by Carol Davis
“He wouldn’t,” Deborah said stubbornly.
“I wouldn’t test him.”
Oh, if only she hadn’t gotten out of that tub. It had been so peaceful there.
She shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold.
“You should go,” Rachel said firmly. “You don’t want to make Caleb any angrier than he already is.”
Deborah had a hard time believing that her life could get any worse, no matter what Caleb did, but she didn’t have the strength to argue the point.
“All right,” she said, her shoulders slumping lower than she’d thought it was possible for them to go. “I’ll go talk to him now.”
Twelve
The wolf found a place high up on the rocks and stood there gazing out at the sea with the salt-heavy wind rippling through its fur. The sun was behind it, casting heat down onto its back and shoulders and directing its shadow toward the water. Every few minutes the wind would gust hard enough that the wolf carefully moved a foot and found a more stable position.
It could stand there for days, Jed knew. Just staring out at the ocean.
He had had his time of Separation many years ago, when he was young: a month during which he lived apart from the rest of the pack, when he was supposed to ponder his position among the other wolves and decide what goals he wanted to achieve. How he could best serve his brothers and sisters. He’d decided to follow in his uncle’s footsteps and become a builder, a carpenter—and a friend to all, someone who would be the first to come running if one of his packmates needed help.
This was entirely different.
Again, he had to decide what his goals were, but not with regard to the pack. This time, it was his heart that was at stake.
The wolf knew what it wanted: a mate to care for and protect. Not just coupling, although it was delighted each time Jed tumbled around in his bed with a happy, willing female.
It wanted a family. Young ones.
They’d come up here with no food or water. They hadn’t been directed to any place in particular, but both Jed and the wolf knew that this was a good place to think, that there was little here but the rocks and the sea, and that no one was likely to interrupt them. Here, alone with the wind and the sun, with the salt spray leaping around them, they could open themselves up to the gods and hope to be given an answer.
After a while the wolf lay down on a mostly flat rock and closed its eyes.
It remembered, in very simple terms, what it had felt like to couple with Deborah: how that coming together had been more than simple mating. She had thrilled at Jed’s touch, at how strong and capable he was, and she surely understood that he would be a fine partner.
Her scent, rich and ripe, had said so.
Slowly, the wolf lifted its head and sniffed at the air, searching for a clue to where she might be right now, but it could detect nothing but salt, a recently dead fish, and a bit of pine.
And ghosts.
This island had been home to thousands of wolves over the years, some of whom had spent time lying on these very rocks. There was power here, the majesty of the earth and the sea.
Brothers, the wolf thought.
It could sense them nearby: wolves by the dozens, going back to the very first ones who had come to the island in simple boats before there was any city over there on the mainland. They’d come out here to be free, to escape the judgment and fear of humans, and over time the pack had grown three- and four- and five-fold.
At one point, there had been nearly two hundred wolves on this island… but that was too many. There wasn’t enough food, no matter how carefully they planted and hunted and saved.
A few had starved, and were deeply mourned.
Others had departed, for the good of those who remained. It seemed to both Jed and the wolf that they were still here in spirit, that although they had climbed into the boats and returned to the mainland, their hearts were here.
Would always be here.
Speak to us, brothers and sisters, the wolf said in a series of howls and yips. Share your wisdom.
Tell us the will of the gods.
Their voices came through on the wind, in the way it sang through the trees and whistled through the gaps in the rock. They spoke of their triumphs and tragedies, how they had made this island their own and yet had surrendered to the greater will of nature. How they had lived and loved and died, sometimes at the end of a long and productive stretch of years, and sometimes far too soon.
Among them, Jed heard the voices of Micah’s parents, lost to the sea when Micah was still very young.
Of his own father, felled by sickness.
The wolf seemed deeply happy to hear from them again. Maybe, Jed thought, the animal was never very far from the others of its kind; that it could communicate with them any time it pleased, on a level Jed could neither hear nor understand. That was why it had to be the wolf who spoke with the gods.
If Jed was lucky, he might hear their voices deep in his soul. That was what he was hoping for—that suddenly, there would be some new knowledge inside him, one that he couldn’t dismiss or ignore.
He would be sure, then, what he was supposed to do.
Hoping that their connection would be enough to keep the animal from pushing him so far down that he could never climb to the surface again, he lay back quietly and stilled himself. He wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t let go of consciousness; he would simply be, and listen.
There.
He thought that might be Victor’s voice. And Paul’s—Granny Sara’s mate. Lisabeth, the beloved, lost mate of their alpha. He couldn’t pick out any words, but he knew they were singing about their love for the ones they had left behind. His own wolf seemed to be paying particular attention, and for a moment Jed was desperate to pepper it with questions, demand that it tell him what those lost ones were saying.
No, it told him firmly.
Sleep. This is not your place. These are my kind, not yours.
He had to force himself to lie back again, to give the wolf free rein. The answers would come in good time, he told himself.
When it was ready, the wolf would tell him what he needed to do.
Thirteen
There were a number of places she could have chosen. Little nooks and caves she had discovered as a child, where she could hide away from her family and friends for a while and indulge in some make-believe. She’d pretended that those secret places were her future home, one she would set up just as she liked, where she was living not with her parents but with her mate and her own children.
In that someday home, she’d cook good meals for all of them to enjoy, and after they ate, she’d sit with her little ones clustered near her feet and listen to them tell her about their day.
They’d ask questions, and she would patiently answer.
Now, she seemed to have no answers for anyone. Not for Gregory, not for Jed, not for herself.
That was nothing she’d ever imagined.
Instead of going to one of those familiar spots on the island, she let the wolf walk through what seemed like endless miles of woods, across the beach, up a steep slope, then through more acres upon acres of trees. The island had never seemed so enormous to her before—maybe because she felt so small, so fragile. The strong shoulders her packmates were always eager to lean on felt as if they’d shatter at the slightest pressure.
Finally, the wolf chose a spot tucked in among the rocks. There was some soft sand there, but it was a luxurious place by no means. As the wolf lay down and rested its head on its outstretched front legs, Deborah thought the roar of the surf might drown out every thought either one of them had. That seemed like a good thing, but it wasn’t why they had come here. They actually needed to listen for the softest of whispers, the most subtle of instructions.
She tried suggesting to the wolf that they find another place to spend their Isolation, but the wolf ignored her.
So be it, then.
For a while the wolf’s eyes were closed, denying Deborah a
ny view at all. Maybe it thought they should both sleep; Deborah was certainly tired enough. She tried willing herself to relax, to focus on the salty tang in the air, and the gritty cushion of sand underneath them, and the relentless pounding of the surf. She did her best to let her mind float free, to let the wolf continue to guide them where it thought they should go.
She did doze a little, but fitfully.
Flashes of memory came to her.
Walking through her new home for the first time, with Victor standing proudly nearby. Making up their bed with the linens and blankets the women of the pack had given her.
Giving birth to Gregory in that bed.
Her son’s first laugh. His first step. How determined he’d been to pull a loose nail out of the underside of the table, and his disappointment with it when he finally had it in hand.
How Victor had laughed at that.
“Is this all it is?”
They’d been so happy together, the three of them—crooked nails notwithstanding. For a while she’d thought there might be a fourth, but that had never come to be. Still, they were a loving, contented family, well-liked by their packmates. Then she’d been chosen as healer, and it seemed that their popularity grew a hundredfold. Everyone wanted to share their dinner with the healer and her family, and shower them with gifts, as if that might prevent them from ever being sick or injured. As if it might ensure that they, rather than Deborah and Victor, would be granted another child.
So happy.
She could see her mate clearly in her mind’s eye: focused on some task or other, then turning to her to smile fondly. One of the things he had always loved best was to carry her around in his arms as if she weighed nothing at all. He would sweep her off her feet at the oddest moments, then would carry her off to some mysterious place where he’d found a cluster of early spring flowers, or a nest of baby rabbits, or some other wonder.
A new brook trickling through the woods, created by a heavy rainstorm. A particularly spectacular sunset.
She knew, because the earth all but hummed with it, that she wasn’t very far from where he had died. From where those human men had backed him in amongst the rocks and had fired their guns at him until he died.
What now, my love? she asked silently.
After a while the wolf opened its eyes, but it was looking at the ground between its paws, a spread of fine, pale sand that glinted a little in the sunlight. Deborah had loved to let that very sand trickle through her fingers when she was small, delighting in how many colors she could see. It had been a wondrous thing to that small girl—and so were flowers, and the stars, and the way the waves sometimes reached high up into the air before they crashed back down.
What do you want of me?
Please, she asked the gods. Show me the path you want me to take. The one that’s best for my son, and for the pack.
Part of her hoped for some clear revelation, some message she couldn’t even try to ignore. That had happened a few times during the long history of the pack: a sign from the gods so distinct that it struck everyone with awe, and not a little fear. Once, when the island was running short of food after a long and brutal winter, the pack had debated moving to the mainland. If not all of them, at least some, so that those who remained would have enough to eat.
Then, there was a terrible explosion near the city that they most often visited. It reached the island as a low, visceral rumble, followed by an awful stench that lasted for almost two days.
Do not venture there, the gods told them. We will care for you here.
And they had; that summer was especially bountiful.
Another time, a young female climbing a steep wall of rock had suddenly lost her footing and tumbled all the way down to the beach… to land at the feet of a young male she had barely noticed before. She’d been badly scraped and bruised during the fall, and was unable to walk, so the boy had carried her back to the settlement.
Rachel and Jeremiah. They were among the most devoted of mates now, and had raised two fine sons.
Why couldn’t all the gods’ messages be so very clear?
Why couldn’t…
She could feel the wolf’s growl of discontent rumble through her body, and understood what it was trying to say: Be quiet. If there’s a message, you’ll never hear it. You need to calm yourself and listen.
Be still.
Something clenched inside her chest. Fear, perhaps. Nervousness. Grief. Maybe a mixture of all those things, and more. It took a great deal of strength to push it all aside, as if she were working up the courage to fling herself off the island’s highest bluff into the cold waves of the sea.
Then, suddenly, she felt at ease.
Warmth surrounded her, a kind she hadn’t felt since she was a very small girl curling up in her bed after a long day of exploration and play. She’d felt sublimely content back then, well-fed, safe, and very much loved. She’d always known that her parents were nearby, that they would protect her from any possible danger. That all of her packmates would protect her, love her, care for her.
They still would, she told herself.
One in particular.
He was nearby, she realized. Not within sight or smell, but not far away. Something reached out to her that was stronger than her natural senses and told her that he was thinking of her, that he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms the way he had in his cabin—to wrap his body around hers and shelter her from any sort of storm that might arise.
LISTEN, the wolf commanded.
She did, but she could hear nothing but the thud and splash of the surf. Its power came to her through small vibrations in the ground, reminding her of how fragile their life here was.
That all life was fragile, and ought to be treasured.
Love ought to be treasured.
Warmth hummed through her body, flushing her face and arms, arousing the nerves in her breasts and belly and in her sex.
You have much to give to the pack, said a voice deep in the back of her mind. Your journey is far from over.
You have much left to give.
And there is much that remains to be given to you.
Healer.
Mother.
MOTHER!
She opened her eyes to discover that somehow, without feeling any of it, she had shifted back into human form. She was lying naked on the sand, and the wolf had curled up deep inside her and was sound asleep.
What…?
Then she remembered that voice calling her Mother, and thought immediately of her son.
Had he cried out to her? Was he hurt?
He hadn’t cried out for her help in… it had to be years. He was nearly grown now, no longer in need of comfort from his mother. So if that had been his voice she’d heard, he had to need her desperately.
He had to be hurt. Badly, painfully hurt.
Dearest of gods, let him not be dying.
Careful not to injure herself along the way, she ran back to the settlement as quickly as she could, scooped up her clothes from where she’d left them, and hauled them on. Once she was dressed, she went from person to person, asking urgently, “Gregory? Has anyone seen him yet? I need to find him. I need to talk with him and help him to understand. I need to—he may be hurt. Please help me.”
But no one had seen him for more than a day.
Fourteen
Jed came back into town to find some of his packmates looking at him oddly, then quickly scurrying away. Not out of fear—he could pick up nothing like that in their scent—but rather a sense of regret.
As if they’d heard some news they couldn’t bear to face him with.
But he had news of his own. He felt more certain that ever that he and Deborah were meant to be together, in spite of all the obstacles that had been placed in their path. What he was meant to show the pack was his strength and perseverance, his willingness to commit to something important and fight for it until there was no breath left in his body, if it came to that.
He
could only hope that the gods had told Deborah the same thing.
He supposed she was at home, if she’d shifted back into human form around the same time he had, although it was possible she was taking a little extra time to roam through the woods so that she could settle her thoughts and decide what she ought to do next.
At first, he was tempted to seek her out immediately. Then he thought it might be better to put his best foot forward, to display his love and respect for her by looking and smelling his best.
So, trying not to frown at the way his packmates kept ducking away from him, he hurried back to his house. There, he spent quite a while bathing his hair and skin with cold water and some of Rosa’s handmade soap, and then chose the nicest-looking shirt and jeans from his closet. He had no mirror in the house, but when he was finished, he thought sure he looked as presentable as he was likely to get.
He changed his mind moments after he had stepped back out into the roadway that threaded through the settlement.
One by one, his packmates were still avoiding him.
Exasperated, he grabbed the closest one by the arm and reeled him in. “What is all this?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
The man—a young one Jed barely knew—tried to shrink away, but Jed held on tight.
“Jed.”
It was Rachel, hurrying along the road in his direction. Certain that she, at least, would answer his questions, he let the young wolf go, shaking his head as the near-stranger disappeared around a corner.
“What is it?” he asked as Rachel came closer.
“Deborah.”
Jed’s heart thumped hard against his ribs. “Is she all right?”
Rachel glanced back over her shoulder, then turned to face him again. “She came back from Isolation very upset, asking for Gregory. She said something had told her that he needed her, but no one’s seen him. We’ve been scouring the settlement for him for almost two hours, but we haven’t found him.”
