Fear the Wolf

by S. J. Sparrows

  On my next day of rest, I rose early to sneak out of the village. On the way, I passed a field with a lone worker in it.

  My father.

  I had spotted him in the fields before, but there had always been other laborers around. This morning, though, only his silhouette stood out against the rising sun, a dark figure in a bed of lush green vegetation.

  All week, I had struggled to shift my foul mood. I had wanted to be my best self today to win back Neverdark’s heart. But now, as I cut through the field, I used all my pent-up anger to fill me with courage.

  I came upon him so fast he had no time to flee. “Tell me the truth! You are my father.”

  He jerked back and covered his mouth, his eyes darting about as if he was considering running. “I … I don’t know what—”

  “Admit it. You know who I am. I can tell by the way you look at me and how you’ve been avoiding me since I got here.”

  He stammered some more and hid his face behind a hand.

  “Admit it!”

  Finally, he looked me in the eye and let his whole body sag. He smiled bitterly. “You’re exactly how your mother feared you would turn out. Unable to know your place. Or unwilling to.”

  My heart forgot to beat. Then it remembered with a painful thump. I had known in my gut he was my father, but hearing him admit the truth changed everything.

  “Why did you leave us?” I said, my voice cracking. “We thought you … we thought you must have died in the forest.”

  Father wriggled his shoulders and stood tall. “Look, Senla, can we do this somewhere else? I was going to come to you, I swear, when I was ready to tell you everything. I just—”

  “No. I’m ready now. I’ve been ready all my life! Tell me why you left.”

  “It was your mother,” he said bluntly. He turned to one side, just a little, his eyes avoiding mine. “She was such a … critical woman. Not just about me, but you. And she was bitter, very bitter and sad, all the time.” He shrugged with one shoulder. “I couldn’t bear it any longer.”

  “So you just left?”

  “You make it sound easy. It was the hardest decision I ever made, saying goodbye to you. Leaving you with her.”

  I snorted through my nose, shaking my head. “No. You took the easy path. You could have stayed … you could have worked things out. It was your duty to work things out.”

  He swung back toward me, an angry gleam in his stare. “Oh, you’re telling me my place now, are you? Your own father?”

  I had to laugh at that. “A father doesn’t abandon his children.”

  Shaking his head in a slow, forced rhythm, he ignored me.

  “How did you end up here?” I asked.

  He regarded me with narrowed eyes before answering. “I got lost in the forest, after leaving home. I wanted to live. I did. But I wasn’t against dying either. Do you think someone would go into the forest like that if they were afraid of dying? At one point, I really thought I was going to die, but then this woman found me.” A wistful look entered his eyes. “A nomad. Bowkill, her name was. She showed me the way here. We spent a lot of time together in the forest. We liked each other. We …”

  “I don’t want to know,” I said quickly, sickened by the lustful longing in his eyes, and the way he bit his lower lip.

  “Right. Sorry. Well, in the end, I didn’t want the nomadic life. And Bowkill hated the thought of living here. So we parted.”

  I didn’t respond for a while. My heart felt as if it were slowly twisting, relentlessly coiling tighter. I thought it might never stop hurting. I didn’t want to believe that Father had betrayed Mother in more ways than just abandoning her. But he had. He’d betrayed her in love.

  A small voice in me defended him. I knew how bitter and critical Mother used to become when she was angry. How many cycles of abuse had Father endured before being unable to take it anymore? In a sudden flash, I saw him as a timid man with a crushed will, trapped in a life he hated with a woman he could never satisfy and a child so disobedient she was dangerous.

  Had the forest called to him the same way it had called to me?

  I imagined the thrill of the wild seducing him—my father breaking free from his stifled life of little pleasure and bursting into the adventure, freedom, and danger of the wildwood. For a moment I felt his curiosity and excitement over meeting a nomadic woman with no inhibitions. I knew the temptation well. The same lure pulled me toward Neverdark.

  Here in this field, my father noticed I was deep in thought. A fearful look crossed his face. “Senla, you can’t tell anyone. Please. This village let me in cycles ago now; I told them I was a nomad wanting to change my ways. They nearly didn’t accept me. But I have a partner here now—Letti, and I love her. We’ve been together for eight cycles. If the elders find out I’ve been lying all this time, that I left a family behind, left you behind, they’ll cast me out.”

  My empathy vanished, replaced by anger. “You mean if they knew what a selfish coward you are.”

  He winced. “Senla …”

  “No! It’s the truth, which is something you don’t seem able to face.”

  Father tutted. “It’s no wonder the Wolf came for your village with you in it, if this the way you speak to everyone. And now, you’re endangering us here, and you don’t care one bit.”

  “Says the adulterer who abandoned his family.”

  He gave a dramatic sigh and kicked at the earth absentmindedly. “You don’t understand.”

  No, I didn’t. And my earlier fantasy of him breaking free from the chains of my mother seemed absurd now. Yes, Mother had been harsh and uncaring sometimes. But that couldn’t have been enough to convince my father to abandon everything he knew and risk death in the forest in the hope of finding a new home.

  I asked, “What did you mean about Mother being critical of me? I was a child when you left. What had I done so wrong?”

  “Done?” he repeated with a grimace, tilting his head.

  “Yes. What did I do to make her hate me? To make you leave!”

  “You didn’t do anything … I was talking about what you are.”

  “What?” I said, taking two steps back. “What are you saying?”

  My father rubbed his chin and squinted at me. He twitched as if battling his own thoughts. Then his expression fell. “No …” he said, his voice turning breathy. “No … it’s not possible.”

  I watched him, my legs beginning to shake. “What’s not possible?”

  Father shook his head emphatically. “You don’t know … do you?”

  “I don’t know what!”

  “Your mother never told you.” He dipped his head and pressed his fingers against his eyebrows, squishing them together. “But surely … Have you … y’know, ever coupled with anyone?”

  I turned hot with a mixture of embarrassment, anger, and impatience. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just tell me!”

  “No. No, I haven’t.”

  “But you’re old enough. Did the elders not pick a partner for you?”

  “They tried. Mother rejected all of them.”

  Father seemed unable to look at me. “I can’t believe this.”

  “You can’t believe what? Will you just tell me?”

  Silence hung over the field for a second. Then Father took a strenuous breath, his face going rigid with grim determination. When he found the courage to look me in the eye, he said, “You’re two-natured, Senla.”

  I had expected to feel something. After all his floundering, I was ready for a revelation of some kind—anything to make sense of this whole mess. But all I felt was more frustration. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you have … the parts of both.” With his hands, he gestured awkwardly near his groin as if trying to illustrate something. He glanced at the same area of my body before giving me a pointed look and raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  I just shrugged.

  “You really have no idea what I’m talkin
g about?”

  I shrugged again, but the shaking in my legs had grown worse.

  “Senla,” he said in a voice that was both gentle and firm. “You were born different to most people. Men have certain parts between their … y’know, between their legs. And women have something different to men down there.”

  “Right … I had guessed that men might have something different to me.”

  “No, Senla, you don’t understand. You’re not a woman. You’re not a man. You’re both. Or maybe neither, maybe something different altogether … I don’t know. But you were born with all of it down there.” He frowned, looking almost disgusted. His eyes moved to my chest. “You even have breasts, Senla. You have everything.”

  I backed away, unable to breathe. Suddenly I saw myself as if I were outside of my body, as if watching from afar. When my awareness flew back inside of me, everything felt wrong. Unreal. I stared at my hands but no longer recognized them. My vision blurred as I looked about. It seemed as if a fine mist had fallen over the world—a thin layer between me and everything else. My scalp tingled. I felt unusually aware of my head, of the beating pulse in my brain.

  What was happening to me?

  At last, my breath returned with a sharp inhale. “I …” I tried to speak, but no more words came to me.

  “I’m sorry, Senla,” said Father. But just as everything around me seemed unreal now, so did his voice. It was as though I could hear myself hearing his voice, which made no sense. I was split in two. Or maybe I had been smashed into nothing.

  Father went on. “I thought your mother would have told you the moment you were old enough to understand.” He twisted away, a bitter tone entering his voice. “Oh, that woman! I know why she never told you. Because she could never accept it. She could never accept the way you are.”

  Still unable to speak, I shook my head involuntarily. Something tickled my cheek. A tear, perhaps. But the sensation felt distant, as though it were happening to someone else, not me. I wanted Father to stop talking. Every extra detail was another knife stabbing into my heart. That was the only thing that felt real to me right now: the sudden sharp pains in my chest.

  “Your mother was so large when she was carrying you, Senla. Whenever she stroked her stomach, she knew. She just knew she was having twins. She was happy like I’d never seen her before. But when she gave birth …” He stopped and wrinkled his nose. His voice had gone small and tight. “The first to arrive was your brother … but he was limp, lifeless, and I—I don’t know—I’m not even sure if I can call him your brother …” Again, he paused, this time gulping loud enough for me to hear. “There was nothing between his legs. And other parts of his tiny body were … they just weren’t right. Twisted, mangled in some way.”

  My head continued to shake as I fought off the horrific images. A brother? I had a brother?

  “Then you came next,” said Father, his eyes glistening, “and you were a healthy, loud, squalling thing. Full of life. But when your mother saw your … parts, she couldn’t bear to look at you. She began rambling, saying that you had killed him, that you killed your brother, that you had stolen his parts and his life while you were inside of her. She was so loud and raving, she nearly drew the attention of our neighbors. I was so afraid. I’m sure you know that giving birth must be done in privacy, at home. Only me and your mother were allowed to be there. Our neighbors and the elders were waiting for me to come out, to make the announcement. I was meant to let them know when your mother was covered up and ready to show you to them all.”

  Father stopped once more. He clasped his lips as if trying to force himself to stay quiet. But I sensed his determination to go on. It was like a confession to him; it did him good to finally tell me what he’d never been able to share with anyone. Me, though? Whoever or whatever I was, I couldn’t take much more of this.

  Father released his mouth. “I had to calm your mother down. She wouldn’t hold you. She couldn’t bear to look at you. So, I took you to another room. Then I hid your brother’s body. I let the rest of the village know we’d had a healthy baby girl. Even as a baby, you seemed more like a girl than a boy—and look now, y’know, no one would know you’re not just a girl, would they? You didn’t even know.” He gave his head a vigorous shake, then returned to what he was saying. “I told everyone your mother was too tired and a bit muddled up from the strain of birth. They all understood, of course, and let us be. When full dark came that night, your mother made me sneak away and”—he choked back a sob—“bury our son. Your brother. My son. I buried him right out near the edge, where no one dared go. There was this little spot between the hills. Well-hidden. No one could see it from the village, and no one would go—”

  I gasped in realization. The noise made Father stop and frown at me. He had been describing my secret meeting place with Reni, the dip in the hills where I had gone to be alone and draw in the dirt, where Reni and I had fought and played, where she had trained me so many times.

  My stillborn brother was buried there. Another stab took my heart. Had I really killed him?

  When Father realized I wasn’t about to talk, he continued. “Once your mother had rested, and she was thinking a bit better, we agreed to raise you as a girl. The stress of the secret was too much, though. That’s why I left. Your mother was never the same after you were born. We argued all the time. And every time we argued, we were terrified for our lives. We didn’t know anymore what was right or wrong. Was it our place to protect you, because you couldn’t help how you were born? Or should we have condemned you, because you presumed to too much by killing your brother and taking his body parts?” Father’s voice filled with more and more anger as he neared the end of the sentence. He practically spat the last few words. Then, abruptly, he composed himself and looked at me with a pained expression. “I’m sorry, Senla.” He stepped toward me.

  I recoiled. This was too much. Too much information. My head still rattled uncontrollably, as if I could shake off everything I’d heard, somehow stop it all from being true. But I could never undo this. And as much as it hurt, I knew Father had spoken the truth.

  Little moments of my life flew before my eyes: small interactions; times when I hadn’t understood what other women were talking about; allusions to sex; little things no one was supposed to say aloud, but couldn’t help whispering about in giddy mischief from time to time; all these tiny incidents that had never made sense to me.

  But now they did.

  A more recent memory smacked me in the chest: my mother’s dying words.

  After plummeting to my knees, I mumbled, “Right from the start, you presumed too much.”

  My heart twisted until I thought it would tear in two. Kneeling in the dirt, I held myself and crumpled up, small and pathetic. Too many emotions fought for control inside of me. Anger rumbled in my stomach, but wouldn’t break through. Tears formed in my eyes, but wouldn’t spill. Fear shook my limbs, but I couldn’t scream or run or fight or do anything but hold myself tighter and rock back and forth on the ground.

  And through it all, I felt as if I were not wholly in my own body anymore. I was an observer. Distant. Detached. Separate and alone.

  Footsteps crunched in the dry earth nearby, creeping closer. “Say something, Senla, please. Say something.”

  I ignored him.

  But when Father placed a hand on my shoulder, it was anger that finally broke through. “Don’t touch me, you coward!” I pushed to my feet, smacking away his hand, and then stumbled away.

  He moved back, too, with a dazed look on his face. His surprise didn’t last long. He thrust out his chest and deepened his voice. “You should … you should respect your elders, Senla! You should still fear the Wolf. Go on, go home and pray to the Wolf for forgiveness. That’s what I did when I settled here.” His head was tilted forward in his attempt to sound firmer, but the domineering angle didn’t hide the uncertainty in his eyes.

  I backed even farther away. “Oh, is that how it works, is it? You think th
at because the Wolf hasn’t killed you, you’re forgiven? That you don’t have to make up for everything you’ve done? You’re a coward and a liar. I hope the Wolf takes you!”

  I turned and ran toward the forest, but not before seeing Father’s nostrils flare and his lips peel back.

  “Come here now!” he shouted and chased after me.

  He grabbed at the back of my tunic, but I spun and elbowed him in the face with a loud thud. As he reeled and groped at his bloodied mouth, I shoved him hard enough to send him toppling over.

  Running again, I heard Father yell after me, but his voice was muffled by his freshly swollen cheek. I ran until the only sounds I could hear were morning birds singing in the treetops, leaves swishing in the wind, and my sharp breaths as I panted for air.

  47

  I paced between the boulders where I normally met up with Neverdark. My body wouldn’t stop shaking; it trembled like a leaf flapping in a gale. After racing here, doing something as immediate and physical as running, I felt a little more grounded than before. Most of me had returned to my body.

  But what even was me anymore?

  I stopped marching. I reached a hand under my tunic and touched between my legs. I didn’t understand how it was different. Which bits were female, and which male? Or was none of it either?

  My mind spun as if it were missing something. My whole world spun.

  These parts were all me. Weren’t they? I had never known anything else. But now that word—two-natured—had made what I had always considered to be normal feel utterly wrong.

  I removed my hand and cringed, confused, conflicted, and … disgusted.

  My heart stung at that. I shook my head sadly. Why should I be disgusted by myself, by what I had always been?

  For a while, the same few phrases ran through my mind. I’m not a woman. I’m two-natured. Man and woman. Perhaps neither. Just different. With great effort, I repeated these thoughts, desperate to settle my shocked mind. I needed to latch onto something—anything.