by Tracy Falbe
She nodded.
Scratching the back of his neck, he sat back down, muttering about parties.
“May I begin looking for a governess?” she pressed.
“I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Knowing his attendance to the task would be purposefully lethargic, she quickly rejoined, “It’s best I see to it, Sir.”
“It’s best?” he challenged.
Stout as the New Tower gate, her attitude deflected his disapproval. “I know what the boys need when it comes to their nurturing,” she said.
Martin grumbled but declined to argue. She took the wave of his hand to mean consent.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said.
“Off to bed with you. Not going to get a husband with circles under your eyes are you?” he said.
Her step was lighter as she headed for the stairs. She was proud of herself for confronting Martin, who had surely meant to leave her in bondage to his sons while her dowry remained in his care. She was not overly concerned about his desire to gain influence by marrying her off. It only meant that she might gain an affluent husband, but most importantly she could move on with her life and gain her own home and not live as a shadow of her mother.
Chapter 4. Fire in the Night
The forest was different now that Thal was a man. He stubbed his toes and seemed to snap every twig. His noisy blundering alarmed him. He had to learn how to move again.
When he reached a ridge that overlooked rolling lowlands, he judged that he was far enough away from the den to prevent polluting the pups. Thal recognized where he was, but the colors were intense through a man’s eyes. Many shades of green unfolded before him, revealing shifts in vegetation as the forest descended from the highlands. Sunlight danced happily on rushing white waterfalls that glided like living glass down smooth black steps.
The visual bombardment stimulated his mind in ways that it had not felt for a long time. Memories colored like this world flitted through his thoughts but made little sense.
Thal sat in the shadow of a tree, knowing the patch of darkness would hide him. Habitually he sniffed the air. At least his nose was responding normally and that was a comfort. No people were in this remote forest uncrossed by roads.
Idly he stroked the wolf fur that he was sitting on. Recognizing his name in the letters had opened a door in his mind. He considered looking inside. Perhaps if he could remember his past, then he would know why he had so unexpectedly become a man.
Thal looked at his body. His feet were dirty. His ankles scratched. His nakedness bothered him. He supposed he should tie the fur around his loins when he continued.
Where was he going? He did not want to go anywhere. He wanted to guide his pack and provide for his mate and pups. Those straightforward duties had kept him content for a long time. With sudden hope, Thal considered going back. He could find a way to help the pack. He flexed his hands and recalled that he could use them to make things like spears. Then he could hunt.
But his mate had not wanted him in this state, and there was no undoing her rejection. An alpha did not err in her judgment. He must have faith that his pack could go on without him. He had shared his deep knowledge of this forest and raised them well.
Thal wondered how long he had hunted throughout these mountains. He had never wondered such a thing before. Perhaps wanting to put a number to something was how a man thought. Many seasons had passed. Hard winters and milder ones. Welcoming springs with delicate flowers. Bounteous summers and leaner ones. Autumns of rutting deer and colorful leaves falling.
After thinking about the wolves he had guided and raised to maturity and of the mates that had come and gone, he tried to remember who had raised him.
He contemplated his origin for a long time. Birds sang their songs many times while he stroked his fur or played with his fingers. Slowly a woman emerged from his memory. She had a striking face and a prominent nose that managed to be magnificently beautiful in its boldness. Her hair was light brown and her eyes blue. She smiled to him and stroked his cheek with rough fingers that knew hard work.
Mother. He was sure of it as soon as he dubbed her thus. A very natural longing for her consumed him, but her name eluded him.
He struggled to recall his father. As he delved for this memory, his body tensed like he was in danger. Gradually Thal recognized that he was not afraid of some memory of abuse but rather of immense respect. Apparently his father had been a man who made even a leader among wolves cautious.
Unfolding a flap of his fur, he peeked at the letters. A vision of a strong man with a shaven head writing the letters in blood slammed into Thal. He gasped and jumped up. He could almost hear again his father chanting words while carefully inscribing his spell.
He wanted to flee and leave the strange old fur in that lonely spot. But the ragged old hide suddenly became shiny and fluffy. Its silvery sheen with tones of brown pulled at his heart. He could not leave this thing behind. Its renewal forced him to covet it.
Rushing back to the fur, he clutched it lovingly to his chest. Its softness brushed him reassuringly, like snuggling with mates in a warm den. His heart was racing, but gradually the thudding subsided and he was comforted by his decision to keep the fur. It was his only connection to his perfect wolf state.
With his decision made, he examined its lettering. The symbols arranged in straight lines tugged at his thoughts, but the system was so wildly alien that comprehension remained mired in a morass of forgetfulness.
When he looked across the landscape again, the sun was sinking. Thal was startled to realize that he had been so absorbed in the writing that he had neglected to check his surroundings. He rubbed his temple. His head hurt and he was exhausted.
Moving off the ridge, he sought a place to rest. He tied his fur around his hips to alleviate his nakedness. Places that seemed like good spots to sleep soon proved wholly inadequate to his new form. The wind was kicking up with the promise of a cold night. Gradually he realized that he could fashion a shelter. He broke off pine boughs and propped them up into a little conical tent. Rather pleased with the result, he curled up inside. He sniffed the air and was reassured by the absence of people, but a whiff of his pack cracked his broken heart more deeply.
He wanted to return to his wolf kin, but his transformed life demanded that he take another trail. Thal knew how to move on. He had done it before. In times past he had slipped away so that a maturing wolf could rise to a rightful place as alpha. And when mates had faded away, their ferocious glory undermined by the passing of too many seasons, Thal had known that it was time to hunt alone again.
Why he had not aged he did not know. Touching his face, he tried to judge if he was old. Smooth skin seemed to indicate youth. Stubble on his chin made him hope that his fur was growing back.
Deep exhaustion hauled him into a slumber of vivid dreams. Men, women, children, buildings, fields, tools, songs, bells, fences, gates, carts, oxen, the clang of a smithy, and all manner of civilized sights roiled out of his hidden memories like a pot of soup boiling over. Then he was on a forest path. He preferred its mossy scent. The trees loomed larger when he entered an ancient grove. A man was in front of a fire with his back to Thal. When he turned, his dark dilated eyes were stark upon his white face. His head was shaven.
Thal struggled to ask him questions, but the singing soul of the night interrupted his dream. He opened his eyes. Howling serenaded the stars. His pack was lamenting his loss. The operatic grandeur made him forget any meaning he might have extracted from his dream.
A new born crescent moon hung in the sky like an eye just cracking open from a heavy sleep. Perhaps as the days passed more memories would illuminate his mind.
Forcing himself not to cry, he listened to the howling. The exquisite expression of his pack mates’ affection for him told him that he had been a good and dutiful wolf. When the howling stopped, he resigned himself to an unknown future and fell asleep.
In the morning rumbling hunger rumbled
in his belly and sparked his interest in hunting. At least his manhood had not robbed him of that natural urge. He returned to the ridge and walked to the waterfall. After quenching his thirst, he followed the winding stream down the mountain. When he saw fish, he contemplated how to catch them. He knew from experience that nabbing a fish with his snout from rushing water was possible but not easy. He looked at his hands and wondered if he could grab one. He decided that his hunger was not yet sufficient to spend time getting cold and wet on a potentially fruitless task.
All day he hiked. The day warmed pleasantly. Bumble bees cruised the young flowers. Susliks rummaged in leaf litter seeking nuts and seeds. Thal eyed them out of habit even though he knew better than to try catching one.
Taking a break, he settled among some tall dead weeds. Keeping still, he soaked up the sunshine. Its hotness on his bare skin felt strange but he liked it. He let his mind flow with the surroundings until the scent of deer focused his senses.
Across the stream a doe and her toddling fawn emerged from cover. His mouth watered at the sight of white spots on a red coat. The doe sipped from the stream and looked around. When she moved along the bank, the fawn floundered in the muddy edge. Thal leaned forward as he observed its shaky struggle to pull its tiny hoof free.
Before his excitement deepened, Thal considered the impracticality of trying to slay the fawn. He touched his teeth. Their bluntness seemed almost useless. How was he supposed to kill?
Men use tools, he told himself. They had tools for everything, especially killing. I need to find men, he decided.
After the doe and fawn disappeared, Thal hiked onward. The land flattened and the stream slowed down until it was entirely lazy. The forest grew wetter until the trees gave way to bog. His bare feet squished into the peat, and dark water squirted between his toes. After only a few steps he knew that he did not want to cross the matted vegetation that would likely give way to sucking mud. He glanced around and saw where the forest grew past the bog. He spent the rest of the day hiking around the bog.
Once he was past the wetland, he found another stream and followed it down the next drop in elevation. At the end of the exhausting day, he broke from the forest into a pasture land. Only patches of woods remained, and sheep and cattle dotted the hillsides. Men would be close to their livestock. Thal had long known not to hunt in these grounds, no matter how tempting. To kill here invited the wrath of men who would slaughter a whole family over the loss of a few lambs.
On the horizon he discerned a hill with walls encasing large blocky buildings. A pointy tower rose above them. The sinking sun splashed the old stone complex with rosy light.
Mindful to keep himself hidden, he waited for dusk before hiking across the open land. As night fell, his eyes continued to serve him well. The land dipped again and he walked down wooded slopes. He could smell water in the vale. The mountain streams were gathering into a river. The scent of smoke and people made him draw up next to a big tree.
He needed to gather his courage. When he was ready he started through the trees quietly. Thal had quickly gained some skill during his long hike and was no longer blundering noisily.
Orange firelight pierced the darkness. Mixed emotions assailed him upon seeing the hot fire. To an animal it meant danger, but to a man alone in the dark, it meant safety.
Closer to the firelight he heard voices. The sounds were bizarre and unlike the languages of the many creatures he knew so well. The jumble of sounds produced a hopeless complexity that made his heard hurt. Thal crept closer and spent more time listening. Three men were around the fire.
Carefully he analyzed what he smelled. There was food, cooked and mixed up. The pain of his long fast worsened and gave him more courage to proceed. Being especially quiet, he advanced. A larger camp with wagons and livestock sprawled along the river beyond the three men.
He considered how to avoid alarming the trio. He moved his mouth, attempting to smile. Although it felt strange, he was sure that this was the signal not to fight, even if it felt like a snarl.
An outburst of laughter among the men excited him. He remembered that laughter was a good thing.
He was very close to them now but darkness still concealed him. The fire made him squint and he waited for his eyes to adjust.
A dog rushed out, barking fiercely. Thal looked down at the relatively small canine with small teeth and short legs. Abruptly the dog ceased barking and backed away but a deep growl of animosity persisted.
“What have you got out there?” a man asked.
The dog snarled with a surprisingly sinister note, and the man took it seriously.
“Bless our asses, it’s something big,” he gasped.
Thal entered the firelight and smiled or hoped that he was smiling. He held out his hands, trying to enhance his friendliness.
The men cried out in collective terror. The dog started barking again and charged. Instinctively Thal stepped toward the brave little dog and growled back. His natural ferocity flashed from his eyes, and the dog retreated with a yipe.
In a panic the men jumped up. One reached for a branch sticking out of the fire and swung the brand at Thal. He dodged it and jumped closer.
A second man pulled a long hunting knife. The polished blade flashed in the firelight.
The knife-wielding man yelled and waved his weapon. Thal sidestepped away. Although menaced by fire and iron, he struggled to communicate. A few garbled sounds came from his throat.
While Thal was held at bay, the third man who was noticeably fatter than his companions stumbled backward until his rump hit his wagon. He had a hefty pistol and was ramming the ammunition into the barrel and fumbling shakily with the wheel lock.
The stinging smell of gunpowder blazed across Thal’s mind. He realized that the man had a killing tool. Thal had to assert himself. Trying not to hurt anyone he slipped around the slashing knife and grabbed the man’s arm and tossed him forward. Then he spun and avoided the hot impact of the burning stick and knocked it from that man’s hand.
The third man was raising the pistol when Thal reached him. The man’s eyes were wide, and Thal thrust his potent gaze into those circles of fear. Power surged into his spirit and sapped his opponent of the ability to function. In that timeless moment of inflicted paralysis, Thal seized the pistol barrel and angled it upward. It discharged with an awful noise and blast of smoke. The man threw up his hands. Thal yanked the pistol into his possession and stepped away.
Everything had happened very fast, but already a yelling and barking horde descended on him. He had to find a way to communicate his peaceful intentions. Submission did not come easily to him, but he was just a naked hungry man with nothing. He was not the leader of this pack.
Thal went to his knees and set the pistol in the dirt. The little dog rushed him again, yapping victoriously, but one low growl from Thal made the dog rethink its desire to gloat. It dropped back to its pudgy master’s heels.
Men and women rushed up. Their dogs encircled Thal. His wild eyes darted among the barking jaws but none of them tried to bite.
“Oh! It’s just a young man. He’s naked,” cried a woman who pushed to the front.
The man with the knife threatened Thal again and yelled, “Be off with you crazy wild man!”
“Hush, Petro, he means no harm,” the woman argued.
Latching on to her sympathy, Thal looked at her earnestly. Her dark skin was lined and her round face was friendly. Gray streaked her dark hair. A colorful and patched shawl wrapped her broad shoulders.
More people pressed closer. From the back rows children squealed for information. Men yelled at dogs to be quiet and pulled them back. More weapons were brandished. Thal cringed lower.
A man with long hair, a leather hat, and a cloak embroidered with fish and vines arrived.
“How many are there?” he asked.
The fat man answered, “Just this one. He appeared like a ghost.”
“Get your pistol,” the long haired man snapp
ed when he saw it in the dirt.
Reluctantly the fat man stooped in front of Thal. He snatched the pistol and scurried back.
“He doesn’t seem violent,” the long haired man observed. He motioned for the others to lower their weapons.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Thal hung his head in frustrated silence.
The people began asking more questions.
“Where did he come from?”
“What people have hair like that?”
“Do you suppose he’s an escaped prisoner?”
That suggestion caught the leader’s attention. “All the more reason that we should show him kindness,” he said and he received a few agreeable chuckles.
“Yes, be kind to him,” said the woman with the patchy shawl.
The leader took off his nice cloak and approached Thal. The fluttering of the voluminous cloak made Thal nervous. It seemed like a net was about to be thrown over him, but he sensed no malice in the man.
When the fabric settled over Thal’s back, the covering was unexpectedly pleasing. A man had so little to separate him from a harsh world, and clothing was a welcome gift.
The camp leader put his hands on Thal’s shoulders and drew him to his feet. Strength and confidence were in the man’s grip, and Thal met his eyes.
“We won’t hurt you,” the leader said, and Thal did not doubt his sincerely. He tried to respond, but words still eluded him.
The woman came to Thal.
“I’ll take him to my wagon,” she said. “Poor creature, whatever could have happened to him? Not in all my days have I seen one such as you appear in the night.”
She prattled on about her experience with wanderers and fugitives as she led him away. Her motherliness comforted Thal. The leader kept a hand on his shoulder probably in case he became dangerous, but Thal was glad of the contact. With the swarm of people around him, his sense of humanity was rushing back.