by Cheree Alsop
The tattooed man spoke again quietly, his meaningless words said in a tone I could tell was meant to inspire trust; but after all I had seen, I trusted no one. I closed my right hand carefully around the coils. The man’s gaze tightened, but he tipped his head forward in acceptance. He lifted his voice and four men entered. They were dressed the same as the first man, but without the red star on their right cheek.
The tattooed man spoke quiet commands and the others followed without question. He picked up the thick burlap cloth the Cruel One used to cover the cages, met my eyes and spoke again, then threw it over the cage. The other men pulled it down so that the light of the flickering torches showed only vaguely through the thick covering that smelled of dust and mildew. The cage was lifted by the bars that stuck out at each corner for that purpose.
My heart thundered in my chest at the sound of the canvas sliding past the burlap cloth, then cool night air rushed through the bars beneath my feet. A shiver ran along my skin used to the thick coat of brown, gray, and black fur that normally kept me warm. I knotted the blanket around my waist, but the tattered cloth did little to protect me from the chill.
The cage was lifted higher and metal grated on wood as it was set in the back of a wagon. An animal snorted. I glanced toward the front of the cage, but my sight was impaired by the cloth. The Cruel One used oxen to pull his wagons, but the sound and the stomp of a hoof that followed belonged to something lighter.
A horse whinnied and let out a snort. A whip cracked and the wagon started forward with a jolt. I grabbed the bars to keep from falling over. An answering pain ran from my damaged palm and I growled quietly under my breath. I crouched in the center of the cage and tried to ignore the way my heart pounded as the sounds and smells of the circus were left behind.
Chapter 2
The rumble of the wagon wheels across the grassy square where the circus had been set up shifted to the harsher sound of wood on dry dirt and rocks. The horses pulling the wagon stepped quickly in a cadence very different from the dragging, slow trod of the oxen. The snorts and hoof beats of similar animals sounded around me. I wondered what destination would require such an escort. I tried to fall into the cool acceptance of the wolf, but the human heart pounding in my chest filled with fear and uncertainty.
Scents drifted beneath the burlap sack covering the cage. Faint smells of baked bread like the stuff the circus workers often ate tangled with the scent of wax candles, wood shavings, the sharp tang of iron, sweet honey, and a myriad of plants potted in soil that smelled old and dry compared to the rich forest loam I longed for.
Many scents I had never smelled before vied with them, sharp, tangy odors mixing with bitter, foul stenches that made my lips curl back in distaste. The reek of thousands of people living in close proximity to each other combined with the dust and refuse of endless streets and abandoned alleyways created a cloud of overwhelming stench; I wondered how the animals that pulled the wagon could stand it.
The stones that made up the road we traveled were closer together and made for a smoother ride as we progressed into the city. The air grew cleaner and the scent of night flowers and grass chased away the fog of odor. The wagon halted and a few words were spoken. I recognized the tattooed man’s voice. Another man answered, then a quiet groan of metal on metal followed.
The wagon rolled forward again; the hoof beats and sounds of the wagon wheels echoed back as though we rode through a tunnel, then they lightened again and a breeze of fresh, crisp air curled under the covering. I closed my eyes at the scent of evergreens.
A feeling of longing so strong and crushing welled up in my chest that I could barely breathe. I clenched my fists tight in an effort to remain still. I couldn’t see past the canvas, but the need to watch the trees sway with the night wind and see the stars caught amidst their silvery boughs felt stronger than the need to breathe or drink or eat.
Blood dripped from my torn hand, but I didn’t feel the pain. A sense of panic at being confined in the cage battered against my thoughts; the same overwhelming urgency to seek open spaces far away from the cold metal had pounded through my veins the instant I awoke and found myself captive, but I could barely push it down now with the scents of freedom so close at hand.
A brief rise of hope whispered through my mind that perhaps the Cruel One was tired of me and I was to be set free. That thought was quickly tempered by the memory of silver and gold and the look of hatred in the Cruel One’s eyes. He wanted to kill me; that much was certain. He wanted to prove that he could take more from me than just my freedom or my eyes. Was I still under his control, or had my fate fallen into another’s hands?
The wagon rolled to a stop. The sound of many voices followed. Leather slid along leather, chains were unfastened, and the horses’ hoof beats faded as they were led away. The tattooed man spoke and the cage slid back. I fought to keep my balance in the middle.
A shudder ran through my skin followed by an intense ache down the deep lacerations along my back and chest. I wondered if I was getting sick. I had fallen ill once after an intense bout of the Cruel One’s lashings. The chill that ran across my body was hauntingly familiar. I gritted my teeth and pushed the feeling aside. The human tendency to worry about things that could not be changed was hard to keep at bay.
Footsteps surrounded the cage and the front lifted as we ascended an incline, forcing me to grab the bars to keep from sliding back. My blood coated the iron rods, making them sticky and dark. The cage leveled out and the sound of footsteps rebounded and echoed, multiplying until I could no longer count how many walked around me.
I watched the ground beneath the bars of my cage, flat stone so smooth it reflected back the dark metal bars and the flickering of torches to each side. The scent of cold stone walked over by hundreds of people touched my nose, but it was mixed with a crisp, clean smell as though the stones were in a constant state of being washed. Voices flowed around me, strings of words that made no sense to my weary mind.
Those carrying the cage turned, walked a few steps, then turned again until my sense of direction was completely confused. The sounds of the multitude of people fell away and I heard only the few footsteps of those carrying me. When it felt like we would go on like this forever, the sound of metal on metal creaked slightly and the footsteps softened as though the men walked across grass or soft sand.
The ground beneath the bars showed red in color, and when the cage was set down, the softness of the fibers surprised me. Several men let out a breath of relief. I did the same. Regardless of where I had ended, holding still was far better than being carried without any clue as to the destination.
The tattooed man spoke and the covering over the cage was removed. I cringed against the sudden surge of bright light after the darkness of the burlap. A fire roared in an alcove near the wall, its light giving warmth to the stands of wax candles that glowed happily in each corner. Above, flat panes of reflective stone sent the light back down to the ground so that no shadow could hide.
A tall ceiling and four walls surrounded the area, creating a feeling of being inside yet another cage. High windows lined one wall, but moonlight barely brushed the edge of the window sills. The effect was stifling and frustrating. My longing for the forest was to be yet another wasted human emotion.
A voice spoke and my heart gave a strange sideways thump. I turned to meet the sky blue eyes of the girl from the tent. Her gray hair covering and robes had been replaced with a simple green headband and a dress of dark green fabric that flowed in waves to her slippered feet. Her golden hair fell to her waist in gentle curls as though grateful to no longer be bound and hidden from the world. Her skin looked soft and pale as if she didn’t see the sun as often as she should. When she spoke, her lips captivated my attention, red and blushing as though colored by the juice of dark berries. I wished I could touch those lips and see if the color was real.
I blinked and took a step back. I had very seldom seen a human girl, let alone one so beautiful and r
efined, but I wasn’t human. I was a wolf and shouldn’t have such confusing human thoughts. Her gaze broke from mine, shattering thoughts that flowed just beneath the dancing light of her eyes to complement the touch of red that spread along her cheeks.
Her eyes widened and I followed her gaze to the gash that ran down my chest. She turned to the tattooed man who waited a few paces behind her. He stood with his hand near his sword as though ready to use it given the slightest provocation. He nodded at the rush of words from the girl and responded quietly, but the answer didn’t seem to satisfy her. She gave several sharp commands and two women near the door disappeared.
She took a step forward and I took one back. My skin touched the cold metal of the cage and a thrill of pain went up my spine from the whip wound. I was trapped. I resisted the urge to bare my teeth. My heart thundered and my instincts screamed for me to defend myself. I longed for the face of a wolf to hide the fear and helplessness I felt.
A wolf could disguise the deepest pain beneath an outward façade of calm strength, but the human face that became my own under the light of the moon betrayed my emotions. Compassion filled the girl’s eyes and she put a hand on one of the bars. Her fingers came away wet with my blood. A feeling of intense regret rose in me that I had soiled her beautiful pale skin. She lifted her fingers and her eyes searched my hands.
I was surprised to find that I still held the whip. After everything that had happened, it seemed a petty object compared to the victory it had represented before the journey. A tiny furrow formed questioningly between her eyebrows and I wished I had a way to explain to her why I held it. That human emotion surprised me. I never explained myself to anyone. I lived a strange life, but before the circus it had fallen into a simple, easy cadence. I was accepted, did my share, and lived a life of peace within my pack. The want to explain the weapon in my hand to a human girl showed how very far I was from that life.
Her eyes shifted to my left hand and a feeling close to pain crossed her face. She walked around the side of the cage to get a closer look. I stepped to the back corner, as far from her as I could stand. The tattooed man kept pace beside her; his hand rested on his sword in case he should need it.
She held out her hand. The gesture was the same the tattooed man had made, but she looked at my injured hand instead of the whip. Her fingers slid between the bars and I grew completely still. No animal in the forest was as motionless as a wolf when needed. I had seen elk walk within feet of a wolf without seeing it despite the animal standing in the open. One trick wolves taught their young when they were old enough to hunt was lying motionless in a meadow until rabbits returned to graze in the clover. The activity tried the patience of the younger pups, but in times of starvation, such a trick could mean a full belly when other predators felt the pinch of hunger.
I watched her in that way, my muscles still, my body tense, and my eyes locked on hers. No one ever reached through the bars. One of the Cruel One’s assistants, a lad with red hair and jagged front teeth, made that mistake while beating me with a club through the bars when I refused to eat the foul refuse he served as food. His club had several spikes made by broken branches on the end, and one caught deep in my shoulder. When I pulled back, the club went with me. He let out a string of foul words I was grateful I couldn’t understand, then he reached in after it. I caught his hand and shattered his arm with his own club. Since that day, no one broke the invisible barrier of cold metal.
She spoke quietly, her eyes searching mine. The tattooed man behind her said something and she gave a small nod. She smiled at me and the bottom fell out of my thoughts. It was the first time I saw how a curve of the lips could soften the corners of the eyes, add a reddish hue to the skin of the cheeks, and brush the edges of the face with a touch as gentle as moonlight. The effect was breathtaking and I forgot my fear.
I lifted my hand to hers and studied her face as her she gently examined the wound. Her eyebrows lowered slightly and worry showed in her gaze. My thoughts were distracted by the soft graze of her fingers over my skin. I watched her gently probe the deep gashes that ran across my palm and the back of my hand. The pain that answered was dulled by the fact that she caused it. Blood pattered the floor in soft, dull drops. She lifted my hand and looked at the base of my thumb. A small shard of glass showed in the deep laceration. She said something to the tattooed man.
He took a step closer and my instincts suddenly rushed forward as though waiting for an opening to remind me where I was. I closed my hand and took a step back slower than my brain screamed for me to, but I didn’t want to startle her. She said something else but was cut off when the door flew open.
A man charged into the room followed by half a dozen others. His hair matched the girl’s but was cut shorter and held back by a golden circlet around his brow. The air that followed him smelled of frustration and outrage. The emotions were similar enough to the Cruel One that my lips drew back of their own accord in a snarl. The man stopped a few paces from my cage and pointed at me, his gaze barely meeting mine before he rounded on the girl. He shouted something, anger clear on his face.
I expected her to cower in front of such an attack; instead, her hands rested on her hips and she waited for his words to run out before she spoke in a simple, quiet reply that angered him further instead of calming him down. He shouted and swept an arm to indicate everything outside the room. She merely shook her head and spoke softly again. I glanced at the tattooed man, but he wasn’t alarmed in the slightest. Instead, he watched the proceedings as though they happened often. My fear for the girl abated.
A long, low howl cut through the sound in the room and my heart lifted. Several more combined with it, the notes haunting and clear through the late night. The argument faded and all talk around me died away. My pack called. After I was captured and forced to travel with the circus, the wolves followed me, uprooting their lives and leaving our forest to follow. Their cries tormented the circus workers, but they were music to my ears each night they lifted to drown out the torments of the day. If anything held hope in my life, it was their song.
The fear and sorrow I heard in the notes that flowed through the windows broke my heart. They didn’t know if I was dead or alive; they had followed my scent to the wagon, and somehow trailed it to the strange building I was held captive in. The strength of the forest lay beyond the walls, and they feared the worst. I couldn’t let them suffer needlessly.
I closed my eyes and the answering notes rose from my chest. Calling a wolf howl from a human throat wasn’t easy, but the tones were right and the notes reassuring and bare as I told them I lived and expressed my gratitude that they still followed.
The howls of the pack changed, their tones rounding out and becoming fuller in notes of joy and relief. Tears stung my closed eyes and I yearned to be with them hunting through the midnight forest and following the elk herds on their migration. It was where I belonged.
A knot rose in my throat, choking off my howl. The wolf cries died away, leaving only remnants to echo around the still room. I leaned against the bars, defeated and full of frustrated sorrow as only an animal trapped in a cage can feel. A chill ran through my body and I swept my hand across my forehead to wipe away the answering sweat. I opened my eyes and found them watching me. Every person in the room looked afraid that I would break through the bars and attack them, a wild creature they suddenly realized was more dangerous than a mere man.
But my will to fight left with the last notes from the wolves. I sank to my knees and studied them as they watched me. Only the girl’s expression remained unchanged. Her soft blue eyes reflected empathy and sorrow. Her hands were stained with my blood and the firelight illuminated the track of a single tear I wasn’t sure she knew trailed down her cheek.
The night changed into morning. It wasn’t a feeling or a breath of air, but the merest whisper of difference that made the hair rise on the back of my neck. I gritted my teeth and welcomed the change back into my wolf form. Black and gray fur
ran up my arms and down my back. My fingers pulled into paws and my arms and legs shifted into the more natural stance of a wolf.
The wounds from the whip bled during the change, but I relished the feeling of being in my wolf form once more. Another shudder ran through me, the chill of the fever, and I settled exhausted to the ground with my eyes on the audience. My life had shifted again, but having an audience was nothing new.
The angry man said something in hushed tones to the girl. She nodded, a look of reluctant submission on her face. The tattooed man spoke a short command and his men walked warily to the cage. Each took a bar and they lifted as another man threw the burlap cloth back over the top. My last glimpse was of the girl, her eyes still on mine, before the burlap settled into place. Her look burned into my soul, searching and concerned as though wondering if the man still existed beneath the wolf exterior. If I could have, I would have told her it was the wolf who existed beneath the man.
Chapter 3
The cage was settled in a remote area of a garden. I didn’t need the burlap raised to recognize the scents of mint, roses, and ivy. Footsteps hurried away as if the men couldn’t leave fast enough. One smell lingered, the scent of grasslands and steel. A hand pulled the burlap free and I took a deep breath of the fresh night air. I glanced over and found the tattooed man watching me. His gaze drifted to the whip resting near my paws. He met my eyes again and spoke in a quiet undertone, then he slipped his hand between the bars.
My hackles rose and I fought the urge to bite him. The small invasion of space felt completely different from the girl reaching her hand out for mine. I stepped back and my injured paw collapsed underneath me. I snarled at the pain. The tattooed man paused, his hand almost to the whip. I watched him carefully, but he kept his eyes lowered and his head bowed. He grabbed the leather rope and withdrew it slowly. He turned it sideways to pull it between the bars; we both let out an audible breath when it was clear.
