Fear the Wolf

by S. J. Sparrows

  Illus managed to hold herself back, but her limbs shook with anger, and her head tails rose slightly. The strands of skin-like hair rattled around her shoulders.

  Aldan whimpered. Pressing his chin to his chest, he shuffled away to huddle near a tree, too distressed to watch our argument. When Illus had attacked me before, Aldan seemed to enjoy the violence—or the idea of it. But Illus had changed him somehow. Perhaps, when she had threatened him not to attack me, she had made him understand the reality of violence.

  Barely restraining herself, the Tenniac hissed at me. Her eyes shone white with the sickness; pale veins rippled through the surrounding skin.

  “You’re as bad as those nomads,” I said. “You can’t control your sick desires either. You want to hurt me. You want to kill me.”

  Illus wriggled her shoulders and stood taller. When she spoke, her voice changed like never before. It deepened and broadened into a booming sound. “This desire I have to tear you limb from limb is not mine! I am sick. It is but my strength of will that holds this sickness back from killing you.”

  Shaken by her reaction, I watched her in disbelief. Had the sickness changed her voice? Was that possible?

  We fell silent for a while. Although Aldan’s whimpering died down, he didn’t stop pressing himself against the tree.

  Illus looked tense, frozen in her rage. Because of her stillness, I noticed something I had missed since waking up. Illus wore a big bag over her shoulder. It moved, bulging out in places, as if something were wriggling around inside of it. Illus saw me watching. She blinked slowly, and her tiny nostrils twitched as she took a long breath.

  Illus removed the bag and opened it. A ball of fur instantly leapt out. I tried to watch the fuzzy round thing as it sped into the trees with a hiss and a yowl.

  There came a bitter pang in my heart. I was almost afraid to speak, in case I angered Illus further, but I was too annoyed to stop myself. “And now you’ve damaged Nosy too.”

  Illus clenched her fists. All four of them. Then, slowly, she unfurled her long, clawed fingers and shook herself. “She will come back for you. Most animals are more forgiving than humans.” Her voice was halfway back to normal.

  More uncomfortable silence followed. To my frustration, I found myself wanting to fill the quiet, to be the one to make amends. In a conversational manner, I nearly said, “Oh, Nosy’s a she?” But I stopped myself.

  I was raised to believe I was wrong in any and every disagreement with anyone older than me. No matter what. But now my elders were dead, and I didn’t care to know Illus’s age. I would not crumble under the Tenniac’s threats and frightening demeanor. What she had done was wrong, no matter her intentions.

  I glared at her unflinchingly.

  The Tenniac understood. “I must go,” she said. Her voice had returned to its usual soothing hum. “I must go until the twisted voices in my head have passed.” She turned to leave.

  Twitching into action, Aldan came away from the tree and rushed after the Tenniac.

  “No,” Illus snarled without looking back. A tinge of the strange, thunderous voice had returned. “Don’t follow me this time. Stay with Senla.”

  Aldan pulled an indignant face. “But you said—”

  “Stay with Senla!”

  The surrounding trees shook at her deep, unnatural tone. Dirt and small stones fell from the overhang of rock I had slept under. Frightened birds burst out of the treetops and flapped away, their wings beating loudly through the branches. When the disturbances passed, I heard only my heart racing.

  If the intimidating sound had made my heart tremble, then I could only imagine how scared Aldan must be. I smiled at him reassuringly and gestured for him to come closer. His eyes swam with fear and uncertainty. He pivoted back and forth, looking from me to Illus, who had carried on walking away. Then Aldan ran to me and sat down cross-legged at my feet.

  I huffed. It pained me to see him like this.

  When Illus reached the nearest tree, she crouched and sprung into the air to swing from the branches. I frowned. Whenever she had struggled to control her rage before, she had stalked off on foot. This time, she must have needed to get away fast—to stop herself from doing something she might regret.

  I shivered at the thought.

  As always, the Tenniac’s movements were fluid. Even swinging through the trees, she was spellbinding. She moved so gracefully it looked as if she had slowed the whole world down—but only very slightly. I pulled my eyes away.

  Bending down, I tousled Aldan’s hair. “You’re a good man, Aldan. You don’t need to worry now. You’re safe with me.”

  The way Aldan was sitting had to be uncomfortable. His sword was tucked under a belt at his side, awkwardly stabbing into the ground, and his shield was strapped to his back with two satchels slung over it. It seemed Illus had made him carry mine.

  I asked for my satchel, but Aldan said nothing. While whispering more comforting words, I gently took my bag from him and helped to remove his own items so he could sit more comfortably. He remained silent. He just stared at his hands, twiddling his fingers.

  I’d never seen him withdraw like this. I struggled to think what to do, how to cheer him up. Then I gave up on trying to do anything. Time would help. Aldan was just overwhelmed.

  So was I.

  I walked away and sat down in the shade of the slanted rock jutting out from the earth. I checked inside my bag. Everything was still in there: my drawing sticks, some scraps of food, a water pouch, and the wrapped-up spike I’d taken from the black tree.

  My body still shook from the argument. Or from the day before. Or both.

  I put down my satchel and stared at the mace before picking it up. In a sort of trance, I gazed at it for longer. I had no control over the images that dashed across my sight. They flew behind my eyes, deep inside my head: Taker’s hollow-eyed stare; Hogslayer’s stiff, unsettling smile; Treeclimb’s anxiously darting eyes. It wasn’t just the images, but the sounds—all the disturbing things the nomads had talked about doing to me repeated in my ears, whispering to me darkly.

  Seconds? Minutes? Hours? I knew not how much time passed while I was stuck in this dreadful daze, but I snapped out of it with a sharp breath.

  I got up and searched for twigs and leaves to rekindle the fire. I didn’t need it for warmth—it was a hot, dry day, even under the endless, shady canopy of the forest—but I needed the flames for something else.

  When the fire roared to life, I picked the mace back up and stared at it once more. It was an excellent weapon: sharp and deadly with a paralyzing bite. Keeping it would be wise.

  I set my jaw and threw the mace into the flames.

  As I watched it burn, I hoped the vivid images etched in my mind would burn away, too. I gazed into the fire expectantly. I would feel better. I had to feel better. I needed to. But as more time passed, nothing changed inside of me.

  I slumped back against the rock and wondered if destroying the mace had been foolish. No. No matter how useful the weapon, I couldn’t carry around any reminders of yesterday. I wouldn’t.

  A few hours of me fidgeting, sighing, and getting up to pace dragged by before Illus returned. The Tenniac said nothing about our argument. She gave no apology for her behavior and showed no remorse over putting me through the cruel test. I had expected as much.

  “We must make our way to the Fox’s den,” she said. “I will train you more on the way.”

  A thorny moment passed in which I thought my anger would erupt again. But resurrecting our argument would be fruitless. If anything, it might make things worse. Perhaps even deadly.

  I sucked in my lips, swallowed the rage, and daydreamed of a time when the Fox and the Wolf would be dead—a time when I’d no longer need Illus’s help.

  34

  The mix of grueling training and seemingly endless walking went on for two more days before Illus led us away from the travelers’ route. I paid careful attention this time. I noted landmarks and scuffed the groun
d with my sandals to leave a trail, in case Illus decided to abandon me again.

  The Tenniac gestured for us to stop. We were at the opening of a narrow passageway created by thin, densely-packed trees on either side. The upper branches arced across to meet in the middle, intertwining. I peered through. With no end in sight, the passageway grew shadier the farther it stretched.

  “The Fox’s den is on the other side,” said Illus. She bent down, cleared some branches and stones, and then sat down heavily, as though she had no intention of getting back up again. She beckoned Aldan to join her.

  I was still angry at the Tenniac. A few times, when we had stopped to eat or train, I had hoped to hear Nosy’s little feet padding toward me, or to see her fluffy club-shaped tail sticking out of a bush. Neither had happened. And over the last two days, Illus and I hadn’t mentioned our dispute once. Truthfully, I didn’t want to think about what she’d put me through.

  Our evasion of the topic was like a pact. In an unsettling way, I felt closer to Illus—tied to her by our tacit agreement to never speak of the incident again. Until now, I hadn’t thought it was possible to admire Illus for her strength, skill, and patience as a fighter and mentor while also hating her at the same time.

  The Tenniac fixed her eyes on me. “Are you ready?”

  I glanced through the passageway again and tried to force down my fear. “Are you sure you won’t come with me?”

  Illus nodded. “You must do this alone, as your final test.” I stiffened at the word test, but Illus went on, seemingly oblivious of her insensitivity. “If I am to fall, I will fall facing the Wolf. This here is your path. It is something you must do. To avenge your mother. To ease your suffering.”

  I puffed up my chest. “I’m ready. I’m not afraid to face the Fox.”

  Illus scowled. “Don’t be foolish! You should be afraid.”

  Baffled, I shook my head and retreated into my mind. Why had Illus been training me all this time if she didn’t want me to feel confident facing the Fox?

  Unable to hold back my annoyance, I said, “I feared the Wolf all my life, and it achieved nothing. All my people feared her—and she killed them anyway.”

  “Perhaps you did not fear her enough.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted me to dismiss my fears. I thought you wanted me to ignore everything I was taught about fearing the Wolf. Do you not want me to be stronger?”

  “Is there strength in pretending your fears do not exist?”

  I drew a breath to respond, then stopped myself. A sudden weariness stole my confidence. I felt instantly vulnerable. “I am afraid,” I said. “Of course I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ll fail. I’m afraid that if I die, Aldan will be lost without me. I’m afraid that even if I do succeed, I won’t feel any better for having avenged my mother. I’m afraid that this is all just my punishment, that maybe I’ll spend forever in the wild with you, feeding an anger I can never satisfy, because this is all that I deserve!” I tensed my face and turned away, my eyes stinging.

  Illus allowed a brief pause, then said, “It’s easier to believe there is something wrong with you, and to allow that fiction to stop you from trying, than it is to embrace your worthiness.”

  Listening closely, I sniffed back my tears and half turned toward the Tenniac. In the raw vulnerability of the moment, I felt as if Illus’s words had the power to either lift me to new heights or to destroy me.

  “But why?” I said.

  “I think you know why.”

  My mind was stunned into silence. I tried to think it through, but I struggled to put the words together.

  Illus spared me the effort. “The moment you admit your worth, you can no longer avoid your path. You must dare to create the life you’ve dreamed of. This dread you feel, this vague sense of inherent worthlessness … others feel it, too. This feeling is why people choose to live in fear of life’s mysteries, in fear of unfathomable powers much larger than themselves. It’s a convenient excuse: the luxury of believing there are no choices in life, that there is but one way to live.” Illus snorted with derision. “But is a life without the freedom to choose a life worth living?”

  That question struck me in the chest. All my life I’d been taught to fear making decisions for myself. To fear being me. But Illus was right. A life without choice didn’t sound like a life at all; it sounded like a punishment.

  My body rushed with energy. It sang. It buzzed like a happy stinger-beetle. I had always felt different in some way. Wrong. Undeserving. Like there was something unchangeably bad about me—and if only I could pinpoint that flaw and fix whatever it might be, then everything would suddenly be okay.

  The tingling sensations continued to course through me as I considered for a second that maybe—just maybe—I could accept myself exactly as I am. But a second was all I managed before my old fears and feelings of wrongness came rushing back.

  I turned the rest of the way to face Illus. “I am afraid, but I want to do this. The Fox killed my mother. And the next time the Wolf calls on him, the Fox will kill again. He’ll kill someone else’s mother or father … or someone else they care about.” I took a breath, allowing myself to feel both fear and determination. “He must be stopped.”

  Illus smiled, and her needle-like teeth glimmered in the daylight. “Then it is time for you to kill the Fox.”

  35

  As I trod through the passageway, the trees that formed a wooded wall on either side were like sentinels glaring at me. Their upper branches blocked out most of the daylight, suffocating me under their intimidating shadow. Wind whipped through the path with a haunting howl. An almost overwhelming urge to turn back pulled at me, aided by the gale that pressed against the front of my body.

  I strode on.

  When I emerged from the narrow path, I found myself in a muddy glade with a small hill in the center. A dark, gaping hole punctured the middle of the mound.

  The Fox’s den.

  On both sides of the den’s mouth sat an ordinary fox. I’d only ever seen one fox before. It had skulked around the outskirts of my old village, looking desperate for food. But my people didn’t have the meat it desired. And we wouldn’t have fed it, anyway. In the end, another villager had shooed the animal back into the forest.

  The two foxes before me now were scruffy. Their bones stood out on their rib cages. Scabs and clumps of matted fur marked their frail bodies. One of them had bowed legs so thin they appeared about to snap.

  As I moved closer, their thin lips peeled back to bare sharp canines and rows of smaller, pointed teeth along their narrow jaws. Some of their teeth were cracked and split; others were snapped in half.

  I didn’t understand. If the Fox and the Wolf were both Wild Forces, as Illus had called them, were they not of equal power? The Wolf had an army of strong wolflings, yet foxes were rare and seemed to be struggling just to survive. Was that why the Fox had helped the Wolf attack my village? Was he under her control?

  What even was a Wild Force anyway?

  There were so many questions I still needed to ask Illus. Not that she would answer.

  I stepped nearer to the den. The emaciated creatures hunched forward and barked guttural, chattering sounds. With fear in their eyes, they lunged and snapped their jaws at me, but each time, they retreated further away.

  Illus had warned me the Fox’s den would be dark, so she’d made me a torch before I’d left. I dashed at the foxes now with a scream, waving the flaming club of wood and brandishing my sword. I sighed when they yelped and scurried into the forest.

  I hadn’t wanted to kill the poor creatures. They were only sitting guard to defend their master.

  A gust of air whooshed out of the den’s mouth as if something had moved inside. Either that, or the den was alive and breathing.

  I entered the dark hole. It was just big enough for me to walk through in a crouch. Disturbed by my presence, dirt crumbled and fell from the roof of the tunnel and slipped inside my tunic, itching my skin. The
distraction worsened my fear. I needed all of my senses right now if I hoped to slay the Fox while stooping in this hollow.

  With my feet at an uncomfortable angle, I realized I was moving downward. Further underground. Deeper and deeper. It was more of a burrow than a den.

  For a while, my world became very limited: there was only the quiet, the cool breeze sneaking through, and a black circle outlined by the tunnel wall glowing orange from my torch’s flames. Just when I thought it would go on forever, I saw a slither of light ahead. A damp, earthy, and slightly rotten smell crinkled my nose.

  I stepped out of the tunnel into a cavern. I moaned in pleasurable pain as I stretched and stood straight again.

  The chamber was riddled with holes—some as large as the one I’d traveled through, others much smaller. I imagined these burrows led all over the place, allowing the Fox to get to parts of the forest that were hard to reach above ground. A few of the upper burrows must have been short routes to the surface; slithers of sunlight slipped through them, lighting the chamber enough for me to see the ground. It was covered with bones and the half-chewed carcasses of small animals.

  Trying not to breathe in the foul air, I stabbed the bottom of my torch into the ground. This had to be the Fox’s main chamber. The beast would show himself eventually. All I had to do was wait and be ready for him.

  I took my shield from my back and pulled it close to my chest. Squeezing the hilt of my sword until my fingers went numb, I whispered, “Come forward already. Where are you, beast?”

  A scraping sound rattled into the cavern: the sound of small rocks and dirt rolling down a slope. Then two glimmering eyes appeared in the mouth of a burrow directly ahead of me. They glowed not only from the reflection of the flames but also from the white sickness swimming in them.

  The Fox’s infection seemed much worse than Illus’s. His silvery-white eyes resembled those belonging to night-apes. I was close enough to see the sickness bubbling in them; it looked as if tiny worms were squirming under the surface.