The Boy, the Wolf, and the Stars

by Shivaun Plozza

  The man with the gold teeth and the lumps and bumps and the dancing eyes: Galvin. The man who owned the last wish in the land.

  Bo burst out from behind the trees and onto the side of the road. An old woman gasped at his sudden appearance, tugging back the small child trotting along the gravel beside her. “Get away with you!” she cried.

  But Bo was too preoccupied to worry. He weaved through the villagers, leaving the cries and whispers behind him, as he headed straight for the wish-seller at the back of the exodus.

  Galvin pushed a wheelbarrow in front of him, a large knotted bundle inside it.

  “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he said. He didn’t stop when Bo reached him, forcing Bo to jog alongside.

  “I need to buy your wish,” Bo said, already puffing. Nix was sniffing around the seller’s wheelbarrow, no doubt searching for rabbit.

  “Can’t,” Galvin said. Sweat was beading on his forehead. It wasn’t a hot day, but the effort of pushing the wheelbarrow at such speed was clearly affecting him.

  “Slow down,” said Bo. “I need to explain.”

  Galvin laughed meanly. He had no gold-toothed smiles for Bo today. “Slow down? Slow down? I was told not to come to this village, did you know? Full of Shadow Creatures, they told me. The people are primitive and mean-spirited, they said.” He laughed again, cold and rueful. “But did I listen?”

  Bo stumbled as his foot caught the edge of the barrow’s wheel. “Please slow down,” he said, panting. “I don’t have five hundred Raha but I’ve got twelve and I’ve got lots of things I can trade with you. Like rabbit-skin boots and three jars of pickled eel and . . .”

  “Save your breath,” said the man. With a sigh he stopped wheeling and turned to face Bo, his eyes slits of black as he squinted against the Light. He took forever to speak, content to stare at Bo, at every inch of him. Bo squirmed under the penetrating gaze before the man finally spoke.

  “You should leave,” he said. “It’s dangerous here. Shadow Creatures are increasing in number and straying into the half-Light.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Bo.

  The man snorted. “Says you, who knows nothing. A child was taken. Saw it with my own two eyes. Yesterday evening. Strayed too close to the shadows at half-Light and was snatched. All they’ve found were his shoes.”

  Though Bo had a hard time believing such claims, even the idea of Shadow Creatures in the half-Light was enough to fill him with fear, anxious thoughts burrowing like tree roots in his mind.

  Galvin leaned in close, his golden teeth glinting in the Light. “There are whispers an evil force is rallying the Shadow Creatures for an attack, to kill us all and take over the land. Some say it’s the Korahku but that’s just bad blood talking. I’d wager all my Raha it’s the Shadow Witch come back for her revenge. Never did believe she was dead. She’s too crafty for that.” He roughly poked a stubby finger against Bo’s shoulder, enough for Bo to wobble. Bo scowled as he swatted the Irin’s hand away. Galvin chuckled, low and Dark. “This isn’t a coincidence, child.” He bent closer, his wrinkled, weather-beaten face right in front of Bo’s. When he spoke, a wave of sour breath tickled Bo’s skin. “You mark my words, young Irin. Someone is controlling those beasts. And just think, if they can stray into the half-Light now, who’s telling what they’ll be able to do next?”

  Bo shuddered at such a thought but some part of him—a small, guilty part—was relieved. Ever since he discovered the decaying trees, his mind had been abuzz with horrible thoughts: What if he had set off a curse when he didn’t tend to the tree in time? What if all of it—the wolf and the trees and the rise in Shadow Creatures—was his fault?

  What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?

  But what Galvin said eased the knot of guilt in Bo’s chest. If it was the Shadow Witch, then it had nothing to do with him—it was just a coincidence it all started when he let the old tree die. And Mads had talked about the Shadow Witch too, so it must be true.

  But did that mean his last words about finding the Stars were true too?

  “Is that why everyone is leaving?” Bo asked. He glanced back toward the village. There was no one on the road behind them yet but he guessed there would be soon enough.

  “Not all of them. But many. And when the rest of them see sense they’ll leave as well. This place is too dangerous now.” Galvin shook his head as he grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow again. “You best be going yourself,” he said, and took off, hunched over his bundle of goods.

  Bo gave chase. “But I need the wish first.”

  Galvin shook his head again. “Sold it. This morning. On my way out of town. Some traveler who paid me double the price. Ha!”

  Bo stopped dead in his tracks, his heart in his throat. “Sold it?”

  Galvin paused. His shoulders rose and fell heavily with a sigh. “Listen. Best I can do is sell you a spirit charm.”

  Bo was hardly listening. The wish had been sold! All Bo’s hopes—however small and fluttering they had been—floated away on the wind like ash. If there was no wish, there was no saving Mads, no going back to the way things were before.

  “Only cost you eight . . . eh, nine Raha,” said Galvin. “It’ll keep you safe from all manner of lesser spirits: fairies, pixies, water sprites, and the like.”

  Bo shook his head. “Fairies? Pixies? Water sprites? Am I likely to run into any of them?”

  “Oh yes,” said Galvin. He dug through his sack until he pulled out a small vial of blue liquid. “All the time if you’re not careful. Nasty things. Not likely to kill you but will happily bite off a finger or two when you’re not looking.”

  “But I really needed that wish,” said Bo, voice cracking.

  Galvin held out the vial. “This is much better for a young fellow such as yourself. Far more useful. Take it, take it. Only cost you nine, eh, ten Raha.”

  Bo dug into his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins. He started to count before Galvin swiped his palm clean. “That’ll do,” he said, shoving the vial into Bo’s empty hand.

  Before Bo could protest, Galvin had grabbed hold of the wheelbarrow and was pushing away from him. “If you come across a particularly nasty creature,” he called over his shoulder, “throw the vial at its feet and chant, ‘Be gone! Be gone! Be gone!’ and you’ll be safe.”

  Bo stood rooted to the spot, eyes on the little vial in his palm. Safe? he thought. Without the wish, without Mads, Bo didn’t know if safe was possible.

  Chapter Five

  Bo stood on the outskirts of the village watching smoke pour from the nearest chimney; it looked like a dragon clawing at the sky.

  “Come on, Nix,” said Bo. The fox growled, sniffing the air. Bo sighed. “I know but we don’t have a choice. Can’t stay in the forest because the wolf knows to find us there.”

  Having briefly returned to the hut to dump his items for bartering and fill his rucksack with candles, matches, food, and water, Bo hitched the bag over his shoulder and started walking, Nix chasing his feet. As they trudged the path into the village, Light warmed Bo’s skin but a sharpness in the air whispered of the approaching Sorrow Season, when the sky would do nothing but weep for weeks and weeks. Bo’s stomach churned as he thought of the home he was leaving behind.

  “Don’t worry,” Bo said to Nix, trying to keep his voice cheerful for his friend. “We’ll find somewhere in the village to stay and everything will be all right. Nothing to worry about.”

  Nix barked.

  “I know Mads said not to go to the village but what choice do we have? We need somewhere to stay before it gets Dark.” Finding shelter was the only thing Bo was certain of. He would find somewhere safe from vengeful wolves and Shadow Creatures and then . . . and then . . . and then he’d work out what to do next later.

  As the first hut loomed before them, Bo tugged at his hood—without Mads by his side he felt thankful for the oversized cloak and the protection it afforded him. The village was silent, window shutters and doors
locked tight; only the wind played in the street.

  A low growl of unease rumbled from Nix.

  “I know,” said Bo. He lifted his chin to the Light, high in the center of the sky. “Should be bursting with people by now. Maybe more have left than Galvin said . . .”

  It wasn’t until they had passed several rows of houses that Bo began to notice the scratches. Every wall and every door had been clawed by Shadow Creatures. It hadn’t been like that yesterday. No wonder the villagers were leaving. Bo tried not to let Nix see him trembling.

  “Stay clear of the shadows,” said Bo just in case.

  The first sign of life was the Innkeeper’s dog, a raw-boned beast with russet fur, tied to a post outside the inn. Nix bristled.

  “Easy,” said Bo.

  The dog jerked his head at the sound of Bo’s voice. He was an ugly beast; half his left ear had been torn clean off, and his fangs stuck out even when his mouth was closed.

  Bo edged back—“Nice dog, good dog”—but the dog charged, spitting saliva as he barked. Bo tripped over his own feet trying to run away and fell with a thud on his behind. Luckily, the chain pulled taut and the dog choked to a halt just out of reach.

  “Serves you right,” said Bo, climbing to his feet and dusting himself off.

  The dog strained against the leash and barked.

  “Woof, woof, yourself.”

  The door to the inn swung open and the flush-faced Innkeeper clomped outside. “Quit your racket, you useless beast,” he snarled, failing to notice Bo.

  The Innkeeper had a habit of chewing tar-bark, which he’d spit on the ground in sticky globules; it stained his teeth black. The strings of his grimy apron looped several times around his stout frame, and his thinning hair was slicked across his scalp in weedy, silver tendrils. His pockmarked skin was the color of a slapped pig’s hind.

  Bo shrank back, trying to stay out of view. But the Innkeeper finally caught sight of him. His cheeks puffed and he turned a deeper shade of red.

  “You! Devil-child! Come to set more Shadow Creatures on us, have you?” He grabbed a broom and poked it at Bo.

  Bo stumbled back, rucksack rattling. “What are you on about?”

  “Why d’you think this whole village is locked up tight? There were hundreds of Shadow Creatures roaming the village last night, scratching at doors. Why, Lucky Karl lost all his pigs!”

  Bo couldn’t care less if Lucky Karl’s pigs had grown beards and done a jig, but he bit his tongue. “Always Shadow Creatures about,” he said, but he knew the Innkeeper was right: Bo had heard the Shadow Creatures himself and had seen the claw marks. Galvin’s warnings made more and more sense.

  “People are scared out of their wits and half of them are leaving, scurrying with their tails between their legs to the Un-King. Who am I going to sell my beer to now, hey? You’ve cost me my livelihood.” The Innkeeper stomped to the edge of the porch. “Away with you and your curse. Back to your forest and that Devil-man you live with.”

  Nix pawed at the ground, growling.

  Bo opened his mouth but no words came out; the words had scattered, hidden, vanished. Like Star-children.

  A thick globule of tar-bark splattered at Bo’s feet. “Where is your master, anyway?” sneered the Innkeeper. “I’ll have him locked in the Fuglebur for letting his Devil-spawn run wild in our streets.”

  Bo sucked down his grief; it burned his throat raw. “Mads is dead,” he said, eyes on the splatter at his feet. “A wolf got him.”

  The Innkeeper stumbled back, shoulder crashing into the doorframe. “D-did you say w-wolf?”

  “And it’s after me, too, so—”

  “You brought a wolf here? To the village?”

  “But it’s Light,” argued Bo. Nix edged in front of Bo’s shins, baring his teeth at the Innkeeper. “A wolf can’t—”

  The Innkeeper wailed and swung the broom. “You’ve brought a curse on us!”

  Bo ducked as the broom went whoosh over his head. The Innkeeper swung again and again until Nix charged at him, biting down on his calf.

  The Innkeeper howled. “Get this beast off me! I’ll have you strung up!” The Innkeeper shook his leg, trying to dislodge Nix. “I’ll set my dog on you both!”

  As if hearing his master’s threat, the dog reared, straining against the chain with hunger in his eyes. The Innkeeper struck at Nix with the broom. “I’ll get you, you Devil-creature!”

  “Leave him alone!” Bo swung his rucksack. The heavy pack connected with the Innkeeper’s chin and he tumbled backwards. Nix finally let go; blood stained the white fur around his mouth.

  “Come on, Nix!” shouted Bo.

  They turned and ran, the pearly white huts blurring as Bo and Nix sped down the street.

  “Nowhere to run, Devil-child!” called the Innkeeper, struggling to his feet. “You’ve no Mads to save you now. I’ll have you strung up in the Fuglebur—see if you can escape the Shadow Creatures then!”

  Bo and Nix hurried through the winding streets, circling closer and closer to the center of the village and the market square. More shouts joined the Innkeeper’s. They’d have the whole village after them soon. Not to mention the Innkeeper’s dog.

  And then Bo saw a hedge of sneezewort, thick and tall and dense. Mads grew the foul-smelling shrub around their hut: Keeps all manner of beasts and nasties away, he used to say.

  “Quick,” said Bo. “Behind here.” He didn’t know if sneezewort kept dogs away but it was the only chance he had.

  Bo squeezed through a break in the hedge, grabbing a handful of the small white flowers as he did so. Behind the hedge was a narrow yard filled with junk. Bo scurried into the gap between a wood heap and a broken old cart. Nix squished in behind, the pair of them pressed tightly into the hidden corner. Bo rubbed the flowers all over his skin and clothes; Nix whimpered as Bo rubbed the flowers over his fur, too.

  They froze as heavy boots pounded past the hedge, villagers shouting: This way, that way. The Devil-child ran through here! Legs flickered between the slats of wood; the Innkeeper’s dog barked but didn’t come close.

  Bo wrapped his arms around Nix.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.” He should have heeded Mads’s warning, should have known he’d find no help in this village.

  Nix licked Bo’s forearm.

  “When it’s safe, we’ll go. We’ll find somewhere before Dark. I promise.”

  After the shouting died down, Bo crawled to the end of the heap, and through a gap he saw the market square; it was deserted.

  “We’ll spend the night in the stables,” said Bo, squinting at the mishmash of huts on the other side of the square. “I don’t think they’ll find us there. We’ll grab more sneezewort and wrap ourselves in it.” Bo pointed. “We make a run for the fountain in the middle first. There? See?” To the right of the fountain, a pole stretched into the sky, and from the very top hung an iron cage, creaking and groaning in the breeze: the Fuglebur.

  For prisoners, Mads had told him the first time Bo saw it. Not little boys who live in forests.

  The cage was empty, as it had been every time Bo peeked at it on his way into market—Mads said Squall’s End was too far from everywhere else to be worried about enemies. There was just a pile of rags littered on the floor of the cage, as far as Bo could see from where he was crouched.

  “We hide behind the fountain wall,” Bo said, “and when we’re sure there’s no one around, we cross to the stables. There, see?”

  Bo edged out from his hiding place, heart in his throat. But no one came running; the square was empty. “Don’t wait for me, Nix. Run to the fountain and don’t stop.”

  Bo sprang to his feet and pushed off, arms pumping and head down as he made for the base of the fountain. Nix ran ahead, looking back to make sure Bo was still behind him.

  Bo skidded to a halt at the fountain and crouched, Nix at his feet. They listened for footsteps, for barking, for the shouts of angry villagers.


  Nothing.

  “You ready, Nix?” he whispered. “We’ll be safe as soon as we get inside the stables.”

  “I would not be so sure of that,” said an unexpected voice.

  A zap of fear shot through Bo as he swung around. But there was no one behind him. His heart beat wildly.

  “Up here,” said the voice.

  Bo craned his neck and found a pair of beady black eyes looking down at him from the Fuglebur. The eyes were attached to a feathered head with a thick, curved beak poking between the bars of the cage. The disheveled creature wrapped two large hands around the bars and heaved herself upright.

  Bo gasped.

  It was a Korahku.

  The True Histories of Ulv, Vol. XII

  The Irin-Korahku War

  The Irin and Korahku’s hatred for each other is not just because the Korahku think the Irin are a primitive, piglike people or because the Irin believe the Korahku to be Devil-worshiping bird-beasts. Oh no, it is much deeper than name-calling and superstition.

  It all started with an egg.

  Five hundred years ago, a convoy of Irin royalty visited the great sky nests of Korak to forge stronger ties between the two provinces. At the welcome feast, a Korahku delicacy was served: stunklopog. (This is the egg of a kroklops—a large, one-eyed dragon-worm—buried in soft, peaty earth until rotten, whence it is dug up, boiled, shelled, pickled, rolled in a crust of fish scales and salt, and then served at room temperature. It is, shall we say, an acquired taste.)

  To turn down a plate of stunklopog is the highest insult in Korahku custom, so when the Irin royal family refused to eat it on the grounds that it was “repulsive,” they were swiftly and thoroughly beheaded.

  Thus began the Irin-Korahku War, a war that rages to this day, and should an Irin and a Korahku come face-to-face, well . . . it’s best they don’t.

  Chapter Six

  Bo shuffled back, heart pounding like an axe against wood as the part-bird, part-woman stared down at him. His mouth was dry, his tongue sluggish and unwieldy as he tried to say . . . well, he didn’t know what to say.