by Kyle Tolle
“All day,” he said, “I’ve been uncertain of what I could do. Not knowing has been agonizing. This is it, though. Some way, at least, I can help Lorenca cope with our loss”—he sniffed and wiped a wrist at his damp eyes—“and, if the night watch needs a leader, I’ll also volunteer for that role. But I will need help.”
Rounfil clapped a hand to his back. “I’m with him.”
Liova said, “You cried out for action first, Douth. Can we assume you’re eager to help?”
“Uh, of course.” He gave a strained smile. “Happy to.” His tone belied his words, but Hantle was glad he did not make an excuse to avoid participating.
Liova spoke to the rest. “Who else is willing to join him?”
Shec drew up, saying, “Always respected Hantle’s work. I’ll help.” Others volunteered and Hantle thanked each of them in turn.
“Eight for the watch? That should do,” Liova said. “Can’t expect Founsel to be here tomorrow unless our brave people fight for it.”
“We’ll have to figure out our approach,” Hantle said. “I’m no strategist.”
“During our travel,” Liova said, “we stayed hidden in the darkness by avoiding campfires, but, knowing wolves have no love for light, such could be used here to advantage.”
Crahul rested one hand on his portly stomach and tugged on his beard with the other. “I received a shipment of a dozen lanterns from Bansuth this week. I’m thinking I’d be happy to offer them for this.”
“That’s quite generous of you,” Hantle said. “We could post them around the village. Anyone else have equipment to spare?”
Those who had not volunteered for the watch were more receptive to helping in other fashions: offering more lanterns, pledging weapons and ammunition, and spreading word that none other than the guards were allowed out after dark. Hantle discussed tactics with the guard volunteers for a time before they split up to tackle preparations.
The stairs creaked under Hantle’s feet as he ascended to rouse Lorenca. She lay on her side, facing away from him, still in Hultier’s bed. His soft knock fell on the door and he said, “Join me for supper?”
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. No reply. Grasped to her chest was Hultier’s favorite toy.
“Our neighbors are kind,” he continued. “Thanks to them we have a casserole and a few sides. Much better than what I would’ve made.” She uttered a sound meant to dismiss him, but Hantle persevered and sat beside her. “You need to eat, Lorenca. Come on.” Threading an arm between her back and the bed, he gained enough leverage to lift her to a seated position. Once raised, she became pliable and he led her to the kitchen table. He scooted her chair up to the table and spooned out helpings of the main dish for them both.
At his first bite, Hantle’s taste buds lit up. “Hah!” His head bobbed and motioned with his fork to the plate. “That cream sauce is good.” Only after savoring a few more bites did he go on. “You know, I haven’t even tasted a meal in the last couple days. This is nice.” He served the salad and seasoned potatoes. Lorenca ate a few bites but showed no real appetite. It was lucky enough to have her out of bed, eating a morsel or two, so he had no complaint.
A kettle whistled and his fork clattered to the plate. “Almost forgot.” Lorenca’s dull gaze trailed after him. He donned a rag and pulled the kettle from the fire. In his mug, the boiling water turned earthen the instant it mixed with the jursant leaves. Its bright scent roiled through the room.
She finally spoke. “Why jursant at this hour?”
“Just need a little pep for the night.”
“What?” Her entire body turned to him. “What about the night?”
Walking back, he gave the full mug all the attention a scalding beverage deserved. “All day I’ve been wondering what to do next.” With a loud sip taken off the top, he lowered the mug to the table. “Then Liova’s got it: a night watch. Patrol the village. Keep the wolf away. Keep the village safe. You most of all, of course.”
“You can’t . . .” Her voice disappeared for a few seconds. “I need you with me. My heart will stop if I try to sleep another minute alone.”
“Now, now, that isn’t so.” He used his most delicate tone. “Rounfil, myself, and two others are just part of the first shift. Halfway through the night, another group relieves us. So just think of it as me coming to bed a bit late.”
“Wouldn’t it be smarter to stay in with me?” She tiptoed to his side and whispered, “You and I will be safe in our own bed.” The words draped as longingly around his neck as her arms.
He placed a hand on hers and a warm sigh left his chest. She was right. They would be safe there, and no one would question him changing his mind and staying with her. “I want to,” he said. “I really want to. But I volunteered for this and they’ll need me.”
“I’m your wife, Hantle. I need you!”
“I’m doing this for you, most of all.”
“I don’t want you to.” She stepped away, shoulders slumped forward. “What if you get killed?”
“I’ll admit, I have been reckless before. Tonight, though, I won’t take any undue risks.” Her expression did not ease like he had hoped. “We have a chance here to be organized. To prevent someone else getting killed. We’ll be there when it comes back, ready to kill it.”
She gave a disgusted sigh and moved farther away, into the kitchen. Her head shook endlessly as she thought of a reply. The way she dealt with grief was to curl up. He understood why, yet he could not do that himself. How could he explain, in a way that she accepted, that he handled things differently? “I’m sorry,” he said, “that you don’t agree, but I have to do this. It’s for you even though you don’t think so. Because how could I live with myself if I let anything happen to you through my own inaction?” As a pathetic afterthought, he ended with, “Not to mention, if I didn’t put myself to use, I’d go mad.”
He stood and took a step forward, meaning to comfort her. Instead, the motion propelled her up the stairs. She shouted as she ran. “No, I won’t hear it!” The door slam stopped him cold and reverberated in his chest. Well, shit.
After a long minute, he returned to the table and swallowed down the jursant. Doing what was necessary wasn’t easy. He finished his plate in silence and had another helping before heading back out. Nightfall was nearly complete. Flames danced atop the wicks of the lanterns staked outside the village. His sluggishness faded away and, once he discounted Lorenca’s anger with him, he felt ready for the night.
At last, the stifling, scorching day was over. The wolf had passed the hours huddled in what shade he could find, panting and cursing the day. In the short interim between sun and moon, he roamed the forest surrounding Founsel. Burning lanterns, staked out at regular intervals, cast wide circles of light between the homes and the trees. Squinting into the woods, he saw a pair of people walking the perimeter. The things they carried in their arms were meant to kill him, he knew. The father he had eaten last night nearly did so. Darkness had befriended and concealed him, though, inducing the man to aim too far to the side.
As the moon ascended, he stretched his body and moved to better cover. Several minutes later, another armed pair walked past in the same fashion. He was tempted to close in on them, to sink his teeth into their throats, to down their flesh and further spur his growth, but a qualm unsettled him. His new size and speed might have allowed for him to bring down both guards without taking injury from their weapons, were it only darker. As it stood, the combination of moon- and lantern-light would faze, disorient, and hinder him, throwing off his attack. He hated the odds and he hated them for it. A snarl built in his throat as he imagined darkness spreading from the trees to cover the village, absolute and endless. No, he would hold his position and wait for some other prey to reveal itself, unarmed and witless. The night had provided for him each time prior; shouldn’t it do so again?
Hours on, he was hungrier, much hungrier, and tired of the waiting. None made an appearance beyond the
watch-folk, who continued their circuit. When two of the guards made their next pass, the wolf crept nearer. The trees, the light, the night all fell away and he focused on them entirely. His tail whipped with excitement and drool rolled off his jaws. Oughtn’t he savor the taste or would he—
A branch-snap smashed through his concentration and yanked his gaze from the guards to two others creeping and searching through the underbrush. He let out a startled bark.
Hantle jerked with surprise at the sound. Beside him, Rounfil swung around the lantern he carried. Two golden dots reflected the light, disappearing briefly as the wolf blinked. The wolf!
“The, uh,” Hantle stammered. Yes, they had been scouring the wood’s edge for it, but he had not truly expected to find it. Plus, it was enormous, similar to one of the coastal brown bears. Around its throat the fur was stained dark but elsewhere it was off-white. When the surprise lessened, he hefted the musket to his shoulder and shouted out the side of his mouth, “Here! We got it over here!” hoping to attract the guards patrolling in the village’s clearing. There was just enough light to illuminate the creature as it looked from one pair of guards to the other. Just hold it. He cocked the hammer and took aim, but the canine came out of its stupor and bolted. Damnit. Swinging the barrel in an attempt to lead the wolf, he pulled the trigger. A cloud of smoke billowed forward and Hantle drove through it, eager to see the effect of his shot.
Initially, he could see nothing. Noises off to their side, however, drew his attention. The wolf popped into existence in a moonlit clearing before vanishing back into tree cover.
“Did the shot land?” he asked Rounfil, who slogged through a cluster of bushes.
“Eh, I think it struck a tree. Just up here.”
Within a few minutes, they found the musket ball embedded in the trunk of an oak. Hantle shook his head and ran a finger around the hole. “Terrible aim, wasn’t it?”
“Well”—Rounfil gave him a smile—“did you see how that thing took off?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “We did that much at least.”
Shec and Douth were to them, asking, “So what happened?”
“Ha,” Rounfil said. “He scared away the wolf is what happened.”
“Damn good job,” Douth said. “No doubt about it.”
Shec tipped her head toward the forest. “We heading after it then?”
It was not easy, but Hantle managed a “No.” As promised, he would take no undue risks. “We stick to Founsel and the forest’s edge. Goal tonight is that no one dies, us included.” A small bit of relief set in as they resumed their rounds. They had done something.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HANTLE HAD LITTLE MORE than drifted off when a knock came at the door. He hauled himself from his chair and opened the door to the midday sun. Crahul stood there, breathing heavily and tugging at a sideburn.
“I know, Hantle, you’ve searched twice for that wolf that’s attacked us. Plus, last night, you and your group kept it away.”
Something about his expression was off, but Hantle couldn’t pinpoint what. “Yessir, we ran it off. What of it?”
“A shepherd,” he said. “A shepherd is in my store saying he’s had a run in with the wolf. You’ll be wanting to hear his story, I think.”
Hantle nodded and slipped his boots on, injured foot feeling nearly normal. “How did he escape alive?”
“Not sure.” Crahul started toward the street. “I wanted to fetch a few others before he told the details. Who else should we round up?”
After the arrival of the quiet morning, most villagers had resumed their usual routines, meaning many were working out in the forest. “I see Rounfil sawing lumber. I can get him. Shec ought to be around. And someone else who is on hand, I guess?”
Shortly, they had gathered Shec from her smithy and Eayol from her nearby fields. The small crowd entered the Mercantile where the shepherd stood, holding an empty water glass.
“Here we all are.” Crahul gestured to the villagers behind him. “Oh, let me get you some more.” He took the shepherd’s glass and pulled a pitcher from under the counter to refill it.
Shec, her face dark with soot, said, “So you’ve come across the wolf, eh?”
The shepherd nodded and in a faraway voice said, “Ruined by a damn wolf. A damn huge wolf.”
Handing back the glass, Crahul said, “Now you’ll be telling us your story in full, I hope. Mister . . .”
“Breenstul. I’m Weith Breenstul.” He gulped half the glass, huffed a few times, and shook his head. “I can’t believe it. I really am ruined, flat out.” He did not seem to know how to continue.
To spur the man along, Hantle said, “You’ve been into Founsel before, haven’t you? I recognize your face.”
“Yes, I’ve come in before. My flock is in the Low Fields, just a few miles off.” Weith leaned against the counter at the back of the shop and the words tumbled out. “Last night, well after dark, I heard the sheep moving around. They don’t much stir after night’s fell, and it seemed strange. I poked my head from my little shack and couldn’t see much at first. Then the moon comes out from behind a cloud, right? I can see the pale fur of something. Then my sheep start running. I grab my musket and before I’m back out the sheep are bleating like mad. At first I thought it was a bear, but we’ve got no white bears here, right? I get a better glimpse and it’s the shape of a wolf: lean and long. But this thing is larger than any damn wolf I’ve ever seen. I mistook it for a bear because it was honestly the size of one. Shoulders would be about chest height on me.”
“I thought the same thing when I saw it,” Hantle said.
Weith was taken by surprise. “Wait, when did you see it?”
“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Hantle said. “You finish your story and then we’ll share ours.”
He nodded and went on. “Anyway, I got three sheepdogs. They do a fine job of herding. Quite protective, right? They hear the noises too and bolt straight out the shack. Ran up to that wolf, barking and growling and darting around. The wolf lets go of one of the sheep—mostly eaten now—and walks toward the dogs. Off to its side was another sheep it’d gotten its teeth into.
“That wolf lowers its head and steps closer to them. Teeth bared. I could see the moon shining off them. I raise my musket, but with the sheep running and the dogs, I couldn’t get any shot, right? I’ve had my largest dog, Sep, for the longest too. She’s ferocious when she wants, and she wasn’t taking anything from this wolf. She starts barking more fiercely, and inching in as she swings around. Wanted to go for the flank, right? It’s an instinct. The two other dogs aren’t as aggressive, but they’re barking their heads off too.
“Guess who sat right back on its haunches? That wolf. Lets up this deep, deep howl that scared me, all right. Sure gave the dogs a fright too. They got quiet for a minute and backed up some. I thought I’d have a shot, right, but then the wolf makes one swift motion and it’s got poor Sep in its jaws, shaking her about as it jerks its head from side to side. Sep there got torn to shreds. The other two dogs were barking again, but then got scared and took off. The sheep ran off together into the forest south of the fields.
“I saw what it did to my faithful Sep and stepped back into the shack, closed the door, and snuffed out my lantern. A shot from my musket would’ve only served to anger it. I don’t fancy being eaten like that either, right? Figured to lay low until it gets out.
“After waiting for however long, I end up falling asleep and woke up after the sun’s up. Quiet as can be in the fields out there. I poke my head out of my shack again and make sure the wolf is long gone. I go out to see the damage. There’s this huge tree standing naked in the field. Been dead as long as I had my flock there. Right up in the branches I see something. You’re not going to believe this, but it’s the heads and spines of eight of my sheep. Eight of them! Some of their wool is scattered about too, right, from the wolf’s eating them.
“There’s blood all over the ground, and then I see my two cow
ard dogs slinking toward me from the forest. Granted, I’m glad they didn’t get eaten too, but poor Sep was the best sheepdog I’ve ever seen. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I saw her body at all. After glimpsing all that mess, I made for the forest to look for my flock. I spent hours looking all over but they must have kept on running and running because I found none of them.
“Eventually, I decided to make my way to Founsel here, right? None of you owe me anything, I know that, but I am begging you to help me find my flock. Without them, I’m done for.” The shepherd’s eyes were wide with desperation, and he looked around the room.
Hantle stood quiet for a minute, processing the story.
Crahul was the first to move when he laid a hand on Weith’s shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll all do our best to help you. I’m thinking Founsel’s a good place. Right, all?” He turned to the rest.
“Aye,” Rounfil said, “we’ll look for your flock.”
“I’m astounded,” Hantle said, “you went unharmed.” He told of the wolf’s attacks on the village, how his sons and two others were killed. “Last night, we posted lanterns around the forest’s edge and kept a night watch. We came across the wolf lurking in the trees and chased it off.”
“Must have gone,” Rounfil said, “to the Low Fields afterward.”
“It seems that way, doesn’t it?” Weith nodded slowly.
Something else struck Hantle as odd. He said, “I first got a glimpse of the wolf two nights back. Decent size, sure, but nothing out of the ordinary. Nowhere near as large as it was last night.”
Weith huffed and tapped the countertop. “You mean it grew that much in a single night?”
“Doesn’t make sense”—Hantle shrugged—“but it must have. Liova was right, there’s something strange about this creature. First, its blatant aggression. Now, its rapid growth.”
“That mean we should expect it’ll be even bigger tonight?” Rounfil asked.
Hantle exhaled, shook his head, and said, “I suppose so.” This morning, he had been hopeful and excited because they had kept Founsel safe. Now, all the validation fell away. “We will do what we can to help find your flock, Weith. Unwittingly, we pushed the danger away from ourselves and on to you.”