Fear the Wolf

by S. J. Sparrows

  “Oh, little Senla, you clumsy girl,” she said cheerfully. “Help me pick these up, dear.”

  I did as told, impatient to get on my way.

  Melina shook the dirt out of the bundles I handed her, leisurely placing them back in the basket. “Just the person I was looking for. I’m dropping these off to your mother. Is Teer in?”

  “She’s working.”

  “Working? It’s her day of rest!”

  “I know.” I tried to sound neutral, clenching my teeth.

  Melina frowned with suspicion. She looked too warm in her full-length tunic. It was sweat-stained and covered in dust and dirt from the fields. Mother and I would need to provide her with lighter garments soon, her and the rest of the village.

  “I wanted to see you, anyway,” said Melina. “My little Bandurk says he’s going to come looking for you later. You know he’s very fond of you. He’s asked the elders for their approval, and me and Baron, we think you’re perfect for our son. You being a weaver, and my Bandurk working in the fields; you’re meant for each other. And I think the elders will see it that way too, little Senla. Got to do what’s best for everyone.”

  I felt the heat in my face swell. I knew instantly that Melina would take it the wrong way: as evidence that I liked Bandurk. But really, being called ‘little Senla’ embarrassed me deeply. And the way she called her son ‘little’ too, trying to pair us two ‘little things’ up together.

  I was nineteen.

  My cheeks flamed more because, in truth, I was little. At least in terms of height. I was shorter than most the women in our village and almost all the men, but I made up for my stature with strength. I was slightly stockier than other girls, less curvy, and a little plump in the face. Even so, I was stronger than I looked. Reni once told me the fiery orange streaks in my otherwise plain brown eyes reflected my unusual strength.

  That was some cycles ago now.

  At this moment, my face must have been more fiery than the bright flecks in my eyes.

  Melina watched me. “Oh, don’t be coy. You’re old enough now, a little older than my Bandurk. And your mother can’t keep refusing the elders’ matches for you forever. You’ll need to be coupled with someone eventually.”

  “I know,” I said weakly. To appease her, I added, “I’ll come see Bandurk later.”

  Melina smiled.

  I picked up the last bundle of fiber, passed it to her, and hurried away. The moment I was out of her sight, I stopped and closed my eyes with a heavy sigh.

  Bandurk. He was the perfect guy, really. Strong from working the fields with his parents, and handsome like his father, but with a gentle sweetness to his face: softer features he got from his mother. With our assigned duties matching up so well, Bandurk and I would become an indispensable couple for the village’s future.

  The thought frightened me more than anything else.

  Bandurk was perfect. But Bandurk wasn’t for me. My mother seemed to think no one else was, either. But as far as I could tell, she hadn’t rejected the elders’ matches for my sake. When I asked her once why she had refused every proposal, she had raged at me until my ears hurt. I had no intentions of asking her again. There was little point; soon, the elders would lose patience and deny Mother any choice in the matter.

  I opened my eyes. The future could only be avoided for so long.

  Taking in the fresh air, I savored the sun on my skin again. Winter had come early last cycle, a bleak, nasty blanket of cold, killing the crops and stretching thin our resources. But spring had arrived early too. We’d reaped many rich harvests already, and now summer was boldly taking over.

  As I walked, I tried to ignore my surroundings. I looked away from the village’s dull-colored houses of mud and wood and leaves and stone. I lifted my eyes from the dusty, hard-packed earth. Nothing was decorated or designed in a notably different manner.

  Everything was plain. And brown. And gray. And—

  Fear the Wolf.

  I crushed my thoughts, my skin tightening with a chill. It was wrong to wish for our village to be something more. We had what we had, and that was plenty enough for our survival.

  Picking up my pace, I noticed Lendun Mack on well duty. While he worked the mechanism, my fellow villagers queued with their buckets to get their daily share. Later today I’d do the same.

  I hurried past, heading toward the forest. Although it stirred my senses and surged my blood, sometimes I would lie in the fields on my day of rest and gaze over at the trees, imagining what wild things lived beyond the village border.

  From the reports of Old Fendra Urn, a wisewoman and one of our elders, the land was covered by forest. Nothing but trees and trees, and the occasional village, right up to the great uncrossable chasms that separated this land from the others. According to Old Fendra, the villages dotted throughout the vast forest lived in relative peace, because their people were wise enough to know their place and to fear the Wolf.

  Old Fendra knew all this because she had once been a nomad. She had wandered the land in defiance of the Wolf. But after everything she had seen out there, she decided to settle down here and learn our ways. She was the last traveler we had taken in. And over time, we accepted her as one of our own. But that was many cycles ago now.

  Most nomads were dangerous and not to be trusted. They roamed the wild, hunting the Wolf’s beasts for meat and the hot rush of the challenge, the thrilling power of the kill. They thought themselves more important than all other animals. But one day, the Wolf would descend upon them. She would wipe them out, as she eventually did to all who presumed too much.

  5

  I kept marching, determined to reach my destination, but unsettling sounds stole my focus. I followed the sounds and came across an ugly scuffle. Four children circled Aldan Bennan, a grown adult. They poked and pushed and prodded him, laughing at his distress. The kids were too young to have had their night of the telling.

  “Dumb-dumb,” a girl teased. “Mushy head!”

  A young boy sang at Aldan, “My mother says you’re a simple lad, got nothin’ in your head but air! My father says you’re a simple lad, got nothin’ going on in there!”

  Another kid had a stick, which he used to whip the backs of Aldan’s legs.

  Aldan laughed nervously, but his eyebrows were stiffly raised and his mouth down-turned. He twitched and looked from child to child, the white in his eyes growing as he began to whine.

  My legs ran toward him before I had time to think. Then my mind caught up. I stopped. Flashes of my mother scolding me yesterday assailed me. I couldn’t decide whether or not it was my place to tell these children off, to make them stop bullying Aldan.

  Standing still now, I watched from a short distance and bit my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. I had heard that when Aldan became distressed, the look in his eyes shifted to murder and he would attack the nearest person—man, woman, or child. He was large and strong enough to kill one of these kids with one strike. And Aldan didn’t know any better.

  Decision made, I went to run over, but Markus Bennan came bounding around the corner of a house.

  “Hey!” Markus swung his forging hammer wildly above his head. “You leave my son alone, you little monsters. Your parents’ll be hearing of this. Go on, scatter like mice!”

  The little’uns did as told, squeaking like guilty little mice too.

  Markus shuffled up to his son and rubbed Aldan’s arm soothingly. He mumbled something to him in a reassuring tone. I watched as Aldan’s tense face began to soften.

  Aldan was a big man, almost ten cycles older than me. He was bulky in a doughy sort of way, rather than toned and muscular. But he didn’t lack strength. The sheer size of him made him stronger than most people. He had plain, messy hair that I thought his father must have cut for him, and his face was simple. Despite his bland appearance, he stood out for more reasons than just his size.

  I hardly knew him, but whenever I had seen Aldan around, one thing always lingered in my mind aft
erward: the faces he pulled. He usually had a vacant expression and would stare numbly at nothing for too long, his mouth drooping. But sometimes, without any apparent reason, he would grin massively. The look in his eyes rarely matched; it was hollow, not happy.

  On the few occasions he appeared more genuinely happy, he fidgeted in an almost guilty manner. I wondered each time if he were planning something terrible. Then, as suddenly as before, another mask would take over. He would look distressed and scratch his head lazily as if wondering where something he had lost might be.

  I felt awful about it, but Aldan’s unpredictable behavior frightened me, so I generally kept my distance from him. Most people did.

  Right now, he struggled to control the level of his voice. He shouted, “They was just playing with me, wasn’t they, Father? They was just playing. Wasn’t they?”

  Markus nodded vigorously. “Yes, Aldan. They were just playing with you.”

  Aldan grinned for less than a second, then pulled a worried face.

  His eyes darted toward me.

  Markus followed his son’s stare. It took him no time to realize that I’d been here a while. “What’s the matter with you, Senla Nora? Standing there watching! You saw what they were doing to my son, didn’t you?”

  “I—”

  “It’s our responsibility to protect them that know no better, even from themselves.”

  “I’m sorry. I was going to—”

  “Sorry? What would sorry have done if this had gotten out of hand? You know my son’s not right in the head.”

  Aldan frowned at that, then smiled in the mischievous way that worried me so much.

  All I wanted to do was shout at Markus Bennan for not allowing me to defend myself, but I couldn’t. Fear gripped me harder now for even entertaining the idea of talking back to someone older than me.

  Markus tilted his head. “Have you got something to say, Senla? Have you?”

  “No.” I gritted my teeth.

  “Well, you listen to me, then …”

  While Markus scolded me, I fought hard to keep my mouth shut and my tongue restrained. Fear the Wolf, fear the Wolf, fear the Wolf. I fidgeted, cocked my head, and balled my fists until my knuckles turned white. My fingernails etched small red crescents into my palms.

  Patience had never been a skill of mine. I worried that one day I wouldn’t be able to control myself. I’d forget my place so badly I’d have to be cast out—if the Wolf didn’t come for me first.

  Something caught my eye. My heart thumped painfully.

  Off in the forest, a large figure slipped behind a tree, out of sight. I was sure of it. I blinked a few times and stared harder, but nothing emerged from behind the trunk. Was that the right tree?

  I looked for longer, beginning to doubt myself. The Wolf was thought to be much larger than whatever I had just seen. But still, it could have been something else dangerous—perhaps a nomad, or one of the Wolf’s creatures. Maybe even a night-ape. No, that was stupid. Night-apes only came out in the dark, their haunting silver-white eyes sprinkled throughout the treetops like misplaced stars.

  Aldan’s father ripped me out of my trance. “You’re not even listening to me now, are you!” He shook his head and huffed. “Your mother’ll be hearing about this, Senla Nora, just you wait and see.” He grabbed his son’s hand and guided him away, a gesture that looked peculiar because Aldan stood much taller than his father.

  As their voices grew quieter, Aldan casually repeated what his father had said. “I’m not right in the head, am I?”

  “What? No, Son, I didn’t mean that. There’s nothing wrong with you. Now, try not to wander off again. Just keep out my way while I’m working.”

  Aldan muttered, “Useless Aldan. Dumb-dumb.”

  His father said nothing.

  6

  I was beyond grateful to finally be alone, away from everyone’s opinions about what I could, couldn’t, should, or shouldn’t do, think, be, or have. I was weightless here. At least for now.

  My private spot, the location of which I had shared with only one other person, was beyond the fields. Small mounds sheltered one side, blocking sight of the village. To the other side, the forest loomed a little distance off. I had tested gazing in this direction from my home before. It was hard enough to squint past the fields, but something about the way the land lay gave the illusion of it blending naturally into the forest as if there were no mounds.

  I was as alone as I could be.

  After fetching my set of drawing sticks from under a nearby bush, I knelt and began scratching shapes into the earth. I’d snapped and frayed and sharpened and twisted the sticks to create many different kinds. Some were thin, for more detailed drawings. Some were thick, for carving solid lines. Some had bristles, and some were double-sided. I’d even twisted some of the more wiry branches into shapes I could press into the sand and use again and again. I loved making new drawing sticks almost as much as wielding them.

  My picture was coming together.

  A thrill in my chest rushed to my hands. Faster and faster, I carved into the dirt, applying the final touches.

  I stood. Moving back, I smiled down at my work. No, this wasn’t work. This was living. This was me.

  I’d drawn the village hall, except it wasn’t the village hall at all. An imaginary spire pierced from its roof. Windows abounded—some big, some small, some round, some square. Pillars supported the building, and beautiful patterns of harmoniously tangled flowers and vines sprawled up the walls.

  I wished it were real.

  With a sting, my chest tightened. Looking at the floral pattern brought forth a painful memory. I had once made a tunic for little Hina Lonsun, the young girl who lived across from me. The day before I weaved her garment, I saw her admiring a yellow stempus flower, her small smile as bright as the petals. Adding the flourish to her tunic was a reflex. I hadn’t thought about it; I’d just done it. But when Mina’s mother spotted the flower I had stitched into her daughter’s garment, she threw the tunic in my face, horrified, and told my mother what I had done.

  Hina had loved the dress for the split second she held it. Of course, little Hina hadn’t experienced the night of the telling yet. How could she have known that no one is better than no one, even in the way we dress? After my foolish blunder that day, Mother made sure I understood that too.

  I peered down at my drawing sadly now. The thrill in my body had settled before draining out of me altogether.

  A scuff came from behind. Footsteps. I jumped, then began kicking the ground as fast as I could, billowing dust all over my drawing until it was gone. I snatched up my sticks and dashed them under the nearby bush.

  I turned, then sighed in relief. “Reni!” I moved toward her, smiling. “You came.”

  “I always do, don’t I?” she said confidently. “Just never tell my father. Or anyone, for that matter.”

  I laughed. For some reason, I laughed at almost everything she said, whether or not it was funny.

  “Let me get my weapon.” I rushed back to the bush I hid my drawing sticks under and reached deeper into the branches to pull out a long wooden pole. It was a piece of wood I’d taken from my mother’s old loom, which had broken a few cycles back.

  “We need to get you a real sword.” Reni removed hers from her belt.

  I raised a brow, staring at her. “You’re the Head Guardian’s daughter. Can’t you find me a spare one lying about?”

  “There’s barely enough metal for our actual guardians, you know.”

  That was true. How useful would Reni’s old, blunted sword be if our village came under attack? Her lack of armor worried me too. The garments my mother and I provided would do little against any half-decent weapon—or sharp teeth and claws. Without leaving the village, though, we were limited to the resources of our own tiny mines and whatever we could trade with nomads. But as my people knew too well, nomads didn’t always feel like trading.

  Sometimes they felt like taking.


  I muttered, “I don’t think Markus Bennan would make me a sword if I asked him now, either. Not that he would have, anyway.” I rolled my eyes to pique Reni’s interest.

  “What have you done now?”

  “Don’t ask,” I said, but I took the chance to savor her reaction. She gave me the look I loved. The way she smiled at me, her lips slowly lifting, and that fixed stare—it made me feel as though I were the only and most important person in existence. I tingled all over.

  Reni looked great today; she looked great every day. Her hair was muddy blond and tied back with some cloth, drawing my gaze to her angular face. Pale gray eyes rested above the high ridges of her cheeks. A thin nose led down to a small mouth and chin, both of which were more defined than any drawing I could have scratched into the earth. Her breasts looked larger than mine. Two hard points accentuated them now, standing out on her tunic.

  Without intention, I wondered how she might look undressed. I’d never seen anyone naked. Only couples were allowed to see each other like that, and to have sex, a word I knew but had little idea of what it meant. Even when Mother and I measured people before making their garments, they were always clothed. I remembered, when I was too young to wash myself, my mother would wash me alone at home after I came back muddy from playing outside. Not even kids went without their garments outdoors, whether winter, summer, or the warm enough seasons in between.

  My curiosity pestered me. Did everyone wonder how they compared to others under their clothes? Or was it just me? With a warm rush, I tried to shake the images of Reni from my mind. How long had I been staring at her, just thinking, imagining?

  “Senla,” Reni said sternly, pointing at the ground behind me. The look I loved was gone. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been drawing in the ground again. As if me training you out here isn’t a foolish enough idea.”

  I twisted to follow Reni’s finger. I’d obscured my picture. Hadn’t I? My toes and sandals were still covered in dirt from kicking it all up. But there was a drawing around ten steps away, a little image of—