Fear the Wolf Read online

  “Right from the start, you presumed too much.”

  The voice entered my mind directly, just like the Wolf’s had when I first left my village. The sound pierced my head from all directions at once. It was my mother’s voice, but it also wasn’t; it had a hollow ring to it, and every word came as a hiss.

  “Right from the start, you presumed too much,” the Fox repeated.

  Hearing Mother’s final words again ripped my heart wide open. The Fox couldn’t have heard what Mother had said to me while she lay dying in my arms. The beast had dashed off after killing her.

  Somehow, the Fox was inside of my head.

  A husky voice came then, the deep tones of my dead friend Bandurk. “So, I weren’t good enough for you? No? Well, now look. I died ’cause of you. My parents died ’cause of you. We all died ’cause of you.” Again, it sounded so much like Bandurk, except the voice was wetter and echoed faintly.

  I flinched and shook my head desperately. I nearly responded, “No, Bandurk, no. You were perfect, but you weren’t the one I loved.” But I managed to restrain myself. And I quelled my rising shame.

  I’d been watching the Fox’s eyes closely. There was just enough light in the cavern to see the outline of his face and ears too. The beast’s mouth stayed shut while he spoke, but occasionally, a snake-like tongue whipped out and back in with a wet slurp. The same sibilant sound tinged the voices that assaulted my mind.

  “Your petty tricks won’t work,” I said. “Face me already!”

  For a moment, there were only the sounds of the torch’s flickering flames and my tense breathing.

  The Fox blinked. Then he leapt from the shadows.

  He didn’t go straight for me but to my left. His teeth and claws flashed in the corner of my vision as I tried to bat him away with my shield. I wasn’t prepared for the impact, so I stumbled backward.

  Regaining my footing, I spun toward where the Fox should have landed. But he had darted down a tunnel already; I didn’t so much as glimpse his tail. I listened to his scurrying feet echoing out from the hole he must have gone down. I eased closer, sword ready.

  Another disembodied voice slipped through my ears: Aldan’s. “Senla don’t care about me, does she? She just wants rid of me. Senla’s gonna get me killed. We won’t never reach a village that’s got good people. Everyone’s dead because of Senla.”

  “Get out of my head, beast!”

  Noises came from behind. I barely turned in time to defend myself. With a loud rip, the Fox tore the back of my tunic. But I felt no pain; my flesh had escaped his claws. This time.

  Again, the beast dashed down a hole and out of sight.

  “No,” I said through a sigh, beginning to feel hopeless. The Fox had gone down one tunnel and emerged from another. This place was a labyrinth, a warren of burrows, some joining up elsewhere and leading back to this chamber.

  Panic took me. The Fox could attack from any direction he chose, and I had no way of guessing where he would strike next.

  Did I?

  Urging myself to calm down, I prepared to defend myself from every angle.

  Then a warped version of Illus’s voice crowded my mind. “I did not intend to save you. If you had failed my test, I would have left you to the nomads. I care not at all what they wished to do to you. I would have let you die.”

  I was going insane. Taker’s lecherous, drooping face struck my vision repeatedly. Was the Fox forcing these images into my head, or was the incident with the nomads just too fresh? Would any reminder evoke these awful flashes? Whatever the case, the Fox’s last taunt had unnerved me.

  Because I heard the truth in it.

  Illus would have left me to die. I knew that instinctively. But, of course, the Fox wanted me to believe that. He was preying on my innermost fears, using them against me.

  And it was working.

  Lost in thought, I dodged too slowly again. The Fox came close enough to whip my face with its forked tongue as it flew past. A sticky glob of saliva hung from my cheek. Without hesitation, I wiped it off using my shoulder, afraid the white sickness could travel through spittle.

  The Fox skittered down another black hole. I saw it this time and willed myself to remember. I was beginning to sense a pattern.

  Next came Reni’s voice. “You were never enough for me. You know that, don’t you? I didn’t agree to be coupled with Yarrun because it was expected of me. I just wanted to.”

  My eyes stung at the sound of her voice. It felt so good to hear her speaking again that, for a moment, I forgot it wasn’t really her. I didn’t care what she’d said. And I cared less that underneath her familiar, confident voice lay the tainted tinge of the Fox’s influence.

  “No!” I yelled.

  I tried to shake all thoughts of Reni from my mind. Each twisted impersonation weakened my will more than the last one. They wore me down mentally while all the dodging, twisting, and crouching fatigued my body.

  Panting in the muggy, fetid air, I twisted in the direction I guessed the beast would come from next.

  I guessed wrong.

  The Fox bashed into me, knocking my sword from my hand. I swiveled and smacked the Fox with my shield. He yelped and flew down another hole. When I turned to find my sword—Reni’s sword—it was too late. The weapon fell into a small burrow, rattling noisily as it slid into darkness.

  “No … no!” I got on my knees and reached into the burrow, but my hands found only dirt, and the hole was too narrow for me to crawl inside.

  The sword, like Reni, was lost to me forever.

  But I had no time for sorrow. I got to my feet, shook off the dirt, and pulled my shield to my chest.

  Before losing my weapon, I’d glimpsed which burrow the Fox went down. I’d seen him use this one before. Assuming every tunnel wasn’t connected to almost every other one, I had a good idea of which hole the beast would leap from next. I hoped.

  My mother’s voice returned. “I never loved you. You were nothing but a burden to me and your father. An unwanted baby born in the middle of the longest, coldest winter in a dozen cycles. You chose that day of arrival, didn’t you? You chose it to make the treacherous season even harder for us to weather. Selfish, right from the start.”

  Then more taunts from Bandurk, Aldan, Illus, Reni, and my mother again. On and on, the voices went, besieging me until all together they chanted, “You’re not like other people. You’ll never belong. You’ll never be loved.”

  It repeated in my mind. Growing louder. And louder. I thought my head would burst from the pressure. I wanted to cover my ears or do anything to drown out the cruel chanting, but I had to be ready for the Fox’s next attack.

  The only way to silence the voices was to fight back with one of my own. Embrace my worthiness, I thought desperately. But even to me, it sounded weak against the din of the Fox’s taunts. Now, shouting in my mind, I thought, Embrace my worthiness!

  I pushed back with this mantra until it was loud enough to overpower the chorus in my head. Invigorated, I said aloud, “You’re not real. I don’t believe you. I do belong.”

  The voices fell silent. Everything did. The silence came so suddenly that all my senses awakened. Facing the direction I was betting everything on, I closed my eyes to take full advantage of my hearing. I listened out. Ready. And when the sounds came—a quick scraping noise and the swish of air—I reached into my pocket for my secret weapon. I sidestepped the Fox as he pounced, plunging the black spike into his side with enough force to leave the paralyzer jammed between his ribs.

  The Fox dropped.

  And as the poison took effect, the Fox staggered toward the nearest burrow to escape. I ran over and bashed him with my shield. Unable to get back up, the beast lay on his side. His white underbelly moved up and down, rising and falling slower with each breath.

  I puffed out my cheeks and sighed. It had worked. I had wanted to save the paralyzer for the Wolf, but I wasn’t a complete fool. Without Illus noticing, I’d slipped the black spike into m
y pocket before setting off for the Fox’s den. Illus had wanted me to prove my skills with a sword, but after being attacked by nomads, I’d learned that part of being a good fighter was being smart. Or devious, even. Having a backup weapon was never a bad idea.

  The Fox’s only visible eye swiveled to lock onto me. I expected the chorus of cruel voices to fill my mind again—perhaps they would try to manipulate me into sparing the beast’s life—but they didn’t come.

  Covering my face, I turned away from the Fox’s pitiful gaze. The white sickness pulsed in his eyes. How long would the paralysis last on a Wild Force? Did I have time to leave and come back with a sharp blade, so I could offer the beast a clean death? That would be more than he deserved after killing my mother.

  I groaned, knowing what I had to do. I grabbed my shield on both sides, raising it above my head, and closed my eyes to whisper, “I love you, Mother, no matter what you thought of me.”

  I slammed the shield into the Fox’s skull. A wet crunch twisted my stomach and brought warm, sickly saliva to my mouth. Not wanting to see what I’d done, I slowly opened my eyes.

  I launched backward. It was hard to see in the low light, but the Fox’s blood looked pale pink instead of red. Strings of white liquid slithered out from the crushed skull, seeping into the ground. Was I imagining it or were the glowing streaks slowly moving through the earth?

  Toward me. Toward a new host.

  I stamped as if I could crush the parasites, but the mud still pulsed with their light. As fast as I could, I retrieved my torch and tried to remember which tunnel I’d come from. I moved about, gazing at the many burrows, repositioning myself until my surroundings felt familiar. Yes. The chamber had looked like this when I’d entered.

  I turned and left, all too aware of the luminous parasites creeping toward me. Crouching, I fumbled through darkness, guided only by the waning light of my torch. But at last, I saw daylight.

  36

  A gentle rain fell as I stumbled through the alley of trees. It pattered on the leaves and tangled branches above. I drew in the fresh air, hoping for some vitality as I trudged onward, exhausted. I was expecting to find Illus and Aldan on the other side of the passageway.

  But they were gone.

  A crow pecked at some half-eaten cooked meat that had been left on a cloth. Aldan’s satchel lay toppled over in the dirt, open, and a smaller bird was trying to reach the food inside. As I approached, the animals heard my footsteps and flew away.

  “Illus?” I called. “Aldan? Where are you?”

  Anger rose in me as I thought, Not again. But something didn’t feel right. They hadn’t just abandoned me like before.

  Something was wrong.

  I called their names again and searched the area. When I heard Aldan crying, I ran toward the sound. Specks of blood caught my attention on the way. The lower leaves of bushes were spattered red. I found a dead wolfling with golden fur, and then another fallen beast, this one with a black coat that somehow looked darker where it was drenched in blood.

  More slain wolflings littered the path. I stepped over the bodies and looked ahead.

  Illus, her clothes ripped and covered in light green blood, lay unmoving against a boulder. Her eyes were closed, her limbs splayed. Around her, there were four more dead wolflings.

  Aldan paced nervously and flapped his arms, his face streaked with tears. He saw me and hurried over. “Illus protected me, didn’t she, Senla? Illus protected me.”

  I stopped, and my whole body slumped. Through blurring vision, I stared at Illus.

  Aldan repeated himself.

  Without much thought, I mumbled, “Yes, Aldan.” He rambled on, his words becoming meaningless background noise in my shocked daze.

  Finally, when I snapped out of the stupor, I said, “Yes, Aldan. Illus protected you. You’re right. Now, don’t look at the wolflings, okay? Find somewhere to sit, and just look away while you wait for me. All right?”

  He pouted, wiping away his tears, and then nodded and stomped away.

  My eyes returned to Illus’s body. She had killed ten or more wolflings while defending Aldan, yet it had taken me a long time to slay the Fox. Too long. If I had defeated him sooner, then I could have been here. I could have saved—

  Illus twitched.

  I ran to her. “Illus?”

  She opened her eyes. My heart lifted in my chest. Inhaling deeply, I knelt beside her. After what I’d seen in the Fox’s den, I was careful not to get too close to Illus’s infected blood. Her sickness didn’t seem to be as far along as the Fox’s was, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t try to spread.

  Illus blinked. Her eyelids fluttered and barely managed to open. For the briefest moment, I saw my mother in my arms, not Illus. And in this moment, I knew the Tenniac would not recover.

  I swallowed hard. “Illus, I forgive you.”

  It was a lie. And I doubted she cared about gaining my forgiveness. But if our places were swapped right now, I would want to hear those words.

  Illus raised a limp arm to reach for her sword. She failed to pick it up, but managed to drag it closer. “Take this. It’s … yours now.”

  A sudden panic shook me. Pointlessly, I said, “No. Stay with us. We need you. I need you, Illus.”

  Illus grinned with apparent effort. “Finish … what we started.”

  Her eyes closed, and she breathed no more. Slipping back into a numb daze, I got up and stepped away.

  Then the strangest thing happened. Illus’s blood began to disappear as if it were rapidly evaporating. I blinked hard three times; I wasn’t imagining it. Then, bit by bit, Illus’s body did the same. Each tiny piece of her floated up and away before vanishing. In under a minute, there was nothing left behind. Not even a skeleton. Not even the glowing worms of the white sickness.

  Tenniacs—the Old Ones—were thought to be ancient, mysterious beings who had come into existence before all other creatures. But I had never seen anything die like this before.

  As I stared at the bare boulder where Illus had lain, I heard a whisper of wind through the forest. Leaves rippled and trees swayed. Soon the gentle shushing of the trees ended, and the wind died. Like Illus, the sounds disappeared entirely, as if they had never existed.

  A New Place to Call Home

  37

  We had to go on. What else could we do? After gathering our things, I led Aldan back to the travelers’ path.

  “We must be close to the village now,” I told him, as much as I told myself.

  I tried hard not to think about Illus or the Fox or the nomads or any of the horrors I’d experienced in this forest. But with Aldan forever talking, it was impossible not to be reminded of it all.

  Multiple times, he asked where Illus was. My unchanging answer was, “She’s gone.”

  Aldan didn’t respond the first few times I said this. His eyes glazed over, and he frowned, scratching his head. Then finally he seemed to understand.

  “She scared me,” he said as we marched onward.

  “She’s gone now, Aldan. Don’t worry.”

  Although I hadn’t agreed with Illus’s tactic of frightening him into obedience, I hoped Aldan would continue to respect her command not to attack me. I lacked the energy to fight back.

  Aldan smiled and seemed more relaxed than before. He still rambled, but he spoke less fearfully and about more trivial matters. His incessant talking used to wear me down. With practice, I had learned to figure out what he was really asking, what his real needs were, when to reassure him, and when to close my ears to the rest of his babbling. On many occasions, his random observations sparked laughter from me. I had come to find his honesty refreshing: the way he said whatever was on his mind, either unafraid or unaware of what other people might think about his remarks. In this respect, I wished to be more like Aldan.

  The first day without Illus passed in a blur. We hardly stopped walking, I was so desperate to reach our destination. The farther we went, the more I spotted the types of trees that
had surrounded my village. They were lighter-barked, straighter, and much less menacing than the dark, twisted, and tangled trees that were growing scarcer now as we pushed forward. The vibrant mosses, shrooms, and other extravagantly colorful plants fell away too. As if waking from a terrible dream, we were emerging from the deepest, darkest parts of the forest.

  Unwilling to kill for meat, I struggled to forage enough food for us both. By the third day, we were starving, and Aldan’s sour mood had returned. I gave him what scraps of food I had left and told him that if anything were to happen to me, he was smart enough to keep following the travelers’ route alone. He’d survive. He’d find a home. He’d be safe.

  Trudging along the path, fearing I might collapse and never get back up, I saw a row of bright lines ahead of us. Sunlight slipped between the tree trunks to create the striped wall of yellow beams.

  Suddenly energized, I said, “Aldan, I think we’ve made it.”

  I ignored every pain and strain in my body, and I ran. As I burst out of the trees, I lifted a forearm to shield my eyes. I hadn’t been in such a big, bright, open space for so long. When the white sparkles and squiggles faded from my vision, I saw it.

  Directly ahead, down a gradual slope leading into the distance, lay a village.

  We were standing in a large field of spring greens that were tall and fat and ready for harvesting. My stomach grumbled at the sight of them. I wanted to uproot one and eat it raw and unwashed, I was so ravenous. But stealing would not be a good first impression to make.

  To both sides of us were more crops of different plants and varying colors. The fields curved around to encircle a group of mud-and-stone buildings that were similar to the ones in my village. Except, instead of being built from dark gray stones, every home was rust-colored. The villagers here must have used a type of rock my people were unable to mine in our area.

  Breathless from running, Aldan gasped, “Senla, is this the village? Is this the place that’s got good people?”