The Princess and the Wolf (The Princess and the Hound)

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  She was full-grown now, and she should have been smaller than her father, but in fact her shoulders were broader and her cheekbones were a different shape. The hollow around her eyes was wider and her eyes were more widely set than her father’s. Even her legs seemed to be different. Her father’s were closer to the ground while hers were longer and her paws more delicate.

  Her father was an Olde Wolf, with the look and shape of a wolf from thousands of years before. Her mother had been a more modern wolf according to her father, but surely Golda would have some look of her father about her, some hint of her ancient heritage. She could see nothing.

  She thought of the way her father treated the other animals in the stone edifice. He told them that they were the last remnants of an old strain of their species. An ancient strain of boar or steer, of mink or wildcat or fox. He told them he had searched for them for quite some time, for their specific scent, their shape and magic. He flattered them and then he used his words to turn them against everything human.

  But Golda had never seen any sign of him searching for specific animals. He had never turned away from one trail because it was the wrong one. Whatever animals he came across, he used. He lied to them.

  Had he lied to her?

  She stared at her face in the water. She thought of her father’s voice, telling her about her mother, about her birth. When she imagined the moment, she was filled with love and respect for him, with a sense of her own important place in the world. But if she thought only of the facts, then she was unsure.

  Why could she not remember her mother’s face? Her father said that she had died when Golda was very young, but a wolf ought to remember her mother’s face even if she had seen it only once, at birth. It should have been imprinted in her memory as the face of safety, comfort, love. And for Golda, there was no face.

  She needed to ask her father why. She felt an urgency about it. Right now, she wanted to hear him explain it to her. Again. She wanted to believe him, and to erase all her doubts about his plans for the humans. She wanted to accept that they were as evil as he said.

  But he was not here. He was with humans in the castle, so she would go as a human and they would think nothing of it. He had told her a little of his disguise with humans, so she knew his name was Lord Morlieb and she knew what he looked like.

  It would also give her a chance to see humans for herself.

  Her father would be angry with her that she endangered herself and that she took human form again, for he hated that. But he loved her. Surely he would love her in any form.

  Golda found clothing to wear first, because she had seen enough of humans to know that none of them wore only a hat. There was an old cloak and she tore at it with her teeth to make it fit around her body, then tucked it here and there and pierced it with thorns to hold it in place. She searched for the things humans wore on their feet, in the stone edifice and in the forest floor. Still, she could not find two that matched.

  One was a slipper, only barely covering her toes and heel, and made of soft material, with delicate shiny embroidery, now ruined by moths and insects. The other was a boot, a little large for her, most likely from a man who had taken off his boots to rest his feet in the stream, and then found only one, for the other was under a rock. It was in good shape, and must have newly been lost. It had a little heel on it, so that Golda walked lopsided, swaying from one side to the other.

  She headed to the village near the castle. She wanted to make sure that she had learned enough about being human that other humans would not suspect what she truly was. She had spent time with them before, but only in the forest, in bits and pieces, and she rarely tried to speak with them.

  She transformed into human form at the edge of the forest, careful that no one was watching her. It was not painful for her, not anymore. Sometimes it even felt—a little invigorating. As if she received a surge of energy in this form. She looked down at her feet and put on the mismatched shoes. Then she tucked the cloak around her, and took a breath. She held her head high, as she had seen humans do. Even peasants walked with heads held high, as if they were the kings of their own huts. It was part of walking upright, that head held high.

  She tried to show no sign of anxiety, but she was stared at by every human she met in the village, male and female. She could tell the difference first only by smelling them, but later, she began to see the slight differences in their clothing and hairstyles. Such slight changes. How did humans do it so easily? They all recognized her as female, the men staring at her eagerly, the girls turning away in disgust.

  At last, as she stumbled along, she decided to take off the boot and hold it in her hands. Then, she took off the slipper, as well. Her human feet did not have the resistance to stones that her wolf paws did, but she could bear a little bleeding. It was not winter, in any case.

  She found a house empty on the far side, away from the forest. It was a small house and looked as if it had not been opened in many years. There were vines growing up all the sides of the walls, and the windows had all been broken out. Inside, it stank of mold and mildew, and the wood floors were wet and buckled.

  She could see a tiny bed beside the larger bed in one of the rooms, as she investigated. Beside it were clothes that would have fit a small human child, a little girl. And a few toys, hand carved out of wood by loving hands. All had been abandoned.

  The humans who had once lived here were likely dead, but Golda did not understand why other humans had not taken their place. She searched through piles of rotting clothes until she found a dress that had only a few holes in it and a pair of sturdy shoes that matched. She put them on, and then stretched out onto the bed to sleep. She found herself suddenly exhausted. The surge of energy she had felt in transformation was gone and she had walked far that day. It was dark, as well, and in her human form, it seemed that darkness signaled the immediate need for sleep.

  She started once in the night at the sound of a large figure passing close by the house. She sat upright and breathed without a sound, waiting for the human outside to come in. Was this his home? But the large figure passed on, and she did not bother to look out after him to see why he had come here. She was too glad he was gone.

  It was terrible being a human, she thought. She was so afraid. As a wolf, she had never had to fight her natural instincts like this. A wolf faced fear occasionally, but not at every moment. How could humans stand to live in this village at all? Why did they not all run away into the forest and try to build themselves huts there, as far from any sound or predator as they could find?

  Slowly, she slipped back into sleep, and then woke late. She felt a pain in her neck and realized she had fallen asleep half-crouched in preparation to attack, as she might have in her wolf form. But in this form, it was not at all comfortable. Her neck was fiery with pain.

  She stretched as best she could with what she knew of this form and its muscles. Then she went out to find something to eat and drink. Her stomach ached with hunger, and she felt as if her tongue had dried inside her mouth. If she were in the forest in wolf form, she would have known exactly where to go, by the smell of the river. And there were always animals to be found there, ripe for eating. But here, she did not know what she would do. How did humans survive at all?

  Following her wolf instincts with her weaker human sense of smell, she found her way to a fenced pen with animals inside. Just as her father had told her, humans enslaved animals and made them serve them. She tried to whisper to the animals in their own language. There was a pig and a goat and a few bird who were so fat they could no longer fly, but only used their wings to flap around. The animals looked badly used. Each one had fresh wounds, no doubt from the humans.

  This was simply unacceptable. How could she ever have doubted her father’s plans for humans. Of course they deserved to die. Of course they must be destroyed, so that all animals could be truly free. She should have gone back to the forest then, but she was too caught in her emotions. It was a human reactio
n, perhaps, that she rushed forward.

  Using her soft, human hands, she tore open the fence and called to the animals that they were free, in their own languages. She thought they would simply fly to the forests, but instead they attacked her. She was astonished until she remembered that their abuse had happened at the hands of humans who looked just like she did. Poor creatures.

  The birds pecked at her legs and feet, cutting through the old, cracking leather of her shoes. The goat tore at her gown and then cut into her side with its horns. The pig ran at her and thrust its whole weight at her. She fell to the ground and then all of the animals dug at her face, her eyes, her nose, her mouth, her neck, whatever was most vulnerable.

  She refused to fight back against them, and she cried out in terror and pain, but the animals seemed only to be encouraged by this.

  To her astonishment, it was a human who came to her rescue. She heard his voice, low and rumbling, as he shouted at the animals. They did not listen to him, and he took out a knife and stabbed at them viciously, showing no mercy. Feathers flew above her head, and then the goat and pig were lying at her feet, their dead eyes staring up at the morning sunrise.

  Golda found herself staring into human eyes of blue, and then at a broken nose and a mouth that was missing a front tooth. Despite the missing tooth, there was a friendly smile on the face.

  “Ho, there,” he said, offering her a hand. “It’s a lucky thing I came by when I did this morning. Used to be I was up this early to milk the cow, but these days I’m off to find a drink by the river and then dig in the fields all day for a few pieces of bread.”

  “Thank you,” said Golda, forcing herself to use human words that were not all what she felt. Her voice shook, along with her whole body, but she was no longer sure what emotion caused it all. “I’m indebted to you.”

  He bowed to her, and gave a small smile. “No need to be so formal about it,” he said. “I saw a need and I answered it.”

  He had killed six animals in a few moments, and it seemed to cause him little remorse. Was this not exactly what her father meant when he said that humans were evil?

  But the animals had been ready to kill her. She could not dislike him for saving her life. No animal would have done that in the woods, even if they had been her own kind. Only her father might have acted that way, and even that she was not sure of.

  Humans seemed to have their own rules. They looked after their own. It was a strange realization. They seemed to think more of helping another than they did of keeping away from danger themselves. And she had thought them all so cowardly.

  “I don’t know what these villagers were thinking, keeping animals in a time like this. It’s foolish at best. It’s been years since anyone has been able to keep a tame animal in this village. They all go wild and dangerous, attacking us as if we haven’t been feeding and caring for them all this time.” He stared at her, clearly expecting an answer.

  “Perhaps they want to be free,” said Golda, each word carefully chosen. “And live in their own way in the forest.” Was it too much truth? Would he guess what she was? Did she smell too much like a wolf? Did she move like a wolf?

  The human shook his head at this, a faint smile on his lips, not quite unkind. “These animals wouldn’t last two days in the forest. They’d be eaten by wolves or bears, and then what? You think they’d be grateful for that?”

  Golda did not know what to say.

  “These animals need us as much as we need them. What’s happened to them is some kind of evil magic. King George should be trying to stop it, but I think he is too busy with his politics and his daughter’s wedding to pay attention to us.”

  “Wedding?”

  “Yes. She’s marrying some foreign lord. Morley or something like that.”

  “Morlieb,” said Golda, feeling light-headed. What was her father doing? He hated humans, so he had become a human. And now he was to marry a king’s daughter? Was it all to bring them down in the end?

  “Yes. The man is tall and ugly as a beast himself. Can’t see why a young girl would be interested in him, but a princess doesn’t choose her own match, does she? She can’t marry purely because she likes the look of a man, or because she’s never met a man she would rather spend the rest of her life talking to, can she?”

  The man was staring at Golda like a small mouse who had been startled and run a few steps, but was now ready to be eaten in one bite. He was trying to calm her, she realized.

  “You have no animals in the village now? These were the last ones?” asked Golda. That was not what her father had said.

  “None. There are other villages far from here that are more insistent in keeping animals even when they had shown signs of going wild, but I think they are only foolish. It is happening all over the kingdom of Kendel, and in Sarrey, as well. A hound or two, or a cat, stays at home without restraint, but even those have been known to gnaw at the owner they have lived with for years in the middle of the night, and they are gone in the morning.”

  Her father had been doing this, of course. Golda knew he had. She should be proud that he had so much success.

  “I wouldn’t keep an animal penned up for all the coins in the kingdom.”

  “You hate all animals, then?” asked Golda.

  “Me? Hate them? I don’t hate anything that hasn’t hurt me first. But I will defend myself. Nothing wrong with that now, is there?” He held his hand out to her.

  She let him take hers, and found that he felt much like an animal would. Warm, vulnerable, flesh and blood. Golda did not know what to think. Had she imagined they would be bloodless? Fleshless? These humans were more like animals than she had thought and then not like them at all.

  “You’ve a soft heart for animals, I can tell, but you can’t let that lead you into danger. You’re new here, aren’t you? Where are you from?”

  Golda pointed toward the forest.

  “Must be far away. You need help finding a place to stay?”

  “No,” said Golda.

  “Well, then, I’ll have to hope to see you again tomorrow.” He bent over and wiped off his knife. Then he reached for the goat’s hind hooves and began dragging it away from the fenced area.

  “Where are you taking it? Are you going to eat it?” asked Golda.

  “An animal like this that might be tainted with whatever magic or disease is causing this? No, I’m going to bury it. And then afterward I’ll come back and do the others. I don’t know what’s happened to these creatures, but they were ours once, and they deserve to be treated with respect in death.”

  Her father would say this human was lying, that he only said such things to make himself look like he had compassion. But Golda could see that he was doing as he promised.

  “Your name?” she asked, thinking that it was a human thing to ask, and she was trying to do what humans would do.

  The man stepped back from the goat’s body and nodded a little to her, then wiped his brow. “You can call me Hans.” He waited a long moment. “And your name?”

  Oh, yes. Golda should have realized that. “Golda,” she said.

  His eyes narrowed. “Golda,” he said again, as if he didn’t believe it.

  Chapter Fifteen: Hans

  Hans finished burying the animals as he had promised Golda. There had been darkness in each of them, but only a spark. The Olde Wolf must have caught them in passing, not even intending to use them. They had been left behind, changed by his passing, but useless. As Hans himself was.

  As he dug, Hans thought of the boy he had been. He was burying that boy, as well, it seemed. The one who had known what he was meant to do, and had been sure he would do it or die, and die well.

  “Golda” did not remember him, but he knew her. He knew her smell, and he knew the darkness inside of her. She was the golden she-wolf he had seen in the forest, the one who had called the Olde Wolf “Father.” She had seen Hans, too, but she did not remember him. Hans could only guess that was because the Olde Wolf had not wante
d her to. Hans did not know if she was as innocent as she seemed, but it hardly mattered. She was full of the darkness, the taint. And now he had found a way to battle his enemy without facing him directly.

  Golda. It was a name for a wolf. But she was a human. Despite the smell of wolf on her, Hans knew that she was human. It was everywhere in the way she moved, in her natural breathing and speaking as a human. She changed too easily into human form. Who could do that who was not human? It would take a great magic, and she seemed to do it unconsciously, without ever touching any other part of magic.

  Did she realize that the Olde Wolf had been lying to her about who she was all along? Was she trying to escape from him here? Or was she his spy? She did not seem to know that she was human. She must have been with the Olde Wolf for a very long time. Now Hans had to take her back and make her see the truth of the Olde Wolf, and of herself.

  He went through the village, listening to the people.

  He heard of King George, who lived nearby in his castle. King George had animal magic to speak the languages of animals. He was also known to be able to transform animals into humans and humans into animals. He did not use the great magic often, whether because he could not or because he simply chose not to.

  In addition, there was a Lord Morlieb newly come to the castle, whom no one in the village had a bad word to say of. But they spoke of his kindness and his smooth talking and told of his size and the fierceness of his face. He was the Olde Wolf, Hans knew it. The king and the whole castle had been taken in by him, by his old magic and his darkness.

  It was not until Hans asked questions himself that he heard the tale of the stolen princess who was never seen again, and the peasant girl who had been adopted in her place. Golda was not with him when he asked these questions. She was shy of the other humans, and had stayed in the hut near the animal pen.

  “Did she have the animal magic, this daughter of the king?” asked Hans.