying underneath, something that could light objects on fire with her thoughts and keep my body in place with the wave of her hand. Eiriana said she knew what Gwyneth was, but did she really? Either way, I didn’t think I could wait for Eiriana. My life was in danger and being complacent or trying to rationalize staying would only get me killed.
Well into the night, I packed a bag with items of barest need. I changed into riding breeches, a loose blouse, and riding boots. I eased the window open. I was on the second floor, but vines had grown all along the west side of the house for as long as I could remember. Their stalks were thick and woody in places and I was going to try my luck with them. This might be my best chance, because the longer I waited, the more difficult escape was likely to be. I checked the door, ensuring it was bolted.
There should have been a half moon tonight, but the clouds must have obscured it because I couldn’t even see the ledge outside the window. I would have to feel my way. My stomach dropped. The fall might not kill me, but I’d probably break something. Gwyneth would probably be sure to make me scrub floors in spite of being injured. I couldn’t fall. No matter what, I had to keep my head, use my hands and my memory of this side of the house, and I couldn’t be careless and fall.
I took the strings of the bag and cinched it tightly, then tied it around my waist so that the bag hung down near my bottom. It was awkward, but it was the best I could do. Father had better sacks for hunting which fit over the shoulders, but I had nothing like that in my room.
Inhaling to steady myself, with shaking hands I groped the window sill for a good hold. I pulled myself up and bent my knees, swinging my feet down to the ledge. Cautiously, I pushed out my right foot until I found the edge. I did this with my other foot as well, to give myself a sense of where it ended. With my bottom still on the window sill, I knew that once I swung myself down off the ledge—and clung to it by my fingers—I would only have a second or two to find a sturdy vine and grab it. I had never done anything like this before, and to say that my arm muscles were soft would be kind. If I couldn’t get hold of a vine my fingers would slip and I’d fall into the darkness. My stomach lurched again, and my mouth felt dry.
I eased myself off the window sill and onto the ledge. It was only about a foot wide. My heart hammered as I wiped my sweating hands on my trousers. A wave of lightheadedness rushed into my skull and the small ledge felt tiny. The cool, autumn, nighttime air ruffled my hair and made me imagine being blown off my perch. I grabbed the sill behind me, afraid of plummeting face first into darkness. I took another deep breath and tried to calm myself. One thing that might help was the length of the ledge, rather than its width, I realized. It was long; probably long enough to lie down on.
I pushed my legs sideways and slowly leaned the opposite direction, placing myself on my stomach. Now, I could reach my hands down and feel for the vines before I actually swung off.
My fingers felt no vines—not even a leaf. I knew they were down there, somewhere below me, but my fingers couldn’t find them. Squeezing my eyes together and gritting my teeth, I suppressed a groan. I had to think. There was a tree about twenty feet away, if I had to guess. But I could barely see it in the almost non-existent starlight and twenty feet was too far for me to jump. Well, maybe the trunk was twenty feet away—some of the branches extended closer. Landing on them, however, would make too much noise. Branches snapping and breaking would wake up the dogs, and that would wake Gwyneth.
I was about to give up when I had a bright idea. It was a crazy, ill-conceived, storybook idea, but under the circumstances it was better than the other options. I crawled back inside my room and began stripping the bed. One thing I did have a lot of here was fabric—bed sheets, blankets, pillow cases, and even a few bolts of new cloth to be made into gowns. All those things could be tied together to make a long rope.
So that’s what I did. After fashioning a fabric chain which I hoped would be long enough to reach the ground, I secured one end to the foot of the bed. The frame was heavy, solid oak, and it wouldn’t budge under my weight.
I took the free end and tied it around my waist. Before I lost my nerve, I climbed out the window and onto the ledge, tossing the excess part of the “rope” down into the darkness below. I got on my hands and knees, gripped the rough stone, and swung down off the ledge. Gritting my teeth, I suppressed a scream. My feet dangled down into nothingness as I clutched the ledge for dear life with my soft fingers. It felt like my skin was being ripped off.
I grabbed the fabric rope with one hand, then the other, and my body started to swing. It was hard to hold my own weight and my hands were slipping. I was a pendulous insect. My feet hit the side of the house and I felt my boots against the stone bricks.
My breath coming out in small, rasping puffs, I tightened my grip on the fabric and pushed my feet against the wall. This stopped me from swinging. A surge of hope ignited something in my quivering arms as I realized that now all I had to do was walk myself down. I loosened my grip slightly and slid a little, my feet following along. I did this for about a yard before my arms were trembling so much I didn’t think I could hold on much longer. I was
going to fall.
I pulled my feet in and wrapped them around the fabric, trying to slide down it like a pole. Within seconds I was slipping down so fast that I lost control. My palms were on fire from the rope burn effect. I was falling, losing my grip. I smacked into the manicured shrubbery by the wall butt first. I let go of the fabric altogether and tumbled backward, throwing my arms out to keep from hitting my head. I just barely succeeded, rolling over in a reverse somersault.
I might have grunted, even though I had been trying so hard to be quiet. A blur running toward me on the right made me jump until I heard Jack’s shrill bark.
“Shh,” I whispered. “Here, boy. It’s Elin.”
The hound lowered his head and ran over, licking my face as I tried to make the world stop spinning. Where are you going?
I reached out and rubbed between his ears. “I have to go away for a little while, Jack. Maybe I can come back one day.”
I will come with you.
“Oh, I wish that you could. But I need you here. Please stay and watch over the animals, as you always do. You’re so good at that job,” I said.
Jack whined, nuzzling me with his cold nose. I will stay.
“I’ll miss you,” I whispered. With tears in my eyes, I untied myself and started running blindly in the direction of the lane.
Chapter 7
During the dark hours, I covered a lot of ground, though it didn’t take long for the faint tinges of pink to appear in the east. Making the runaway preparations in my room had robbed me of precious time which I could have used to put more distance between the witch and myself.
As dawn crawled over the horizon in the rose gold blanket of a new day, I plunged into the woods. The deeper I could go, the better it would be for me. Though the daylight wasn’t strong yet, even in the shadow of the forest I still had plenty of light.
The trees grew closer together, and I lightly dragged my hand across trunks as I passed them. I was hungry, exhausted, and shaken up from my run during the wee hours, but I was starting to calm down and take more notice of my surroundings. To my left, a colorful bunch of toadstools bloomed up in the moss around some thick roots, and to my right I thought I saw the beginnings of a clearing. I walked toward it and passed a gnarled, old tree, so twisted and leaning it looked like it might fall over. But on the other side, it turned out that I was right. There was a clearing, complete with a large stone at one end where I could sit.
Taking a deep breath of the fragrant, earthy air, I sat on the rock and pulled my legs up. I concentrated on the beauty around me, listening to the birds and insects and the occasional snap of a branch as a squirrel leapt. A glen of ferns made a pocket within a grove of trees, and I heard the river’s steady rush from the other side. I wouldn’t linger here long, but I needed to rest and catch my breath.
On the flattish stone where I had seated myself, I got comfortable, trying to decide where I would go. How would I eat? Where would I sleep? I hadn’t known those answers last night, I had simply left. Taking my chances in the wilderness was better than staying at Blaenwood as a prisoner in my own home.
The forest around me had grown quieter. Maybe it was going to rain. I peered skyward, but above the canopy of trees the rolling clouds were letting sunlight through, making puddles of light upon the forest floor. Across the other side of the clearing, something was making a noise in the thicket.
The bushes rustled and parted, and into the clearing strode a full-grown wolf. It was large and broad chested, with light brown fur and was looking straight at me. Slowly, I stiffened, sitting at attention, staring back at the wolf in an emotion somewhere between fear and curiosity. Did I escape my stepmother only to be attacked and killed by a wild animal? But looking at it, my mind flicked back to the time spent in the den as a little girl. Though I had spoken to many animals since learning of my ability, I hadn’t met a wolf since my experience when Mother was taken. To be on the safe side, I decided I wouldn’t speak out loud as I often did with birds such as Cirros, the falcon, and our dog Jack. I tried to form the thoughts and let them reach out into the wolf’s space, my mind encompassing his as I conveyed the ideas.
Hello, friend, I thought. What brings you here?
The wolf stopped mid-step and pricked its ears. It sat on its haunches, cocking its head slightly. I wondered if it had heard me. I watched the wan sunlight dapple its dust-colored fur as I held my body motionless. At least I knew to not show any fear around wild animals or make jerky movements that could startle it.
Into my own mind came the wolf’s reply. It’s you. I know you. Have you come seeking me, Elin?
Despite trying to maintain the perfect calm, I inhaled loudly as I stared back at him. I knew the wolf was male now, because of the “voice” I heard in my mind. But it was the soft voice of a young man, who by human reckoning sounded around my age. For a second, Father’s threats of having me put away for telling stories flashed into my mind, but I shoved them out. He wasn’t here, and the wolf was. I smiled and formed my reply, which I thought back to him.
I beg your pardon, my good wolf, but I’m sure I’ve never seen you before this day.
You have seen me, though it was long ago. We were both pups then, but I know you, and I’ve seen you in my dreams ever since that time. You took me into your arms and we slept together in the den my mother made. You were frightened, but I stayed with you. And my mother told you there was nothing to fear. We hid from the Calek as she fought them.
I frowned, my hand twitching as I almost pushed myself off the rock. Calek? Do you mean the men who attacked us?
Yes, he answered. Humans know such creatures as “witches.” But even though you feared them, you were brave that day. I remember how you helped my mother care for your father when he was injured.
His words seemed strange to me, almost too comforting, too nostalgic of that brief period long ago. And this couldn’t be the same wolf. It seemed impossible. But if it was the same wolf—the puppy I had held as a child, how could he still remember me?
Trystan? Is it truly you? I thought.
Yes, the wolf replied. And this is not a safe place for you. What brings you to the wood, so close to the— He stopped and turned his muzzle toward the fern glen. I wondered what I was so close to. The deeper woods? The stream not far beyond? The town on the other side?
I wanted to get away from my stepmother. I ran away from home.
Stepmother? Is that what humans call a mother?
I laughed. No. We just call a human mother a mother. When your real mother… goes away, and your father takes a new wife, that woman is called a stepmother. I chuckled. Although, I’m not entirely sure she’s human.
The wolf stood up and started trotting toward me. I was glad, because I wanted to get a better look. There must be a way to tell for certain whether this was the same animal. He came and sat before me, just a few feet away. He tilted his head again, looking up at me with his blazing, orange eyes. The eyes did look familiar, so vivid and bright and canine.
I don’t understand, he thought. She is your replacement mother, but she is not always human? Is she a creature like me?
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, and I wasn’t sure how much I should tell him about Gwyneth. I just mean she can be very cruel. What do you call your mother?
When she looks like you, she goes by “Seren.” But I always call her Mother, whatever her form.
Seren, I thought. Now that was a name I thought I’d never hear again, for as long as I lived. I stood up. I remember Seren. You are the wolf pup I met as a child! I can’t believe it. Seren, the woman with the black hair and golden eyes is your mother.
The wolf sat up straighter, more proudly. Yes, that is she. But that is not her true form.
Her true form? What do you mean? I asked.
She is a wolf, like me.
There was definitely something I wasn’t getting. It sounded like he was saying that Seren was his mother, but she was both human and a wolf. So, she changed forms?
I shook my head, knowing that couldn’t be right.
It almost sounds as though you’re saying that Seren can change into a wolf when she wishes.
He laughed into my mind. I had no idea wolves could laugh. No. I’m saying she can be human when she wishes. And she can be even more than that, when she is angry.
So, her true form is a wolf. The human form is a secondary form, I thought to myself, but he heard me, and nodded.
I wrapped my arms around my torso, staring blankly at the ground while I tried to take that in. The only frame of reference I had for what he was describing were stories—fairy tales, really—about giant wolves who savaged both people and animals beneath a full moon. But when the wolf beasts were killed, and their bodies inspected, human bodies lay in their place. I shuddered, though nothing about this wolf frightened me.
If you are so unhappy, come with me, he thought.
My stomach reacted with butterflies. This was the help I needed. I’d have thought it too good to be true, except I knew Trystan was the wolf from my memory—and my mind was the only thing I trusted… my mind, and sometimes animals.
“Trystan, where will we go?” I asked out loud, feeling suddenly guilty, like I was breaking the beautiful spell of thought-speak that had descended upon us.
Anywhere you wish. I can teach you to hunt. We can make a safe den, away from the world, away from those who want to trap us. I too am feeling the cold cruelty of duty. I have my own call I don’t wish to answer.
How strange that he should offer me this. I looked away momentarily, thinking of what this would mean. I would run away with a wolf, live in a den and hunt my own food. I had never even killed an animal, let alone butchered one, and both things seemed against my nature. There would be no blankets to sleep on. Insects would crawl on me while I slept, some burrowing into my skin. My hair would become rife with lice and fleas and maybe worse. Was there worse? If I had been brought up in a poor family, my basic survival skills might have been better, but up until recently, my quality of life had been good. I never had to know how to do those things. I had never even used a bow and arrow other than a few times in playful curiosity when I was younger.