Fear the Wolf

by S. J. Sparrows

  “Yes, Aldan, yes—”

  “Stop where you are!” said a deep voice. “Are you nomads, come to trade?”

  I turned and found a man with his shield raised, sword out, knees bent, and legs fixed firmly apart. Right away, I noticed the style of his clothing was different from anything my mother and I would have weaved. All the edges were straighter, sharper, neater. Of course, the fabric was still made from plants and fibers, and the design was free of any embellishments. But to me, the effect was the same as when I looked at the village ahead: both familiar and unfamiliar.

  “Are you a guardian?” I asked the man.

  “I said are you nomads?” Even as he asked this, he scrutinized our appearance with a doubtful look on his face. After all, we were filthy, wearing tattered fabric instead of animal skins. My tunic barely hung onto me at the back where the Fox had gashed it open.

  “No … no. We’re villagers. We followed the path. We came from our own village. It was attacked.”

  The man’s eyes widened briefly. He relaxed his stance a little. “Attacked by who?”

  “The Wolf.”

  Now the man’s eyes flared open and stayed that way. He shook his head, struggling for a response. “The Wolf spared you?”

  “Please,” I said, my mouth so dry it hurt to speak. “We’re tired. We’re hungry. We need food and water.”

  “Did the Wolf spare you?”

  “Well, we’re not dead, are we!” I snapped and instantly regretted it. If I wanted to be listened to, I needed to know my place. Or at least pretend to.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Only the two of us survived the attack.”

  “Then only the two of you must have known your place,” the man said, as though it were undeniable.

  I hoped he didn’t notice my clenched fists. For a second, I felt like I was a child again, having to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t talk back to my mother.

  I gave a strained smile. “We want to join your village. Please.”

  He twisted and gave a sharp whistle. In the next field along, a young woman looked over before running toward us. She also had a sword and shield. They are guardians, I decided. Guardians on patrol duty.

  The woman gawked at us with the same confusion the man had shown at first. Before she could comment, her friend said, “Go gather the elders.”

  She sprinted down the slope ahead of us toward the village center.

  “Leave your weapons here,” said the man.

  “We’re not a threat—”

  “Put down your weapons. Now.”

  We threw our swords, shields, and even our bags onto the ground.

  The man said, “You can get them later, once the elders have spoken. Now come with me.” He flicked his sword to point the way, gesturing for us to walk in front of him. The whole way into the village, he never lowered his weapon.

  38

  “They say their village was attacked,” the male guardian told the crowd of two hundred or more people. “By the Wolf.” Gasps broke out, followed by muttering and sidelong glances. I hadn’t been able to tell from where we’d stood at the border, but this village was much larger than mine. There were maybe twice as many people.

  “They’re the only survivors,” the guardian continued. “They hope to join our village.”

  Now there were grumbles and furrowed brows.

  Straight in front of me stood a small group of mostly older people, slightly apart from the rest of the villagers. It seemed as though an invisible boundary surrounded them. People respected their space more and kept looking at them expectantly.

  The village elders.

  The youngest-looking elder stepped forward. He was perhaps forty to fifty cycles old. His cold penetrating eyes matched his pallid complexion, but not his black hair. Nor his plump, pink lips that were pushed up in a stiff pout.

  “I am Snuttus Bot,” he said, raising his chin, “an elder of this village. How do I know what you claim is true? We’ve had no reports of attacks on any villages.”

  “It’s taken us this long to travel here,” I said. “It’s not likely that any nomad or trader who knows about my village would have got here much faster.”

  “Oh, it isn’t, is it? Are you and your companion familiar with traversing the wild forest? Are you the fastest travelers around?”

  “Um … no. I just meant it’s unlikely you would have heard anything so soon. Any nomads that might have found our village would be too busy ransacking what’s left.”

  “Ah, you seem to know a lot about nomadic behavior, don’t you?”

  “I—”

  “Don’t”—Snuttus raised his voice and paused briefly—“talk back to me, girl.”

  The crowd shuffled awkwardly. Some people flicked their heads in other directions as if embarrassed by the elder’s behavior. Others nodded vehemently and glared at me.

  Confused, I said, “But … you asked me a question.”

  One villager snickered, then covered his mouth and tried to hide. The rest were silent in shock.

  Red splotches sprouted all over Snuttus Bot’s face as he puffed up his chest. “Insolent girl! If you are to join my village, then you will know your place. And you will do as told. And you”—he flicked a hand toward Aldan—“why don’t you talk?”

  I turned to Aldan and found him staring at his feet. He began whining and then spun on the spot.

  Snuttus frowned at him in distaste.

  “Aldan was born addle-headed,” I said. “But he’s a good man. He takes orders well. And he’ll be a hard worker, just like anyone else.”

  “Oh, will he now?” Snuttus jiggled his head as if I were a fool for making such assumptions.

  I looked at the other elders for help, but none spoke up. A few avoided my eyes, and one gave an apologetic half smile. No elder in my village was ever as rude as Snuttus—not even to outsiders.

  I felt the tingle of someone’s eyes on me. It was an elder I hadn’t spotted at first: a short, wizened old lady with large ears, and a few straggles of thin hair clinging to her otherwise bald head. Her purple eyes watched me thoughtfully. Like the other leaders, she said nothing. She simply regarded me with pursed lips, showing a keen interest in my conversation with Snuttus.

  Unsure of what to say, I stayed quiet for too long. The crowd grew restless. I overheard the things they were muttering. One scowling lady said, “Looks like the forest has turned her half wild to me.”

  The person next to her agreed. “I don’t want her in our village.”

  Another added, “Maybe she’s got that white sickness in her.”

  A man with shifty eyes said, “If the Wolf did attack her village, like she’s wanting us to believe so, then she must have done something wrong, mustn’t she?”

  “Nomad,” was all another man said, after spitting on the ground.

  A crawling sensation spread over my body as my legs shook with the desire to run. There were too many judgmental eyes on me. I wanted to scream, “Stop looking at me!”

  What had I done that was so wrong?

  Then I spotted a man staring without judgment; instead, his eyes were narrowed in suspicion. I found myself walking toward him, without even deciding to, as if pulled by an invisible rope binding us together.

  As I approached, he squinted even harder. Then his face stretched wide. He tried to hide his reaction by looking away, but he was too slow. I had reached him. I gazed up at his face. His skin was ruddy, marked with dark veins from long days spent in the sun. His hair and eyebrows were dark brown, but his eyes … his eyes—

  I lost my breath.

  One eye was pale brown, and the other bluer than any summer sky.

  I gasped for air, and said, “Father?”

  A range of reactions spilled through the crowd, but I ignored them and moved forward to touch the man’s face.

  He recoiled, his eyebrows twitching as he took a few steps back. “I don’t know you,” he said weakly.

  Someone stabbed me in the heart. They must
have done; the pain was too much. “No. You are my father. You have his eyes. I know your eyes!”

  He looked afraid now and spoke with more strength. “Don’t be ridiculous, girl. I don’t have a daughter.”

  Another villager shouted, “Oi, stranger. Leave him alone. He don’t know you, and you ain’t fooling anyone by pretending to be related.”

  The people around me began to fidget. The atmosphere changed, a sense of aggression prickling the air.

  “You ask me,” said one person, pretending to speak to just his friend but talking loud enough for all to hear, “she should go back to the wild. The Wolf take her and every nomad!”

  I eased back toward Aldan. Should I grab his hand and run? I couldn’t believe this was happening. I hadn’t foreseen that telling these people about the Wolf’s attack would unsettle them so much. It had awakened their worst fears. The fact that Aldan and I had survived only scared them more. Perhaps our survival represented the idea that the Wolf didn’t care who she killed, who survived, or how those people had lived their lives. Aldan and I had defied the Wolf by traveling through the forest; yet here we were, alive. Our existence threatened the villagers’ sense of order, of rightness, of safety.

  The gathering grew rowdier until I could no longer pick out any single voice. Yet one single voice sliced through the noise to silence everyone.

  “Friends.”

  I turned toward the source: the balding elder with purple eyes. All she had needed to say was that one word—friends—with a slight raising of her hand, and every villager had paused. I saw instantly that she commanded a type of respect that Snuttus did not. The people didn’t fear her; they loved her.

  “What is your name?” she said, smiling warmly at me.

  “Senla,” I said tentatively. “Senla Nora.”

  “And yours?” she said to Aldan.

  Aldan turned to me instead.

  “Go on,” I said, “tell her your name.”

  He grinned, then began speaking excitedly. “My name is Aldan. My father is Markus Bennan. And my mother is Carla Bennan. They’re dead.”

  Slanted eyebrows and scrunched-up faces passed throughout the crowd as people saw for themselves that Aldan was different in some way.

  “Bennan,” Mira said with a nod. “We know that name. We have Bennans here, perhaps distant relatives of yours from many cycles ago when our peoples first settled in this land? It’s possible. In any case, it’s not a name of the nomadic peoples.”

  Aldan’s eyes misted over. With a blank expression, he stared at nothing in particular.

  Mira blinked and frowned, realizing she had overwhelmed him. “My name is Mira Alleno.” She spoke softly, yet her voice carried on the wind without effort, like the seed of a dandelion. “You have a nice way of speaking, Senla. Were you a scribe in your village? The daughter of an elder, perhaps?”

  I hoped my confusion didn’t show on my face. There appeared to be more of a hierarchy here than in my village. My elders had been a select number of the oldest villagers, who were considered the wisest because of their age and experience. When one passed away, their position was filled by whoever happened to be the oldest non-elder in the village at that time. Here, not all the elders were very … elderly. Did these people pass the title down through family? Or did they have some other means of selection?

  An idea hit me. “I was a guardian,” I lied. “But I read a lot from our scribe’s library.”

  Aldan wrinkled his nose and flung his head to grimace at me. Quickly, I added, “And Aldan helped to keep his father’s smithy tidy, didn’t you, Aldan?”

  Successfully distracted, he said, “And I got our daily share of water. And I—”

  “Yes, Aldan, you’re right.” I held out my hands imploringly and looked from elder to elder. “Aldan is strong and clever. If you give him something interesting to do, then he’s the most reliable person you’ll ever meet.”

  Most of them smiled and nodded. I sighed, smiling back. If I was going to stay in this village long enough to make sure Aldan settled in okay, then I could at least continue to practice my fighting skills by training with the guardians here.

  Snuttus raised a stubby finger. “Wait. You read freely from the scrolls of your village’s scribe? You sought knowledge out of curiosity? Seeking knowledge for your own pleasure, rather than out of necessity, is presuming too much. Everyone knows that. With such lax rules, it is no wonder your village perished.”

  Jaws dropped all around. Heads shook in the slow rhythmic manner that suggested disappointment. And strong disapproval. I didn’t know if they were shaking their heads at me for having endangered my village or at Snuttus for presuming to know the Wolf’s mind. A mixture a both, most likely.

  My jaw muscles twitched. Snuttus watched me trying to contain my anger. He widened his eyes as a challenge, goading me to bite back. I wanted to punch the smirk right off of his plump lips.

  I opened my mouth to say, “Surely only the Wolf can make that judgment.” But Mira saved me from that misstep.

  “Snuttus,” she said, lifting a hand.

  Snuttus dipped his head respectfully and took a step back.

  With so much happening so fast, I had forgotten about the man with mismatched eyes. I peered through the crowd, but he was gone. He must have slipped away earlier while the people were becoming rowdy. My heart still hurt from the stabbing pain. Was he my father?

  Mira turned to face a muscular woman with dark curly hair. “Ronni, do you have room for an apprentice at your smithy?”

  The blacksmith gave a sharp, practical nod. “I’ll make room.”

  Mira pivoted to address everyone. “And does anyone have room for the girl?”

  The crowd squirmed. Eyes swiveled to look away, or at someone else, each villager hoping one of their neighbors would speak up before the elders had to choose somebody to welcome me into their home.

  Finally, a young woman spoke. “I have room.”

  Mira’s expression fell. It was slight, and she was quick to recover, but for that brief moment, she had looked at the young woman with pity. And a dash of shame. “Ah … of course,” said Mira. “Thank you, Eden. Senla will stay with you. Now everyone, let us all return to our tasks. When you find a chance, do what you can to help our new neighbors feel at home. Remember, all of us are equal. We give and we take in equal measures.”

  There were a few groans, but the gathering dispersed.

  The sense of relief almost knocked me over. Or was that the mix of thirst, hunger, and exhaustion?

  I approached Mira. Before going off with the stranger, Eden, I had to be sure the villagers understood Aldan’s behavior and needs. I explained that because of the way he was born, Aldan sometimes became easily confused and agitated—or even violent beyond his control. But that didn’t mean he should be hidden out of sight or forgotten about. I described the methods I knew for distracting him and providing the reassurance he needed when he began to feel overwhelmed.

  Mira listened patiently, then said, “We must protect those who don’t know better.”

  An invisible weight slid off of my shoulders. Mira assured me the elders would spread my advice. The blacksmith, Ronni, was about to leave with Aldan, so Mira asked me to quickly speak with her too.

  After doing so, I wrapped my arms around Aldan. “Be good, Aldan. They’re nice people here, remember? You’ll be safe.”

  Aldan grinned and then frowned in quick succession. “Are you coming with me?”

  “No. But I’ll drop in to see you tomorrow. And every day.”

  He looked doubtful. “Every day?”

  “Every day.”

  He smiled again. Ronni came over and led Aldan away. As he waddled off beside her, I heard their conversation growing quieter.

  Aldan said, “You’re a nice person, aren’t you?”

  Ronni gave him a friendly slap on the back. “Everyone’s nice in our village, big guy.”

  “I like nice people.”

  “Good. Now let
’s get to work.”

  “But I’m tired!”

  “Tough luck. You can rest at night, the time of day sleeping was made for.”

  Aldan moaned and protested some more, but Ronni just laughed pleasantly and gave him another firm pat on the back.

  I smiled as more pressure flew off of me. It had been hard looking after Aldan, always having to reassure him of everything, and forever worrying about his safety. But now, here, he would have a web of people around him to share those responsibilities. He’d get the help he deserved. And Ronni seemed the perfect woman to care for him. She came across as firm but fair—the direct, no-nonsense type of person Aldan needed to guide him in his work and to teach him to respect people’s boundaries. Without threatening violence upon him, I thought, remembering Illus.

  When Aldan and Ronni were out of sight, I turned to find Eden waiting. How long had she been silently standing behind me? She gave a forced smile and started tapping her foot. The sound instantly annoyed me.

  Taking the hint, I nodded and followed the young woman I would be living with.

  For now.

  39

  Eden’s house was big. Too big. She led me to the room I would be staying in. It was large enough for two, with a stone bed stacked against the wall and topped with straw. Eden showed me the rest of her home, which consisted of her room, a privy, and a living area where she prepared food and carried out other tasks.

  Everything was neat and tidy. But, strangely, there were a few wooden crates filled with a mix of tools for all different trades.

  With the loom, baskets of fiber, and piles of cloth, my mother’s dwelling had clearly been the home of a weaver, but from peering about this place, I could not tell what Eden’s duty was. Perhaps she worked mainly outdoors.

  The thing that confused me most was the size of her home. Eden looked old enough to be coupled with someone, but she lived alone here. Where were her parents? And did she have any brothers or sisters?

  In my village, the elders never would have allowed a single person to occupy a house with a spare room. Eden would have been made to swap homes with a family that needed the space or a couple hoping to bear a child.